OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Smith, Edgar Fahs

Edition of 1920. See also Edgar Fahs Smith on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
SMITH, Edgar Fahs, American chemist and educator: b. York, Pa., 23 May 1856. He was graduated at Pennsylvania College in 1874 and took his Ph.D. at the University of Göttingen in 1876. He was professor of chemistry at the University of Pennsylvania in 1888-1911, vice-provost there in 1899-1911, and has since been provost. He has made important investigations in electrolytic methods of analysis and atomic weight determinations. He is a member of the National Academy of Sciences, was president of the American Chemical Society in 1898, and of the American Philosophical Society in 1902-06. He translated Richter's ‘Inorganic Chemistry’ (3d ed., 1900), and is author of ‘Electro-Chemical Analysis’ (new ed., 1918); ‘Theories of Chemistry’ (1913); ‘Chemistry in America’ (1914); ‘Atomic Weights’ (1915); ‘James Woodhouse’ (1918), etc.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Sorrows of Young Werther, The

Edition of 1920. See also The Sorrows of Young Werther on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER, The (‘Die Leiden des jungen Werthers’). ‘Werther's Leiden,’ Goethe's first novel, was written in Frankfort in 1774, during the so-called storm and stress period. It is divided into two books each consisting of a series of letters by Werther, with some reports by the supposed editor of these letters inserted in the latter half of the second book. The principal character of this novel is a refined, sensitive youth of artistic temperament, who makes imperative demands upon life from a subjective point of view and when disappointed becomes absorbed in himself. This tendency to brood which is dangerous in itself proves fatal in Werther's case on account of his hopeless love. For his endeavor to overcome the latter by leaving Lotte and starting out on a life of activity fails. He falls a victim to his unalterable disposition and the unconquerable power of his passion. Such a “leitmotif” characterizes ‘Werther's Leiden’ as a genuine product of the storm and stress movement. But this movement was confined to Germany, and the sweeping success of the novel, which called forth translations, imitations and also parodies in all literary languages must be accounted for by other reasons. It appeared in an age of sentimentalism and met the demand for sentimental elements to a considerable degree. Besides, great general problems dealing with man and nature, art and religion are presented in a vigorous style, and the portraits of the persons, especially those of Werther and Lotte, are distinguished by a convincing realism. The most noteworthy of the admirers of Goethe's ‘Werther’ was Napoleon I.
‘Werther's Leiden’ is closely connected with the life of its author. During Goethe's stay at Wetzlar, 1772, where the young lawyer was to get practical experience at the Supreme Court of the empire, he met and admired Charlotte Buff who was engaged to a young man, Albert Kestner. There is, however, this fundamental difference between Goethe's life and Werther's: Goethe did not return to Lotte after he had once left her, and while Werther complains about the vanishing of his artistic faculty, it was his very talent that enabled Goethe to overcome his feelings for Charlotte Buff by giving them artistic form. Thus only the first book is really based on Goethe's own experience while the second is based on the tragic fate of his colleague, Jerusalem, who for reasons similar to those of Werther committed suicide. Consult edition of Goethe's works in ‘Deutsche National-Literatur’ (Vol. XVIII 13, pp. 1-134, 1882-98); Kestner, A., ‘Goethe und Werther, Cotta'sche Handbibliothek’; Glöel, Heinrich, ‘Goethe's Wetzlarer Zeit’ (1911); Long, O. W., ‘English and American Imitations of Goethe's Werter’ (Modern Philology, Vol. XIV, No. 4, August 1916.)
# The Five Nations/The Reformers

THE REFORMERS
Not in the camp his victory lies Or triumph in the market-place, Who is his Nation's sacrifice To turn the judgment from his race.
Happy is he who, bred and taught By sleek, sufficing Circumstance— Whose Gospel was the apparelled thought, Whose Gods were Luxury and Chance—
Sees, on the threshold of his days, The old life shrivel like a scroll, And to unheralded dismays Submits his body and his soul;
The fatted shows wherein he stood Foregoing, and the idiot pride, That he may prove with his own blood All that his easy sires denied—
​Ultimate issues, primal springs, Demands, abasements, penalties— The imperishable plinth of things Seen and unseen, that touch our peace.
For, though ensnaring ritual dim His vision through the after-years, Yet virtue shall go out of him: Example profiting his peers.
With great things charged he shall not hold Aloof till great occasion rise, But serve, full-harnessed, as of old The days that are the destinies.
He shall forswear and put away The idols of his sheltered house; And to Necessity shall pay Unflinching tribute of his vows.
He shall not plead another's act, Nor bind him in another's oath To weigh the Word above the Fact, Or make or take excuse for sloth.
​The yoke he bore shall press him still, And long-ingrained effort goad To find, to fashion, and fulfil The cleaner life, the sterner code.
Not in the camp his victory lies— The world (unheeding his return) Shall see it in his children's eyes And from his grandson's lips shall learn!
# The Five Nations/The Return

THE RETURN
(ALL ARMS)
Peace is declared, an' I return To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things 'ave transpired which made me learn The size and meanin' of the game. I did no more than others did, I don't know where the change began; I started as a average kid, I finished as a thinkin' man.
If England was what England seems An' not the England of our dreams, But only putty, brass, an' paint, 'Ow quick we'd drop 'er! But she ain't!
Before my gappin' mouth could speak I 'eard it in my comrade's tone; I saw it on my neighbour's cheek Before I felt it flush my own. ​An' last it come to me—not pride, Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole (If such a term may be applied), The makin's of a bloomin' soul.
Rivers at night that cluck an' jeer, Plains which the moonshine turns to sea, Mountains that never let you near, An' stars to all eternity; An' the quick-breathin' dark that fills The 'ollows of the wilderness, When the wind worries through the 'ills— These may 'ave taught me more or less.
Towns without people, ten times took, An' ten times left an' burned at last; An' starvin' dogs that come to look For owners when a column passed; An' quiet, 'omesick talks between Men, met by night, you never knew Until—'is face—by shellfire seen— Once—an' struck off. They taught me too.
​The day's lay-out—the mornin' sun Beneath your 'at-brim as you sight; The dinner-'ush from noon till one, An' the full roar that lasts till night; An' the pore dead that look so old An' was so young an hour ago, An' legs tied down before they're cold— These are the things which make you know.
Also Time runnin' into years— A thousand Places left be'ind— An' Men from both two 'emispheres Discussin' things of every kind; So much more near than I 'ad known, So much more great than I 'ad guessed— An' me, like all the rest, alone— But reachin' out to all the rest!
So 'ath it come to me—not pride, Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole (If such a term may be applied), The makin's of a bloomin' soul. ​But now, discharged, I fall away To do with little things again.... Gawd, 'oo knows all I cannot say, Look after me in Thamesfontein!
If England was what England seems An' not the England of our dreams, But only putty, brass, an' paint, 'Ow quick we'd chuck 'er! But she ain't!
# The Five Nations/The Lesson

First published in The Times, July 29, 1901.
THE LESSON
(1899—1902)
Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good.
Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain, But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and again, Were all our most holy illusions knocked higher than Gilderoy's kite. We have had a jolly good lesson, and it serves us jolly well right!
This was not bestowèd us under the trees, nor yet in the shade of a tent, But swingingly, over eleven degrees of a bare brown continent. ​From Lamberts to Delagoa Bay, and from Pietersburg to Sutherland, Fell the phenomenal lesson we learned—with a fullness accorded no other land.
It was our fault, and our very great fault, and not the judgment of Heaven. We made an Army in our own image, on an island nine by seven, Which faithfully mirrored its makers' ideals, equipment, and mental attitude— And so we got our lesson: and we ought to accept it with gratitude.
We have spent two hundred million pounds to prove the fact once more, That horses are quicker than men afoot, since two and two make four: And horses have four legs, and men have two legs, and two into four goes twice. And nothing over except our lesson—and very cheap at the price.
​For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near for that knowledge) Not our mere astonied camps, but Council and Creed and College— All the obese, unchallenged old things that stifle and overlie us— Have felt the effects of the lesson we got—an advantage no money could buy us!
Then let us develop this marvellous asset which we alone command, And which, it may subsequently transpire, will be worth as much as the Rand: Let us approach this pivotal fact in a humble yet hopeful mood— We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good!
It was our fault, and our very great fault—and now we must turn it to use; We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse! ​So the more we work and the less we talk the better results we shall get— We have had an Imperial lesson; it may make us an Empire yet!
# The Five Nations/The Parting of the Columns

THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS
" ... On the —th instant a mixed detachment of colonials left —— for Cape Town, there to rejoin their respective homeward-bound contingents, after fifteen months' service in the field. They were escorted to the station by the regular troops in garrison and the bulk of Colonel ——'s column, which has just come in to refit, preparatory to further operations. The leave-taking was of the most cordial character, the men cheering each other continuously."—Any Newspaper.
We've rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand. Together for a year and more around this stinkin' land: Now you are goin' home again, but we must see it through. We needn't tell we liked you well. Good-bye—good luck to you!
You 'ad no special call to come, and so you doubled out, And learned us how to camp and cook an' steal a horse and scout: ​Whatever game we fancied most, you joyful played it too, And rather better on the whole. Good-bye—good luck to you!
There isn't much we 'aven't shared, since Kruger cut an' run, The same old work, the same old skoff, the same old dust and sun; The same old chance that laid us out, or winked an' let us through; The same old Life, the same old Death. Good-bye—good luck to you!
Our blood 'as truly mixed with yours—all down the Red Cross train, We've bit the same thermometer in Bloemingtyphoidtein. We've 'ad the same old temp'rature—the same relapses too, The same old saw-backed fever-chart. Good-bye—good luck to you!
​But 'twasn't merely this an' that (which all the world may know), 'Twas how you talked an' looked at things which made us like you so. All independent, queer an' odd, but most amazin' new, My word! you shook us up to rights. Good-bye—good luck to you!
Think o' the stories round the fire, the tales along the trek— O' Calgary an' Wellin'ton, an' Sydney and Quebec; Of mine an' farm, an' ranch an' run, an' moose an' cariboo, An' parrots peckin' lambs to death! Good-bye—good luck to you!
We've seen you 'ome by word o' mouth, we've watched your rivers shine, We've 'eard your bloomin' forests blow of eucalip' an' pine; ​Your young, gay countries north an' south, we feel we own 'em too, For they was made by rank an' file. Good-bye—good luck to you!
We'll never read the papers now without inquirin' first For word from all those friendly dorps where you was born an' nursed. Why, Dawson, Galle, an' Montreal—Port Darwin—Timaru, They're only just across the road! Good-bye—good luck to you!
Good-bye!—So-long! Don't lose yourselves—nor us, nor all kind friends, But tell the girls your side the drift we're comin'—when it ends! Good-bye, you bloomin' Atlases! You've taught us somethin' new: The world's no bigger than a kraal, Good-bye—good luck to you!
# The Five Nations/The Married Man

THE MARRIED MAN
(RESERVIST OF THE LINE)
The bachelor 'e fights for one As joyful as can be; But the married man don't call it fun, Because 'e fights for three— For 'Im an' 'Er an' It (An' Two an' One makes Three) 'E wants to finish 'is little bit, An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea!
The bachelor pokes up 'is 'ead To see if you are gone; But the married man lies down instead, An' waits till the sights come on. For 'Im an' 'Er an' a hit (Direct or ricochee) 'E wants to finish 'is little bit, An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
​The bachelor will miss you clear To fight another day; But the married man, 'e says "No fear!" 'E wants you out of the way Of 'Im an' 'Er an' It (An' 'is road to 'is farm or the sea), 'E wants to finish 'is little bit, An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
The bachelor 'e fights 'is fight An' stretches out an' snores; But the married man sits up all night— For 'e don't like out o' doors: 'E'll strain an' listen an' peer An' give the first alarm— For the sake o' the breathin' 'e's used to 'ear An' the 'ead on the thick of 'is arm.
The bachelor may risk 'is 'ide To 'elp you when you're downed; But the married man will wait beside Till the ambulance comes round. ​'E'll take your 'ome address An' all you've time to say, Or if 'e sees there's 'ope, 'e'll press Your art'ry 'alf the day—
For 'Im an' 'Er an' It (An' One from Three leaves Two), For 'e knows you wanted to finish your bit, An' 'e knows 'oo's wantin' you. Yes, 'Im an' 'Er an' It (Our 'oly One in Three), We're all of us anxious to finish our bit, An' we want to get 'ome to our tea!
Yes, It an' 'Er an' 'Im, Which often makes me think The married man must sink or swim An'—'e can't afford to sink! Oh 'Im an' It an' 'Er Since Adam an' Eve began, So I'd rather fight with the bacheler An' be nursed by the married man!
# The Five Nations/The Old Men

THE OLD MEN
This is our lot if we live so long and labour unto the end— That we outlive the impatient years and the much too patient friend; And because we know we have breath in our mouth and think we have thought in our head, We shall assume that we are alive, whereas we are really dead.
We shall not acknowledge that old stars fade or alien planets arise (That the sere bush buds or the desert blooms or the ancient well-head dries), Or any new compass wherewith new men adventure 'neath new skies.
We shall lift up the ropes that constrained our youth to bind on our children's hands; ​We shall call to the water below the bridges to return and replenish our lands; We shall harness horses (Death's own pale horses) and scholarly plough the sands.
We shall lie down in the eye of the sun for lack of a light on our way— We shall rise up when the day is done and chirrup, "Behold, it is day!" We shall abide till the battle is won ere we amble into the fray.
We shall peck out and discuss and dissect, and evert and extrude to our mind, The flaccid tissues of long-dead issues offensive to God and mankind— (Precisely like vultures over an ox that the Army has left behind).
We shall make walk preposterous ghosts of the glories we once created— (Immodestly smearing from muddled palettes amazing pigments mismated) And our friends will weep when we ask them with boasts if our natural force be abated.
​The Lamp of our Youth will be utterly out: but we shall subsist on the smell of it, And whatever we do, we shall fold our hands and suck our gums and think well of it. Yes, we shall be perfectly pleased with our work, and that is the perfectest Hell of it!
This is our lot if we live so long and listen to those who love us— That we are shunned by the people about and shamed by the Powers above us. Wherefore be free of your harness betimes; but being free be assured, That he who hath not endured to the death, from his birth he hath never endured!
# The Five Nations/The Palace

THE PALACE
When I was a King and a Mason—a Master proven and skilled— I cleared me ground for a palace such as a King should build. I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently, under the silt, I came on the wreck of a palace such as a King had built.
There was no worth in the fashion—there was no wit in the plan— Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran— Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone:
"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known."
​Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned ground-works grew, I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and reset them anew. Lime I milled of the marbles; burned it, slacked it, and spread; Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.
Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet, as we wrenched them apart, I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder's heart. As he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned.
When I was a King and a Mason—in the open noon of my pride, They sent me a Word from the Darkness—They whispered and called me aside. ​They said—"The end is forbidden." They said—"Thy use is fulfilled,
"And thy palace shall stand as that other's—the spoil of a King who shall build."
I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves, and my shears. All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless years. Only I cut on the timber, only I carved on the stone: After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known!
# The Five Nations/The Sea and the Hills

THE SEA AND THE HILLS
Who hath desired the Sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded— The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded? The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing— Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing— His Sea is no showing the same—his Sea and the same 'neath each showing— His Sea as she slackens or thrills? So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise hillmen desire their Hills!
Who hath desired the Sea?—the immense and contemptuous surges? The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bowsprit emerges? ​The orderly clouds of the Trades, and the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder— Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder— His Sea in no wonder the same—his Sea and the same through each wonder: His Sea as she rages or stills? So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies, The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses? The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it; White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bear it; His Sea as his fathers have dared—his Sea as his children shall dare it— His Sea as she serves him or kills? So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise hillmen desire their Hills.
​Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather Inland, among dust, under trees—inland where the slayer may slay him Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him— His Sea at the first that betrayed—at the last that shall never betray him— His Sea that his being fulfils? So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise hillmen desire their Hills.
# The Face in the Abyss, novelette

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
The girl would soon be there—with the avengers; no doubt at this very moment she was telling them of her wrongs. He turned—
She stood there; looking at him!
Her skin was palest ivory. It gleamed translucent through the rents of the soft amber fabric like the thickest silk that swathed her. Her eyes were deep velvety pools, oval, a little tilted; Egyptian in the wide midnight of their irises. And her hair was cloudy jet, misty and shadowed, and a narrow fillet of gold bound the broad, low forehead. In it like a diamond were entwined the sable and silver feathers of the caraquenque, that bird whose plumage in lost centuries was sacred to the princesses of the Incas alone.
The Face in the Abyss
By A. Merritt
Author of “The Moon Pool,” “The Metal Monster,” etc.
A NOVELETTE—COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE

### INTRODUCTION

AND now the readers of Argosy-Allstory Weekly come once again to their old favorite, A. Merritt, who flashed like a shooting star across the pages of All-Story Weekly in the issues of June 22, 1918, and from February 1, to March 22, 1919, illuminating that most classically fantastic of all stories, THE MOON POOL, which was afterward brought out in book form and accepted in England, France, and America as equal to the best imaginative work of H. G. Wells or that older master, the late Jules Verne; after which he rose to greater heights in his serial that appeared under the title of THE METAL MONSTER.
In these two works Merritt struck an entirely new note, rich in imagination, the wondrous possibilities of science, and the fine balance of human interest and narrative charm. In every chapter he struck the cosmic chords of superlative invention. Letters from all over the world asking for further work from the pen of Merritt came to this office.
He has recently been induced, or, to be perfectly frank, he has again taken up his pen of his own volition and made another contribution entitled THE FACE IN THE ABYSS, which is published in this issue in full on the pages which follow.
We know of no more kaleidoscopic imagination among living writers. Merritt possesses not only a transcendental vision but the power to put in words the scenes that unfold and come full winged shimmering with light from the cathedral of his mind.
* 1. OUT OF THE HAUNTED HILLS
* 2. SUARRA OF THE GOLDEN SPEARS
* 3. THE EYES OF THE SNAKE MOTHER
* 4. THE WHITE LLAMA
* 5. THE THING THAT FLED
* 6. THE ELFIN HORNS
* 7. “COME BACK—GRAYDON!”
* 8. THE FACE IN THE ABYSS
* 9. “I AM GOING BACK TO HER!”
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 1943, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 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
# The Face and the Mask/front matter

The Personal Conductor: "It is a statue of no importance whatever."
The Personally Conducted: "Yes, but what does it mean?"
The Personal Conductor: "I don't suppose it means anything in particular. It is not by any well-known artist and the guidebooks say nothing about it."
The Personally Conducted: "Perhaps the sculptor intended to typify life; the tragic face representing one side of existence and the comic mask another."
The Personal Conductor: "Very likely. This way to the Louvre, if you please.
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
# The Face in evanescence lain

The Face in evanescence lain Is more distinct than ours — And ours surrendered for its sake As Capsules are for Flower's — Or is it the confiding sheen Dissenting to enamor us Of Detriment divine?