OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Axayacatl

Edition of 1879. See also Axayacatl on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
AXAYACATL, a Mexican emperor, died about 1477. He was the father of Montezuma II., and reigned 14 years. He was already famous as a warrior when he became emperor of the Aztecs, and inaugurated his reign by a successful expedition against Tehuantepec, and in 1467 conquered anew the cities of Cotasta and Tochtepec. A little later he repelled the tribes who strove to get possession of the Mexican capital, and maintained a vigorous warfare against his neighbors. He was defeated by the natives of Michoacan, whom he attacked with inferior forces, and on his return to Mexico celebrated funeral solemnities. He was preparing another expedition when he died suddenly and prematurely. The palace of Axayacatl, a gigantic pile of stone buildings, became
50 years later the barracks of the Spaniards. His treasures were discovered by Cortes within a concealed door, and the chronicler of the conquest exclaims that “it seemed as if all the riches in the world were in that room.” They consisted of gold and silver in bars and in the ore, many jewels of value, and numerous rich and beautiful articles of curious workmanship, as imitations of birds, insects, or flowers.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Bacon, Nathaniel

Edition of 1879. See also Nathaniel Bacon (colonist) on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
BACON, Nathaniel, commonly called the Virginia rebel, born in London about 1630, died in January, 1677. He emigrated to Virginia in 1675, during the administration of Sir William Berkeley. His abilities as a lawyer, his wealth and popular deportment, gave him
great influence. Almost immediately after his arrival he was chosen a member of the governor's council. At that time the colony was distracted by discontents. Gov. Berkeley was highly unpopular on account of his inefficiency in protecting the settlers from Indian ravages, his disposition to restrict the franchise, and the high rate of taxes. When the people took arms ostensibly to repel the savages, but in reality to force the authorities to do their duty, Bacon became the leader of the movement in July, 1676. Berkeley was compelled to make concessions, dismantle the forts, dissolve the old assembly, and issue writs for a new election. But he did not keep faith with the insurgents, and a desultory civil war broke out, in the course of which Jamestown, the capital of the colony, was burned to the ground. In the end the governor was obliged to seek shelter in some English vessels lying in James river, but before Bacon could complete his plans in respect to a new government he died of a disease contracted during one of his Indian campaigns. Soon after his death the rebellion itself was extinguished.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 107

We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping you’re well and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into the fire of purgatory.
Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy’s warning. Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma, poor mamma, and little Rudy.
The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned his face. And if he was alive all the time? Whew! By Jingo, that would be awful! No, no : he is dead, of course. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag of distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as soon as you are sure there’sns.
The clay fell softer. Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.
The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his hat. Had enough of it. The mourners took heart of grace, one by one, covering themselves without show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his ground, he traversed the dismal fields.
Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah, the names. But he knows them all. No : coming to me.
— I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his breath. What is your christian name? I’m not sure.
— L, Mr Bloom said. Leopold. And you might put down M’Coy’s name too. He asked me to.
— Charley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the Freeman once.
So he was before he got the job in the morgue under Louis Byrne. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they know. He died of a Tuesday. Got the run. Levanted with the cash of a few ads. Charley, you’re my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well, does no harm. I saw to that, M’Coy. Thanks, old chap : much obliged. Leave him under an obligation : costs nothing.
— And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow was over there in the...
He looked around.
— Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now?
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 110

An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the pebbles. An old stager : greatgrandfather : he knows the ropes. The grey alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good hidingplace for treasure.
Who lives there? Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. Robert Emmet was buried here by torchlight, wasn’t he? Making his rounds.
Tail gone now.
One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what’s cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that Voyages in China that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime fever pits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea. Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Can’t bury in the air however. Out of a flying machine. Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Underground communication. We learned that from them. Wouldn’t be surprised. Regular square feed for them. Flies come before he’s well dead. Got wind of Dignam. They wouldn’t care about the smell of it. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse : smell, taste like raw white turnips.
The gates glimmered in front : still open. Back to the world again. Enough of this place. Brings you a bit nearer every time. Last time I was here was Mrs Sinico’s funeral. Poor papa too. The love that kills. And even scraping up the earth at night with a lantern like that case I read of to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. Give you the creeps after a bit. I will appear to you after death. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you after death. There is another world after death named hell. I do not like that other world she wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds : warm fullblooded life.
Martin Cunningham emerged from a sidepath, talking gravely.
Solicitor, I think. I know his face. Menton. John Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Dignam used to be In his office. Mat Dillon’s long ago. Jolly Mat convivial evenings. Cold fowl, cigars, the Tantalus glasses. Heart of gold really. Yes, Menton. Got his rag out that evening on
# The Annotated 'Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes'

A Wikisource annotation project
* Background to text
* Annotation project details
* Map of route
* Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes
** Dedication
** Velay
*** The Donkey, The Pack, and the Pack-Saddle
*** The Green Donkey Driver
*** I Have A Goad
** Upper Gévaudan
*** A Camp In The Dark
*** Cheylard And Luc
** Our Lady Of The Snows
*** Father Apollinaris
*** The Monks
*** The Boarders
** Upper Gévaudan (continued)
*** Across The Goulet
*** A Night Among The Pines
** The Country Of The Camisards
*** Across the Lozère
*** Pont De Montvert
*** In The Valley Of The Tarn
*** Florac
*** In The Valley Of The Mimente
*** The Heart Of The Country
*** The Last Day
*** Farewell, Modestine
* Wikipedia Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes
* Source text: Wikisource Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 106

they might object to be buried out of another fellow’s. They’re so particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of clay from the holy land. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the one coffin. I see what it means. I see. To protect him as long as possible even in the earth. The Irishman’s house is his coffin. Enbalming in catacombs, mummies, the same idea.
Mr Bloom stood far back, his hat in his hand, counting the bared heads. Twelve. I’m thirteen. No. The chap in the macintosh is thirteen. Death’s number. Where the deuce did he pop out of? He wasn’t in the chapel, that I’ll swear. Silly superstition that about thirteen.
Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert has in that suit. Tinge of purple. I had one like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Dressy fellow he was once. Used to change three suits in the day. Must get that grey suit of mine tur- ned by Mesias. Hello. It’s dyed. His wife I forgot he’s not married or his landlady ought to have picked out those threads for him.
The coffin dived out of sight, eased down by the men straddled on the gravetrestles. They struggled up and out : and all uncovered. Twenty.
Pause.
If we were all suddenly somebody else.
Far away a donkey brayed. Rain. No such ass. Never see a dead one, they say. Shame of death. They hide. Also poor papa went away.
Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads in a whisper. Whisper. The boy by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the black open space. Mr Bloom moved behind the portly kindly caretaker. Well cut frockcoat. Weighing them up perhaps to see which will go next. Well it is a long rest. Feel no more. It’s the moment you feel. Must be damned unpleasant. Can’t believe it at first. Mistake must be : someone else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven’t yet. Then darkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would you like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you hid all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press his lower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the soles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the floor since he’s doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner’s death showing him a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of Lucia. Shall I nevermore behold thee? Bam! expires. Gone at last. People talk about you a bit : forget you. Don’t forget to pray for him. Remember him in your prayers. Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then they follow : dropping into a hole one after the other.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 111

the bowling green because I sailed inside him. Pure fluke of mine : the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. Hate at first sight. Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the lilactree, laughing. Fellow always like that, mortified if women are by.
Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably.
— Excuse me, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them.
They stopped.
— Your hat is a little crushed, Mr Bloom said, pointing.
John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving.
— There, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also.
John Henry Menton took off his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his coatsleeve. He clapped the hat on his head again.
— It’s all right now, Martin Cunningham said.
John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment.
— Thank you, he said shortly.
They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few paces so as not to overhear. Martin laying down the law. Martin could wind a sappyhead like that round his little finger without his seeing it.
Oyster eyes. Never mind. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him. Get the pull over him that way.
Thank you. How grand we are this morning!
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 108

— M’Intosh, Hynes said, scribbling, I don’t know who he is. Is that his name?
He moved away, looking about him.
— No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes!
Didn’t hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good Lord, what became of him?
A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade.
— O, excuse me!
He stepped aside nimbly.
Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over. A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and the gravediggers rested their spades. All uncovered again for a few instants. The boy propped his wreath against a corner : the brother-in-law his on a lump. The gravediggers put on their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Then knocked the blades lightly on the turf : clean. One bent to pluck from the haft a long tuft of grass. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing. Silently at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. His navelcord. The brother-in-law, turning away, placed something in his free hand. Thanks in silence. Sorry, sir : trouble. Headshake. I know that. For yourselves just.
The mourners moved away slowly, without aim, by devious paths, staying awhile to read a name on a tomb.
— Let us go round by the chief’s grave, Hynes said. We have time.
— Let us, Mr Power said.
They turned to the right, following their slow thoughts. With awe Mr Power’s blank voice spoke :
— Some say he is not in that grave at all. That the coffin was filled with stones. That one day he will come again.
Hynes shook his head.
— Parnell will never come again, he said. He’s there, all that was mortal of him. Peace to his ashes.
Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland’s hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does anybody really? Plant him and have done with him. Like down a coalshoot. Then lump them together
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 109

to save time. All souls’ day. Twentyseventh I’ll be at his grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of weeds. Old man himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping. Near death’s door. Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it of their own accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked the bucket. More interesting if they told you what they were. So and so, wheelwright. I travelled for cork lino. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a woman’s with her saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country churchyard it ought to be that poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Entered into rest the protestants put it. Old Dr Murren’s. The great physician called him home. Well it’s God’s acre for them. Nice country residence. Newly plastered and painted. Ideal spot to have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. Marriage ads they never try to beautify. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. Better value that for the money. Still, the flowers are more poetical. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. Expresses nothing. Immortelles.
A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. Like stuffed. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Hu! Not a budge out of him. Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him. Dead animal even sadder. Silly- Milly burying the little dead bird in the kitchen matchbox, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the grave.
The Sacred Heart that is : showing it. Heart on his sleeve. Ought to be sideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. Ireland was dedic- ated to it or whatever that. Seems anything but pleased. Why this infliction? Would birds come then and peck like the boy with the basket of fruit but he said no because they ought to have been afraid of the boy. Apollo that was.
How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful departed. As you are now so once were we.
Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well, the voice, yes : gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in the house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeragain hellohello amarawf kopthsth. Remind you of the voice like the photograph reminds you of the face. Otherwise you couldn’t remember the face after fifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that died when I was in Wisdom Hely’s.
Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop.
He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait. There he goes.
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 389

clapping on the table so as to evoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old Glory Allelujurum was round again today, an elderly man with dundrearies, preferring through his nose a request to have word of Wilhelmina, my life, as he calls her. I bade him hold himself in readiness for that the event would burst anon. 'Slife, I'll be round with you. I cannot but extol the virile potency of the old bucko that could still knock another child out of her. All fell to praising of it, each after his own fashion, though the same young blade held with his former view that another than her conjugial had been the man in the gap, a clerk in orders, a linkboy (virtuous) or an itinerant vendor of articles needed in every household. Singular, communed the guest with himself, the wonderfully unequal faculty of metempsychosis possessed by them, that the puerperal dormitory and the dissecting theatre should be the seminaries of such frivolity, that the mere acquisition of academic titles should suffice to transform in a pinch of time these votaries of levity into exemplary practitioners of an art which most men anywise eminent have esteemed the noblest. But, he further added, it is mayhap to relieve the pentup feelings that in common oppress them for I have more than once observed that birds of a feather laugh together.
But with what fitness, let it be asked of the noble lord, his patron, has this alien, whom the concession of a gracious prince has admitted to civil rights, constituted himself the lord paramount of our internal polity? Where is now that gratitude which loyalty should have counselled? During the recent war whenever the enemy had a temporary advantage with his granados did this traitor to his kind not seize that moment to discharge his piece against the empire of which he is a tenant at will while he trembled for the security of his four per cents? Has he forgotten this as he forgets all benefits received? Or is it that from being a deluder of others he has become at last his own dupe as he is, if report belie him not, his own and his only enjoyer? Far be it from candour to violate the bedchamber of a respectable lady, the daughter of a gallant major, or to cast the most distant reflections upon her virtue but if he challenges attention there (as it was indeed highly his interest not to have done) then be it so. Unhappy woman, she has been too long and too persistently denied her legitimate prerogative to listen to his objurgations with any other feeling than the derision of the desperate. He says this, a censor of morals, a very pelican in his piety, who did not scruple, oblivious of the ties of nature, to attempt illicit intercourse with a female domestic drawn from the lowest strata of society! Nay, had the hussy's scouringbrush not been her tutelary angel it had gone with her as hard as with
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/My Nannie O

SONG.
Tune—My Nannie, O.
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Tam Samson's Elegy

TAM SAMSON's ELEGY.
An honest man's the noblest work of God.—Pope.
* ↑ When this worthy old Sportsman went out last Muirfowl Season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields," and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the Muirs. On this hint, the Author composed his Elegy and Epitaph.
* ↑ A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the Million. Vide the Ordination, p. 72.
* ↑ Another Preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who were at that time ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, Stanza ix.
* ↑ Killie is a phrase the country-folk sometimes use for the name of a town in the West.
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/John Barleycorn

SONGS.
John Barleycorn.
A BALLAD.
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Poor Mailie's Elegy

Poor Mailie's Elegy.
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Holy Willie's Prayer

Holy Willie's Prayer.
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Man was Made to Mourn

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.
A DIRGE.
$\scriptstyle {\underbrace {\quad \quad \quad } }$
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Scotch Drink

SCOTCH DRINK.
$\scriptstyle {\overbrace {\quad \quad \quad \quad \quad } }$/$\scriptstyle {\underbrace {\quad \quad \quad \quad \quad } }$
# The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Stanzas on the same Occasion

STANZAS
ON THE SAME OCCASION.
# Switchmen's Union of North America v. National Mediation Board

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
320 U.S. 297
Switchmen's Union of North America v. National Mediation Board
Argued: Oct. 15, 1943. --- Decided: Nov 22, 1943
Mr. Donald R. Richberg, of Washington, D.C., for petitioners.
Mr. Robert L. Stern, of Washington, D.C., for respondents National Mediation Board et al.
Mr. Bernard M. Savage, of Baltimore, Md., for respondent Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen.
Mr. Justice DOUGLAS 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
# Swope v. Leffingwell/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
105 U.S. 3
Swope v. Leffingwell
We have jurisdiction of this case. The motion to dismiss is, therefore, denied; but as the only Federal question presented on the merits was decided by the court below in accordance with our rulings in National Bank v. Matthews (98 U.S. 621) and National Bank v. Whitney (103 id. 99), the motion to affirm is
Granted.

## 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
# Switzerland Cheese Association, Inc. v. E. Horne's Market, Inc.

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

## Concurring Opinion

    Stewart
United States Supreme Court
385 U.S. 23
Switzerland Cheese Association, Inc. v. E. Horne's Market, Inc.
Argued: Oct. 17, 1966. --- Decided: Nov 7, 1966
David Toren (John J. Mc.Glew and Alfred E. Page, on the briefs), for petitioners.
Harold E. Cole, for respondent.
Mr. Justice DOUGLAS 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
# Switzerland Cheese Association, Inc. v. E. Horne's Market, Inc./Concurrence Stewart

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
* Concurring Opinion Stewart
United States Supreme Court
385 U.S. 23
Switzerland Cheese Association, Inc. v. E. Horne's Market, Inc.
Argued: Oct. 17, 1966. --- Decided: Nov 7, 1966
Mr. Justice STEWART concurs in the result.

## 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