OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Times/1927/Obituary/Francis Watt

* related portals: Obituaries.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Source: The Times, Thursday, Oct 6, 1927; Issue 44705; pg. 16 — Obituary. Mr. Francis Watt
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Obituary.
Mr. Francis Watt.
Mr. Francis Watt, barrister-at-law, died on Tuesday at Herne Hill, at the age of 78. He was one of the most genial and lovable men that ever spent the greater portion of his life in the precincts of the Temple. Born on September 20, 1849, at Haddington, where his father was Provost, he was educated at Edinburgh University and he took his degree with honours. At Edinburgh he became a friend of Robert Louis Stephenson, of whom he afterwards wrote a biography, which contains some interesting personal touches. After studying at Heidelberg, Watt entered at Gray's Inn, and was called in 1886, becoming also a member of the Middle Temple in 1898. He joined the South-Eastern Circuit, attended the Old Bailey, the Clerkenwell Sessions, as they were then called, and the Middlesex Sessions. A certain amount of practice came his way, but, though a sound lawyer, he did not excel in advocacy. At first he devoted a portion of his time at Wren's coaching students for admission to the Indian Civil Service, and in this he achieved no small success, with his profound knowledge of the classics, his insistence on the use of pure English, and his command of French, German, and Italian. In 1914 he was appointed one of the examiners of the High Court.
But writing was his true vocation, He was associated with Henley in the production of the National Observer, and afterwards he wrote on a variety of subjects for the principal newspapers. For some years during and after the war he served as deputy librarian of the Middle Temple. Among his books may be mentioned "The Law's Lumber Room," "Edinburgh and the Lothians," "Scotland of To-day" (with Mr. T. F. Henderson), A "Book of Edinburgh Anecdote," and "The Canterbury Pilgrims and their Ways." In 1924 he collaborated with Sir D. Plunket Barton and Mr. Charles Benham in a scholarly and attractive book, "The Story of Our Inns of Court." An artist in his words, master of the delicate fancy, loving the things of the past, a scholar who himself described his recreations as "Latin and walking," Watt was one of our last literary links with the 19th century. He leaves a widow and one daughter. The funeral will be at Haddington to-morrow at 3.15.
This work was published in 1927 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 96 years or less since publication.
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# The Times/1927/Public notice/Alexander Hastie Millar

Source: The Times, Tuesday, Mar 01, 1927; pg. 1; Issue 44518 — Death
Layout 2MILLAR.—On Feb. 27, 1927, at Dundee, Alexander Hastie Millar, LL.D., City Librarian.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1927/Obituary/Philip Henry Bagenal

* related portals: Obituaries.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Source: The Times, Thursday, Aug 11, 1927; Issue 44657; pg. 12 — Obituary. Mr. P. H. Bagenal.
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Mr. P. H. Bagenal
Mr. Philip Henry Bagenal, of Wimbledon, who died on Sunday, at the age of 77, was General Inspector of the old Local Government Board (now the Ministry of Health) from 1896 until his retirement in 1918. From 1890 to 1892 he was official private secretary to Mr. Henry Chaplin (afterwards Lord Chaplin), then President of the Board of Agriculture, with whom he went in the same capacity on Mr. Chaplin's appointment as President of the Local Government Board in 1895. During the entire period of the Great War Mr. Bagenal was employed on extra services by the Local Government Board in the care of Belgian refugees in the East and West Ridings of Yorkshire and in work connected with the establishment of military tribunals. For these services he was made O.B.E. Mr. Bagenal was the fourth and youngest son of Mr. Philip Bagenal, J.P., of Benekerry, Co. Carlow, and he was a barrister both of the Irish Bar and of the Inner Temple. In 1884 he married Hariot Jocelyn, daughter of the late Mr. Walter Hore, formerly of Kilmeany, Co. Carlow.
This work was published in 1927 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 96 years or less since publication.
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# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Through the Window

THROUGH THE WINDOW
Through the window Love looked in For an instant only, And behold!—a little maid In the silence lonely.
At his glance, her lily cheek Took the tint of roses, And her lips soft parted, like A bud that half uncloses.
Gentle tremors filled her breast, And her eyes grew tender With a something wistful that His presence seemed to lend her.
Ah, 't was strange! Love there looked in For an instant only, Yet the lass, so lone before, Seemed, methought, less lonely.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The White-Throated Sparrow

THE WHITE-THROATED SPARROW
"When the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows"
Would you feel the witching spell Of the whitethroat, listen! There are secrets he can tell Of the marsh, and of the dell Where the dewdrops glisten.
Poet of the brooding pine And the feathery larches, Dawn-lit summits seem to shine, Lucent in each throbbing line, Under azure arches.
All his soul a floating song,— Sweet, too sweet for sadness,— At his bidding, hither throng Memories that make us long With a plaintive gladness.
Ah, were all the woodland bare, Should those notes but quiver, Straight I 'd see it budding fair!— And the lilies would be there, Floating on the river!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Summer-Time is in the Rose

THE SUMMER-TIME IS IN THE ROSE
The summer-time is in the rose; 'T is but to breathe once more The perfume that its leaves enclose The summer to restore. But how should summer bloom for him Who must its rose resign? A winter, changeless in his heart, Repeats:—"Not mine!—not mine!"
Ah, sorrowful to give in vain— To love when hope is not! To cover with a smile the pain That will not be forgot! To journey to a living spring Of water, welling sweet,— To long as with a desert thirst, Yet turn away the feet!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Young Wife Speaks

This poem was not included in Mrs. Coates' collected Poems (1916, in 2 vols.).
THE YOUNG WIFE SPEAKS
Happiness is everywhere!— On the earth and in the air, With the bloom and with the bee, With the bird that wingeth free! Happiness is everywhere!— And it binds my heart to thee.
"Everywhere are pain and woe"? Ay, belovéd, that I know: None from grief is wholly free,— It doth even visit me! Yet to grief I something owe, For it closer binds to thee!
Laughter have we shared and tears,— Knowest thou which more endears? Tell me truly! I would be Wise indeed to choose, nor flee Aught in all the gift of years That would bind my heart to thee!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/They Told Me

THEY TOLD ME
They told me: "Pan is dead—Nature is dead: There is no God." I read The words of Socrates, and then I read Of Jesus; and I said:— "Divinity 's not dead!"
Good can nor poisoned be Nor slain upon a tree: The soul of good, escaping, still is free, And in its ministry Lives God eternally.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Poetry of Earth

THE POETRY OF EARTH
"The poetry of earth is never dead."—Keats.
There is always room for beauty: memory A myriad lovely blossoms may enclose, But, whatsoe'er hath been, there still must be Room for another rose.
Though skylark, throstle, whitethroat, whip-poor-will, And nightingale earth's echoing chantries throng, When comes another singer, there will be Room for another song.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Return of Proserpine

THE RETURN OF PROSERPINE
To welcome her the Mother wakes The myriad music of her rills, And trims the border of her lakes With sun-lit daffodils: Softly she counterpanes the leas, With primrose-bloom bedecks the vales, While answering her wooing gales, Come ruby-pied anemones; And as her wintry doubts depart, And brightening hopes foretell the morrow, Such happiness o'erflows her heart There's left no room for sorrow!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Song that is Forgot

THE SONG THAT IS FORGOT
Time, like to sand from out the glass, unceasing flows away; Then wherefore deem to-morrow more worth than yesterday? The fairest rose the future knows Time darkling will entomb With the rose that breathed in Persia, long since, its rare perfume.
If sands of time, effacing, flow, then what—ah, what of fame? Nothing is lost that blesses the hour to which it came; Nay, questioning heart, which gave it most the world itself knows not— The song that is remembered, the song that is forgot.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Tomb Said to the Rose—After the French of Victor Hugo

THE TOMB SAID TO THE ROSE
After the French of Victor Hugo.
The tomb said to the rose: —"With the tears thy leaves enclose, What makest thou, love's flower?" The rose said to the tomb: —"Ah, tell me of all those whom Death gives into thy power!"
The rose said:—"Tomb, 't is strange, But these tears of love I change Into perfumes amber sweet." The tomb said:—"Plaintive flower, Of these souls, I make each hour Angels, for heaven meet!"
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Unconquered Air

POEMS
THE UNCONQUERED AIR
I
Others endure Man's rule: he therefore deems I shall endure it—I, the unconquered Air! Imagines this triumphant strength may bear His paltry sway! yea, ignorantly dreams, Because proud Rhea now his vassal seems, And Neptune him obeys in billowy lair, That he a more sublime assault may dare, Where blown by tempest wild the vulture screams!
Presumptuous, he mounts: I toss his bones Back from the height supernal he has braved: Ay, as his vessel nears my perilous zones, I blow the cockle-shell away like chaff And give him to the Sea he has enslaved. He founders in its depths; and then I laugh!
II
Impregnable I held myself, secure Against intrusion. Who can measure Man? How should I guess his mortal will outran Defeat so far that danger could allure ​For its own sake?—that he would all endure, All sacrifice, all suffer, rather than Forego the daring dreams Olympian That prophesy to him of victory sure?
Ah, tameless courage!—dominating power That, all attempting, in a deathless hour Made earth-born Titans godlike, in revolt!— Fear is the fire that melts Icarian wings: Who fears nor Fate, nor Time, nor what Time brings, May drive Apollo's steeds, or wield the thunderbolt!
# The Times/1930/Public notice/Estate of Bernard Barham Woodward

Source: The Times, Tuesday, Dec 02, 1930; Issue 45685; pg. 4 — Legal notices
Layout 2 Re the Estate of BERNARD BARHAM WOODWARD deceased. Pursuant to the Trustee Act 1925, section twenty-seven. Notice is hereby given that all the CREDITORS and other person having any claims or demands against the estate of BERNARD BARHAM WOODWARD late of 4, Longfield Road, Ealing in the County of Middlesex. Retired Civil Servant, who died on the twenty seventh day of October 1930 and whose Will and Codicil were proved at the Principal Probate Registry on the twenty first day of November 1930 by Alfred Santer Kennard of 161 Mackenzie Road, Beckenham. Kent and Francis McNeil Rushforth of 21 Florence Road, Ealing, Middlesex the executors named in the said Will are hereby required to send the particulars in writing of their claims and demands to the undersigned the Solicitor for the said executors on or before the ninth day of February 1931, after which date the said executors will proceed to distribute the assets of the said Deceased amongst the person entitled thereto having regard only to the claims and demands of which they shall then have had notice and will not be liable for the assets of the Deceased or any part thereof so distributed to any persons of whose claims or demands they shall not then have had any notice.
    Dated this 24th day of November, 1930.
F. McNEIL RUSHWORTH, 21, Florence Road. Ealing. W.5. Solicitor to the said Executors
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1931

Content exists for this periodical, though at this stage it is not specifically organised beyond a basic hierarchy.
The pages listed below are an automatically generated listing.
Special:PrefixIndex/The Times/1931/
# The Times/1930/Public notice/Bernard Barham Woodward

Source: The Times, Thursday, Oct 30, 1930; Issue 45657; pg. 1 — Deaths
Layout 2 WOODWARD. On Oct. 27, 1930, Bernard Barham Woodward, F.L.S., F.G.S., F.R.M.S., of 4, Longfield-road, Ealing, formerly Librarian, British Museum (Natural History) aged 77. Funeral at London Necropolis, Brookwood, to-morrow (Friday). Train leaves Necropolis Station, Waterloo, 11.40 a.m.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1931/News/Mr. Gandhi's Speech: No Desire to Obstruct

About Mohandas K. Gandhi's works. File:The Times, Wednesday, Sep 16, 1931, pg. 14, Issue 45929, col C.png
The expressions of satisfaction at Monday's sitting of the Federal Structure Committee at St. James's Palace at the presence in London of Mr. Gandhi as a delegate to the Round-Table Conference were renewed by speakers yesterday with greater emphasis after hearing him open the morning's discussion.
# The Times/1930/Public notice/Edmund Spenser Bouchier

Source: The Times, Tuesday, Jun 03, 1930; pg. 1; Issue 45529; col A — Deaths
Layout 2 BOUCHIER.—On June 1, 1930, suddenly, at 3, Winchester-road, Oxford, Edmund Spenser Bouchier, M.A., Fell. R. Hist. Soc., aged 53, only child of the late J. Bouchier, Esq., H.M. Treasury, and the late Martha Emma Bouchier, daughter of the late Dr. James Johnson Baines, of Ludlow and Guernsey. Funeral Wolvercote, Thursday, 2.30.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1930/Public notice/William Francis Wallis

William Francis Wallis (1856-1930) Source: The Times, Tuesday, Jan 21, 1930; Issue 45416; pg. 1; col B — Deaths
Layout 2 WALLIS.—On Jan. 19, 1930, at "The Keep", Thurnham, William Francis Wallis, J.P., aged 73. Funeral Maidstone Cemetery, to-morrow (Wednesday), at 2.30 p.m.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
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# The Times/1931/News/Death of Professor Hewins

Source: The Times, Tuesday, Nov 17, 1931; Issue 45982; pg. 14 — Death Of Professor Hewins
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Death of Professor Hewins
Professor W. A. S. Hewins, the economist, died suddenly last night at his home in Chester-square, London. Professor Hewins, who was educated at Wolverhampton and Pembroke College, Oxford, sat as M.P. for Hereford Division from 1912 to 1918. He served as Under-Secretary for the Colonies in Mr. Lloyd George's first Coalition Government during the War, and was at one time Secretary and later Chairman of the Tariff Commission. He was also a director of the London School of Economics from 1895 to 1903, and teacher of modern economic history in the University of London.
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 92 years or less since publication.
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.
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# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Our Babies

Our Babies.
Willie and Annie, our two pretty babes, Our dear household angels, we love them so well; Brown eyes and blue, so merry and glad, Which is the dearest, ’tis hard for to tell. Dear little Nan with the nut-brown curls And bonnie brown eyes, so tender and true, Willie with locks of the sunniest gold And eyes like a bit of Heaven’s own blue.
When dear, little Willie climbs up on my knee, And gazes so lovingly into my face, I think the wide world can hold nothing more dear Than our bonnie, wee lad, with his sweet baby ways. While Nan with her tricks drives us all nearly wild, And we try, all in vain, to make her “be good,” But I know as I clasp the sweet rogue to my heart, We would not have her otherwise e’en if we could.
O, innocent babies! so pure and so fair, You must soon wander forth in the world’s busy strife, And the dimpled, white hands will be wounded and torn, For thorns ever lurk ’neath the roses of life. God guard you, and keep you, my innocent ones; May the sad tears of pain never dim your bright eyes. The pathway before you seems cloudless and fair, God grant that no sorrow may darken the skies.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Rest

Rest.
“I am so tired,” a weary woman said, And on her pillow laid her aching head; “I have been toiling hard through all the day, Dear Lord, I am so tired I cannot pray, My brain is throbbing, and my eyes are dim, And all my tired senses seem to swim; Since Life holds naught for me but toil and pain, Would I might sleep and never wake again.” And as she on her pillow lay and wept Sweet sleep descended on her and she slept.
And in the silent hour of midnight gloom An angel softly stole into the room, And gliding noiselessly unto the bed, Laid its light hand upon the sleeper’s head. The woman woke and marveled at the sight, For all the room was filled with radiant light. Then, as the angel bent and kissed her brow, She murmured softly, “Tell me who art thou?” Then as the angel clasped her to its breast She cried: “I know thee now, thy name is Rest.”
And in the morn they came and found her there, Her pale, worn features rendered calm and fair, Beneath the wondrous majesty of Death, And as they gazed on her with bated breath, They marveled at the beauty and the grace That rested on the sleeper’s peaceful face. And then they robed her form in garments fair, And from her brow they brushed the soft, brown hair, And crossed her toil-worn hands upon her breast And so she slept in sweet, eternal rest.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Some Day

Some Day.
Some day when I have conned the page of pain So closely that no lesson will remain For me to learn, and when my lips have quaffed Unto the dregs, pale sorrow’s bitter druaght, Then will this troubled heart, so sorely tried, From earthly eare and tormoil find release And death will grant me all that life denied, Best and oblivion and unbroken peace.
Oh! longed-for hour, when I shall calmly rest With idle hands crossed over pulseless breast All peacefully within my narrow bed, Unheeding those who weep above my head, But, Ah! They would not weep if they could know How gladly I shall welcome death, and so Whene’er my sobbing heart makes moan, I say Hush, hush my heart, the time will come some day.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Soul and Mind

Soul and Mind.
Here at the glass I stand and wait To meet that cold, proud gaze of thine, Some questions I would put to thee, So answer true, Soul of mine!
Lift up those clear, calm eyes to mine, Calm eyes that search me thro’ and thro’, And listen while I question thee, O Soul of mine, and answer true.
Life is so full of mysteries That are not understood by men. So full of problems yet unsolved, Too deep and vast for human ken.
Mine eyes, earth-blinded, vainly strive To read each wondrous mystery, But thou art heaven-born, they say, O Soul! It must be plain to thee.
Then tell me, was it worth my while To live thro’ all those dull, gray years, With scarce a ray of joy or light To lift the clouds of grief and tears.
When as a child I knew no wrong, And hope within my heart beat high, When faith in human kind was strong, Soul! Were it not best to die?
When Love’s sweet magic thrilled my soul, And Life a paradise did seem, Soul! Were it not best to die Than live to find it all a dream?
And when I tried to reach the goal Upon the heights so far above, Another passed me in the race And won the prize for which I strove.
And as I watched my fair hopes die, My heart grew cold and hard as stone. Then balked Ambition vanquished Faith, Whilst cruel Doubt usurped her throne.
O Soul! Thou knowest how I tried To keep my faith in God and man, But every hope was swept from me. Why was it? Answer, if you can.
Soul! Is there joy enough in Heaven To make amends for human woe? Can all eternity atone For what we suffer here below!
The preacher bids us kiss the rod, And bow our heads to Heaven’s decree, Says Sorrow is the lot of man; But tell me, Soul! Why must it be?
Nay, gaze not with accusing eyes, Mine eyes can stare as well as thine, Those questions I have put to thee, Thou can’st not answer, Soul of mine!
A clear, sweet voice stole on my ear, A voice of wondrous melody, As from the mirror’s crystal depths My Soul looked out and answered me.
I cannot tell you what she said, For words of mine are all too weak; It was no language of this earth In which my Soul to me did speak.
Oh! Wondrous were the words she spake, Wisdom and Truth, sublime and grand! They hushed my mind’s wild questioning And fell upon my heart like balm.
Her eyes met mine with steadfast gaze, Until, abashed, I gazed no more, But knelt before my God, and prayed As I had never prayed before.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/St. Valentine’s Eve

St. Valentine’s Eve.
“Good St. Valentine, listen to me, Good St. Valentine, let me see Who my future love will be?”
—Old Rhyme.
I was all alone at the window On the eve of St. Valentine’s day, And the moon shed a soft, silver lustre, O’er the earth clad in snowy array.
And I hope, dear, you’ll not think me foolish When you hear what I have to tell, But sitting alone in the moonlight I thought of the old love-spell.
They say if you stand in the moonlight And pray to St. Valentine For a glimpse of your future lover In the words of a quaint, old rhyme,
That the good Saint never refuses To answer a prayer sincere, And the form of the one who loves you That night in your dreams will appear.
So I thought if he listened to others He might answer a prayer of mine, For you know he’s the friend of lovers, This dear old Saint Valentine.
But I fear I’m a bit of sceptic, For I hadn’t much faith in the charm, Still I thought to myself, “I will try it, As it surely can do no harm.”
And the moon shed its glories around me As I whispered the quaint old rhyme, And of course, dear, I need not tell you I was thinking of you all the time.
Oh! I whispered it ever so softly For fear I might be overheard, But the moon and the stars seemed to listen And I know that they caught every word.
And I fancied the moon was smiling And the stars seemed to laugh overhead, And I felt half ashamed of my folly As I silently crept to my bed.
But, dear, I awoke in the morning Convinced that the charm was true, And I know that the good Saint heard me, For, darling, I dreamed of you.