OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Wife No. 19/Chapter 33
### CHAPTER XXXIII.
#### THE DEAD WIVES OF THE PROPHET. — HE NEVER WAS KNOWN TO SHED A TEAR.

* The Discarded Favorite.
* The Story of Emmeline Free.
* A Stupendous Humbug.
* A "Free" Opinion of Mormonism.
* Amelia comes upon the Scene.
* How Brigham Insulted Emmeline Free.
* Brigham is Ashamed of his Cowardice.
* I tell him a little of my Mind.
* Joseph A. expresses his Opinion.
* Apologizes for his Father.
* Death of Emmeline Free.
* The Story of Clara Chase.
* The Prophet's Maniac Wife.
* Ellen Rockwood, and the Cause of her Neglect.
* A Wife who was visited once in Six Months.
* Margaret Alley.
* How the Prophet treated his Dead Wife.
* He steals her Children's Property.
* How he Scandalized another Wife, and sent her Home.
* He "Never shed a tear at a Wife's Death.
A Little Conversation with Brigham.OR many years the favored wife, the one who ruled over her husband, and reigned in the family, was Emmeline Free. The Prophet married her when she was quite young, having first to overrule the objections of her parents, who, although Mormons, were much opposed to polygamy. She was a willing convert, for she had been taught that Brigham Young was a near approach to divinity, and she had unbounded reverence for him; and the child, — for she was ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/527 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/528 ​"Yes; she came this morning. Brother Young went to the depot to meet her."
"Then he must have known she was coming. Can I never go any where without having her thrust in my face? I thought for once I should be spared the infliction."
She took off her things, and I laid mine aside, too, and in place of going to the grand conference meeting and listening to "our" husband's eloquence, we had a conference Waiting for Brigham to keep his Promise. of our own, and that morning I came nearer to Emmeline's heart than I ever had before. She talked to me unreservedly and unrestrainedly, and told me events in her history that were full of thrilling interest, but which were given me in confidence, and which I cannot give again to the world. I think the dead eyes would haunt me for ever, and the dead lips would move in ghostly reproach if I betrayed her even now. Dear, loving heart, that beat ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/530 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/531 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/532 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/533 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/534 ​daughter, and, in their hearts, I believe they did; yet they dared not dispute Brigham. They took the poor, heartbroken girl home, and she fairly pined to death under the disgrace that her husband tried to attach to her name.
Besides those wives whom I have already mentioned, there have been very many more who have been married to The Disgraced Wife. him "for eternity." I should be sorry even to guess their numbers. There was also one wife, who, during "Reformation" times, was said to have "run away to California" [a thousand miles away through an uninhabited country, and before the era of railways in the West]; but it was whispered ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/536
# Krilof and His Fables/Preface to the Third Edition

Preface to the Third Edition
The first edition of this translation of Krilof contained ninety-three Fables; in the present edition I have given fifty-five more. The work as it now stands contains all Krilof's original Fables, with the exception of about half a dozen. The latter I have omitted for the reason which induced me to pass over the greater part of the "Morals." It is sometimes better to leave verses alone than to turn them into prose. The imitations of Æsop and La Fontaine, also, I have not yet attempted, their chief merit being one of form, of which no prose version can give any idea.
December, 1870.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1915

The Conservative
Edited By H.P. Lovecraft
The Conservative desires to apologize for any errors in proofreading which may be found in this issue. Circumstances necessitated a change of printer at the last moment, and an already great delay rendered haste a prime essential.
Edited By H.P. Lovecraft
Contents
* The Simple Speller's Tale
* The Crime of the Century
* Editorial
* Introducing Mr. Chester Pierce Munroe
* In the Editor's Study
* The Morris Faction
* For President - Leo Fritter
* The Question of the Day
The Conservative
Edited by H.P.Lovecraft in the interests of the United Amateur Press Association of America
Office of publication, 598 Angell Street, Providence, R.I., U.S.A.
Sent gratis to all amateur journalists who may desire it
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1915/The Simple Speller's Tale

The Simple Speller's Tale
(Translated into English)
When first among the amateurs I fell, I blush'd in shame because I could not spell. Though skill'd in numbers, and at ease in prose, My letters I could never well dispose. Thoughts came abundant, language was the same; Yet none the less I scarce could spell my name! The kindly printer (with an eye for trade) A clumsy care for all my work display'd; Indiff'rent as I was, I used his art Till critics cry'd, "My printer should be shot"! Thus boldly censur'd, I began to seek A means to thwart the rude reviewers' clique: My fever'd eye in rage I cast around, When all at once the wish'd-for plan I found. It happen'd on a summer's holiday, That past a mad-house gate I took my way. Within the bedlam was a sage confin'd, Who had from too much study lost his mind. Now strolling out, in watchful keeper's care, With childish sounds the madman fill'd the air. Still dreaming of his letter'd days of yore, His ravings on remember'd subjects bore: Dim came the thoughts of what he us'd to teach, And he began to curse our English speech. "Aha"! quoth he, "the men that made our tongue "Were arrant rogues, and I shall have them hung. "For long establish'd custom what care we? "Come, let us tear down etymology. "Let spelling fly, and naught but sound remain; "The world is mad, and I alone am sane!" Thus rav'd the sage; inventing, as he walk'd,
A hundred ways to spell our words as talk'd. He simplify'd until his fancy bred A system quite as simple as his head. In scholarship disastrous change he wrought, And alter'd, as he went, for want of thought. But I, attentive, heard with joyful ear The wild distortions, and perversions queer. Why could not I defend my ill-spell'd page In progress' name, and with reformer's rage? With hope renew'd, I hastened home to write, And passing wondrous was my work that night; For classic purity I sought no more, But strove to make worse blunders than before. O fickle fortune! In a week my name From scholars' praise attain'd immortal fame, Whilst other scribes with vague orthography Seiz'd on the clever ruse, and copy'd me. Today in ev'ry "Skateville Amateur" Amorphous letters pass as language pure, And when some pompous pedant dares to raise A voice remonstrant 'gainst our foolish ways, We never fail the apt retort to give, But damn him as a blind Conservative.
Yet why on us your angry hand or wrath use? We do but ape Professor B—— M—— !
- H. P. L.
# To Phillis, to Love and Live With Him

This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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Live, live with me, and thou shalt see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board. The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed, With crawling woodbine over-spread: By which the silver-shedding streams Shall gently melt thee into dreams. Thy clothing next, shall be a gown Made of the fleeces' purest down. The tongues of kids shall be thy meat; Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat The paste of filberts for thy bread With cream of cowslips buttered: Thy feasting-table shall be hills With daisies spread, and daffadils; Where thou shalt sit, and Red-breast by, For meat, shall give thee melody. I'll give thee chains and carcanets Of primroses and violets. A bag and bottle thou shalt have, That richly wrought, and this as brave; So that as either shall express The wearer's no mean shepherdess. At shearing-times, and yearly wakes, When Themilis his pastime makes, There thou shalt be; and be the wit, Nay more, the feast, and grace of it. On holydays, when virgins meet To dance the heys with nimble feet, Thou shalt come forth, and then appear The Queen of Roses for that year. And having danced ('bove all the best) Carry the garland from the rest, In wicker-baskets maids shall bring To thee, my dearest shepherdling, The blushing apple, bashful pear, And shame-faced plum, all simp'ring there. Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find The name of Phillis in the rind Of every straight and smooth-skin tree; Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee. To thee a sheep-hook I will send, Be-prank'd with ribbands, to this end, This, this alluring hook might be Less for to catch a sheep, than me. Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine, Not made of ale, but spiced wine; To make thy maids and self free mirth, All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth. Thou shalt have ribbands, roses, rings, Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings Of winning colours, that shall move Others to lust, but me to love. --These, nay, and more, thine own shall be, If thou wilt love, and live with me.
# To My Friend on the Death of His Sister

Sophia Sturge, sister of Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the 6th month, 1845. She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever-ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. The Birmingham Pilot says of her: "Never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beautifully blended than in this excellent woman."
Thine is a grief, the depth of which another May never know; Yet, o'er the waters, O my stricken brother! To thee I go.
I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding Thy hand in mine; With even the weakness of my soul upholding The strength of thine.
I never knew, like thee, the dear departed; I stood not by When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted Lay down to die.
And on thy ears my words of weak condoling Must vainly fall The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling, Sounds over all!
I will not mock thee with the poor world's common And heartless phrase, Nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman With idle praise.
With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!
Yet, would I say what thy own heart approveth Our Father's will, Calling to Him the dear one whom He loveth, Is mercy still.
Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel Hath evil wrought Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel,-- The good die not!
God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He hath given; They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in His heaven.
And she is with thee; in thy path of trial She walketh yet; Still with the baptism of thy self-denial Her locks are wet.
Up, then, my brother! Lo, the fields of harvest Lie white in view She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest To both is true.
Thrust in thy sickle! England's toilworn peasants Thy call abide; And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, Shall glean beside!
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# To ---- Lines Written After a Summer Day's Excursion

Fair Nature's priestesses! to whom, In hieroglyph of bud and bloom, Her mysteries are told; Who, wise in lore of wood and mead, The seasons' pictured scrolls can read, In lessons manifold!
Thanks for the courtesy, and gay Good-humor, which on Washing Day Our ill-timed visit bore; Thanks for your graceful oars, which broke The morning dreams of Artichoke, Along his wooded shore!
Varied as varying Nature's ways, Sprites of the river, woodland fays, Or mountain nymphs, ye seem; Free-limbed Dianas on the green, Loch Katrine's Ellen, or Undine, Upon your favorite stream.
The forms of which the poets told, The fair benignities of old, Were doubtless such as you; What more than Artichoke the rill Of Helicon? Than Pipe-stave hill Arcadia's mountain-view?
No sweeter bowers the bee delayed, In wild Hymettus' scented shade, Than those you dwell among; Snow-flowered azaleas, intertwined With roses, over banks inclined With trembling harebells hung!
A charmed life unknown to death, Immortal freshness Nature hath; Her fabled fount and glen Are now and here: Dodona's shrine Still murmurs in the wind-swept pine,-- All is that e'er hath been.
The Beauty which old Greece or Rome Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home; We need but eye and ear In all our daily walks to trace The outlines of incarnate grace, The hymns of gods to hear!
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# Wife No. 19/Chapter 35
### CHAPTER XXXV.
#### BRIGHAM AS A FARMER. — MY NEW HOUSE. — TAKING BOARDERS.

* One Year after Marriage.
* Life at the Farm.
* House-keeping Extraordinary.
* Bread and Milk Dinners.
* Brigham Tries to Catch us Napping.
* Hours of Labor.
* Dejection.
* My New House.
* Parlor Stairs.
* "Wells Wanted."
* My Mother receives Notice to Quit.
* My Elder Brother Pays her Board.
* Failing Faith.
* Taking Boarders.
* The Prophet's Contemptible Meanness.
* Brigham's Neglect.
* Rev. Mr. Stratton.
* I open my Heart.
* The New Religion.
* Woman's Sphere.
* First Glimpses of the Outer World.
* Forming Resolutions.
Toiling for Brigham.FTER we had been married a year, Brigham decided that I should go to "The Farm" to live. He has several farms among his landed possessions, but this one, which supplies the Salt Lake City family with milk, butter, cheese, and vegetables, is always spoken of as "The Farm." It is about four miles from the city, within pleasant driving distance, but is by no means a desirable place of residence.
Every one of the wives who had been compelled to live there had become confirmed invalids before they left the place, broken down by overwork; and the prospect was not a pleasant one to me, never strong, and unused to hard, continuous labor, such as I knew I should be obliged to ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/555 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/556 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/557 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/558 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/559 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/560 ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/561 ​Stratton expressed a wish to see me again, and to have his wife meet me. I was struck by his very manner of speaking of her. I had never heard a woman referred to in so deferential a tone before, and I wondered at it.
As the days went by, I grew more miserable, and longed inexpressibly for the comfort, which neither my people nor their religion — for it had ceased to be mine — could give me. I remembered Mr. Stratton's kindly words, and I ventured to send him a message by Mr. Graham, one of my boarders, asking if I might see him and his wife, and talk with them.
An urgent invitation to visit them came by way of speedy Relating my Story to Mr. and Mrs. Stratton. reply; and in response, I spent an entire afternoon at their house. They received me so cordially that my heart went out in love toward them at once. I talked to them unreservedly, and opened my soul to them. I told them of my childhood, my religious training, my unhappy domestic experience, and all the occurrences of my marriage to Brigham Young. They listened with earnest sympathy, and when I finished my story were overflowing with words of pity and consolation. I shall never forget them in my life. They were the sweetest words which had ever been spoken to me, for they helped me to see the way out of bondage.
It was the first glimpse I had ever had of domestic life outside of polygamy, and the deference which the husband showed to the wife, the confidence she displayed in him, ​Page:Wife No 19.djvu/563
# Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology/Aristeas 1.

​ARI'STEAS (Ἀριστέας), of Proconnesus, a son of Caystrobius or Demochares, was an epic poet, who flourished, according to Suidas, about the time of Croesus and Cyrus. The accounts of his life are as fabulous as those about Abaris the Hyperborean. According to a tradition, which Herodotus (iv. 15) heard at Metapontum, in southern Italy, he re-appeared there among the living 340 years after his death, and according to this tradition Aristeas would belong to the eighth or ninth century before the Christian era; and there are ​other traditions which place him before the time of Homer, or describe him as a contemporary and teacher of Homer. (Strab. xiv. p. 639.) In the account of Herodotus (iv. 13–16), Tzetzes (Chil. ii. 724, &c.) and Suidas (s.v.), Aristeas was a magician, who rose after his death, and whose soul could leave and re-enter its body according to its pleasure. He was, like Abaris, connected with the worship of Apollo, which he was said to have introduced at Metapontum. Herodotus calls him the favourite and inspired bard of Apollo (φοιβόλαμπτος). He is said to have travelled through the countries north and east of the Euxine, and to have visited the countries of the Issedones, Arimaspae, Cimmerii, Hyperborei, and other mythical nations, and after his return to have written an epic poem, in three books, called τὰ Ἀριμάσπεια, in which he seems to have described all that he had seen or pretended to have seen. This work, which was unquestionably full of marvellous stories, was nevertheless looked upon as a source of historical and geographical information, and some writers reckoned Aristeas among the logographers. But it was nevertheless a poetical production, and Strabo (i. p. 21, xiii. p. 589) seems to judge too harshly of him, when he calls him an ἀνὴρ γόης εἴ τις ἄλλος. The poem “Arimaspeia” is frequently mentioned by the ancients (Paus. i. 24. § 6, v. 7. § 9; Pollux, ix. 5; Gellius, ix. 4; Plin. H. N. vii. 2), and thirteen hexameter verses of it are preserved in Longinus (De Sublim. x. 4) and Tzetzes (Chil. vii. 686, &c.). The existence of the poem is thus attested beyond all doubt; but the ancients themselves denied to Aristeas the authorship of it. (Dionys. Hal. Jud. de Thucyd. 23.) It seems to have fallen into oblivion at an early period. Suidas also mentions a theogony of Aristeas, in prose, of which, however, nothing is known. (Vossius, De Hist. Graec. p. 10, &c. ed. Westermann; Bode, Gesch. der Episch. Dichtk. pp. 472–478.)[L. S.]
# To the Reformers of England

This poem was addressed to those who like Richard Cobden and John Bright were seeking the reform of political evils in Great Britain by peaceful and Christian means. It will be remembered that the Anti-Corn Law League was in the midst of its labors at this time.
God bless ye, brothers! in the fight Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail, For better is your sense of right Than king-craft's triple mail.
Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban, More mighty is your simplest word; The free heart of an honest man Than crosier or the sword.
Go, let your blinded Church rehearse The lesson it has learned so well; It moves not with its prayer or curse The gates of heaven or hell.
Let the State scaffold rise again; Did Freedom die when Russell died? Forget ye how the blood of Vane From earth's green bosom cried?
The great hearts of your olden time Are beating with you, full and strong; All holy memories and sublime And glorious round ye throng.
The bluff, bold men of Runnymede Are with ye still in times like these; The shades of England's mighty dead, Your cloud of witnesses!
The truths ye urge are borne abroad By every wind and every tide; The voice of Nature and of God Speaks out upon your side.
The weapons which your hands have found Are those which Heaven itself has wrought, Light, Truth, and Love; your battle-ground The free, broad field of Thought.
No partial, selfish purpose breaks The simple beauty of your plan, Nor lie from throne or altar shakes Your steady faith in man.
The languid pulse of England starts And bounds beneath your words of power, The beating of her million hearts Is with you at this hour!
O ye who, with undoubting eyes, Through present cloud and gathering storm, Behold the span of Freedom's skies, And sunshine soft and warm;
Press bravely onward! not in vain Your generous trust in human-kind; The good which bloodshed could not gain Your peaceful zeal shall find.
Press on! the triumph shall be won Of common rights and equal laws, The glorious dream of Harrington, And Sidney's good old cause.
Blessing the cotter and the crown, Sweetening worn Labor's bitter cup; And, plucking not the highest down, Lifting the lowest up.
Press on! and we who may not share The toil or glory of your fight May ask, at least, in earnest prayer, God's blessing on the right!
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# To Avis Keene

ON RECEIVING A BASKET OF SEA-MOSSES.
Thanks for thy gift Of ocean flowers, Born where the golden drift Of the slant sunshine falls Down the green, tremulous walls Of water, to the cool, still coral bowers, Where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, God's gardens of the deep His patient angels keep; Gladdening the dim, strange solitude With fairest forms and hues, and thus Forever teaching us The lesson which the many-colored skies, The flowers, and leaves, and painted butterflies, The deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that flings The tropic sunshine from its golden wings, The brightness of the human countenance, Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, Forevermore repeat, In varied tones and sweet, That beauty, in and of itself, is good.
O kind and generous friend, o'er whom The sunset hues of Time are cast, Painting, upon the overpast And scattered clouds of noonday sorrow The promise of a fairer morrow, An earnest of the better life to come; The binding of the spirit broken, The warning to the erring spoken, The comfort of the sad, The eye to see, the hand to cull Of common things the beautiful, The absent heart made glad By simple gift or graceful token Of love it needs as daily food, All own one Source, and all are good Hence, tracking sunny cove and reach, Where spent waves glimmer up the beach, And toss their gifts of weed and shell From foamy curve and combing swell, No unbefitting task was thine To weave these flowers so soft and fair In unison with His design Who loveth beauty everywhere; And makes in every zone and clime, In ocean and in upper air, All things beautiful in their time.
For not alone in tones of awe and power He speaks to Inan; The cloudy horror of the thunder-shower His rainbows span; And where the caravan Winds o'er the desert, leaving, as in air The crane-flock leaves, no trace of passage there, He gives the weary eye The palm-leaf shadow for the hot noon hours, And on its branches dry Calls out the acacia's flowers; And where the dark shaft pierces down Beneath the mountain roots, Seen by the miner's lamp alone, The star-like crystal shoots; So, where, the winds and waves below, The coral-branched gardens grow, His climbing weeds and mosses show, Like foliage, on each stony bough, Of varied hues more strangely gay Than forest leaves in autumn's day;-- Thus evermore, On sky, and wave, and shore, An all-pervading beauty seems to say God's love and power are one; and they, Who, like the thunder of a sultry day, Smite to restore, And they, who, like the gentle wind, uplift The petals of the dew-wet flowers, and drift Their perfume on the air, Alike may serve Him, each, with their own gift, Making their lives a prayer!
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology/Aristeas 3.

​2. Of Chios, a distinguished officer in the retreat of the Ten Thousand. (Xen. Anab. iv. 1. § 28, vi. § 20.)
# Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology/Aristeas 4.

​3. Of Stratonice, was the victor at the Olympic games in wrestling and the pancratium on the same day, Ol. 191. (Paus. v. 21. § 5; Krause, Olympia, p. 249.)