OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Jersey Journal/1958/Weekend Bride

* related portals: James Joseph Norton II.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, travel guide, Wikidata item.
James Joseph Norton II (1929-2011) and Janet Powell in the Jersey Journal on June 30, 1958.
Weekend Bride. Mrs. James Norton (Janet Powell) daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Powell of 808 Edgewater Avenue, Ridgefield, was wed at St. Matthew's. The bridegroom is the son of Mr. an Mrs. Thomas Norton of 603 Garfield Avenue, Jersey City. The couple left for a honeymoon in Bermuda. They will live in Ridgefield. (Craftsman Photo.)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
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.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Folly and Fashion of the Present Time (1802, Glasgow)/A Trip to Botany Bay

A TRIP TO BOTANY BAY.
COME,come my lads, for we must away,
Bound down in irons to Botany Bay;
it is of no use to weep nor yet to complain, Nor perhaps a may see Old England Eskud again
CHORUS.
Let us hope we may meet with a far better day,
Although we are bound to a foreign clime, There's many of us young lads just in our prime,
Who by wisdom we ought to've been better taught, For wisdom's ne'er good without it's dear bought. So come come away, for I, etc
Now many prety lass in Botany may be seen, Who knows but she might be an Indian Queen, Deck'd out in diamonds, see the British fair, A fig for transportation, little do we care. So come, come away, for I, etc.
Now when to Botany Bay we do come, The first thing we do is to chase us a King, 'Tis of no use to laugh, nor yet to make fun, Who knows but it may be the noted Barrington
So come, come away, for I, etc.
Farewel my pretty girls, I'll bid you adieu, It may be a long time before I see you,
So fill up the glass, and drink it off I pray, Success to the lads that's bonud to Botany Bay.
So come, come away, for I, etc.
THE HAPPY WEDDING
AS I was a walking one morning in May, I heard a young damsel to sigh and to say, My love's gone from me, and shown me foul play, 'Twas down in the meadow amongst the green hay.
# The Folly and Fashion of the Present Time (1802, Glasgow)/The Folly and Fashion of the Present Time

The Folly and Fashion of the present Time.
Come listen a while you need not tarry long, All ranks give attention as by me you throng, The truth you shall bear by the words of a song, Of the rigs and rhymes on the times, In this most wonderful, wonderful age.
Defrauding, delusion, and bilking's the plan, The way of the world now is cheat as cheat can, And the far biggest rogue, Sir, is now the best man, Who can bounce and fly, swear, lie, and deny, 'Tis the way to now thrive as the world now goes.
With confusion and bustle for money they drive, The rich would devour the poor up alive, And one neighbour don't like another to thrive, For wrong or right they backbite, full of spite, Laugh in their sleeve at their neighbour's downfal.
Here is Lady Squab with her moonify'd face, By her I'll describe you this backbiting-race, Who 'twou'd puzzle a lawyer their actions to trace, To know your miud how they twine, seem so kind, Yet would cut your throat if your back be but turn'd.
They're most of them gossips with what news I pray?
Why can't you come in, no indeed & can't stay, Tho' to tattle and slander they'll gossip all day, In dirty trim, out and in, drinking gin. Complain of bad husbands, but few of such wives.
A new tea-drinking fashion of late they've got in, Such an excellent mode they think it no sin, To borrow tea-kettles, to pawn them for gin, And swear black's white, wrong or right, to come by't, Of this tea-drinking fashion good women beware.
Since folly and fashion's so prone in the land, Here's thousands of tradesmen are all at a stand; Tho' price and presumption go hand in hand,
Many a one up and down, broke and gone, The Lady's ambition has ruin'd their trade.
To offend the dear Ladies I'd not say a word, Tho' they're slaves to the folly I think so absurd, By scenting their clothes with Muscovy cat's turd, That the fumes of their plumes, flies in my brain, Gives me the vapours when them I come near.
Their favourite lap dogs how deliciously fed, Shock rides in the coach, soft velvet his bed, While a hungry child, on the hard boards lays its head. All the night shocking plight, take me right, They value their animals more than a child.
The next is a beau, Sir Vanity Vain, His snuff-box is open each minute with pains, To fill his head fuller of snuff than of brains, So mighty wise, and precise, what with
Powder and hair you can fcarce see his nose.
For lott'ry adventurers here's china compleat, Silver table and tea-spoons, all equipage neat, Off the bed to the pop-shops, away goes the sheets, Their luck so try, now they buy, a policy, And dreaming all night of this tea-table prize.
Such folly and times in poor Britain was never, Here's wit all in rags, and folly in feather, By Providence thus we're all huddl'd together, So the life of man is but a span, like an
Air balloon, wonder when lost in the air.
# The Folly and Fashion of the Present Time (1802, Glasgow)

THE Folly and Fashion OF THE
PRESENT TIME.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED,
A TRIP TO BOTANY BAY.
THE HAPPY WEDDING. JACK TAR'S RETURN, The Cruel PARENTS DECEIVED: Or, the Happy Lovers Meeting. THE WILLOW WILL. THE MOMENT AURORA.
Glasgow, Printed by J & M. Robertson, Saltmarket. 1803.
* The Folly and Fashion of the Present Time
* A Trip to Botany Bay
* The Happy Wedding
* Jack Tar's Return
* The Cruel Parents Deceived: or, the Happy Lovers Meeting
* The Willow Will
* The Moment Aurora
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
# Poems (Barker)

POEMS
———BY———
Grace Melbourne,
(Mrs. Alice J. Barker.)
CLEVELAND, OHIO.
1888.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, by Samuel
Barker, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, in
Washington, D. C.
TO MY DEAR HUSBAND WHOSE LOVE HAS CROWNED MY
LIFE WITH HAPPINESS, THIS LITTLE BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.
Grace Melbourne.
CONTENTS.
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 Civil War in France

The Civil War in France (German: "Der Bürgerkrieg in Frankreich") was a pamphlet written by Karl Marx, as an official statement of the General Council of the First International on the character and significance of the struggle of the Communards in the Paris Commune.
    Warning: template has been deprecated.

## Individual Addresses

* On The War, 1870 pamphlet containing the first two addresses (transcription project)
* The Civil War in France, 1871 pamphlet containing only the third address (transcription project)

## All Three Addresses

* Der Bürgerkrieg in Frankreich, 1871 translation into German by Engels
* "Appendix" to A Short History of the Paris Commune by Bax, 1895 (transcription project)

## All Three Addresses with Engels's Introduction

* Der Bürgerkrieg in Frankriech, 1891 3rd German edition containing a new introduction by Engels
* The Commune of Paris, contains a translation of Engels's introduction by Bax, c. 1900
** The Civil War in France, above reprinted as Vol. 1 of the International Library, 1900
* "The Civil War in France" in The Paris Commune, with notes by Sanial and a translation of Engels's introduction, 1902 (transcription project)
* The Civil War in France, by Martin Lawrence (UK) / International Publishers (US), 1933
* The Civil War in France, by Foreign Language Publishing House (USSR), 1948
* The Civil War in France, in Marx Engels Collected Works: Volume 22, 1975
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
# Work-a-day Warriors/Epitaph

EPITAPH
# Epitaph

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Epitaph."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* An Epitaph, a poem by William Blake (Come knock your heads against this stone)
* Epitaph, a poem by George Gordon Byron (Posterity will ne'er survey)
* Epitaph, a poem by Thomas Carew (The Lady Mary Villiers lies)
* Epitaph, a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Stop, Christian Passer-by!—Stop, Child of God)
* An Epitaph, a poem by Countee Cullen (For Amy Lowell)
* Epitaph, a 1917 poem by E. E. Cummings (Tumbling-hair / picker of buttercups)
* An Epitaph, a poem by Edmond Dallier and translated by Toru Dutt (A fearless, mild and faithful friend lies here)
* Epitaph, a poem by Emily Dickinson (Step lightly on this narrow spot!)
* Epitaph, a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson (Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest)
* Epitaph, a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (As a boy, reserved and naughty)
* Epitaph, a poem by Joseph Lee (Where the long trench twines snake-like)
* An Epitaph, a poem by Walter de la Mare (Last, Stone, a little yet)
* An Epitaph, a poem by Herman Melville (When Sunday tidings from the front)
* Epitaph, a poem by Alexander Pope (A pleasing form, a firm, yet cautious mind)
* Epitaph, a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley (These are two friends whose lives were undivided)
* "Epitaph", a poem by Elizabeth Sherwin
* Epitaph, a poem by William Carlos Williams (An old willow with hollow branches)
* "Epitaph", a poem by Anne Whitney
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (Perhaps some needful service of the State)
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (O Thou who movest onward with a mind)
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (There never breathed a man who when his life)
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (Destined to war from very infancy)
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (Not without heavy grief of heart did He)
* Epitaph, a poem by Gabriello Chiabrera and translated by William Wordsworth (Pause, courteous Spirit!—Balbi supplicates)

### See also

* Category:Epitaphs
# A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente/Augustus Lancaster Bogart

Augustus Lancaster Bogart (1817-1901) in the A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente.
Augustus Lancaster Bogart, son of Abram Bogart and Ann Luyster, born August 1, 1887; married March 18, 1838, Elizabeth Oldrin, b. ———, 1808; died February 18, 1901, at the Home for Incurables in New York.
       Issue:
Oscar Bogart, born November 23, 1840; died December 27, 1840.
Augustus Lancaster Bogart, Jr., born November 21, 1840; died April 2, 1844. Both baptized at Jamaica, New York.
Also several others.
# A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente/James Voorhest Duryea

James Voorhest Duryea in the A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente.
James Voorhest Duryea, of East Woods, son of Abraham Duryea and Cynthia Voorhis, born January 18, 1804; died January 31, 1889, age 85. 0. 13.; married Jane Cashow, daughter of Rem Cashow and Maratÿe Bennet, born 1807; baptized March 27, 1808; died June 15, 1879, age 72. 5. 11. Both baptized at Wolver Hollow.
       Issue:
William Henry Duryea, of Arizona; not married.
Mary Elizabeth Duryea, married Cornelius Hoogland.
Ann Augusta Duryea, married George Waldron.
Edward Duryea, married Mary Emma Mott.
Albert Duryea, went west, but died here, January 3, 1865, age 32. 1. 6.; not married.
Phebe Duryea, married Elbert Van Cott.
James Duryea, married in California.
Charles Duryea, died January 1, 1862, age 17. 7. 0.
Sarah Jane Duryea, died May 10, 1866, age 17. 1. 17.
Andrew H. Duryea, died September 10, 1870, age 17. 5. 4.
# A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente/Johannes Cashow

Johannes Cashow (1701-1777) in the A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente.
Johannes Cashow, son of Jacob Cashow and Anna Maria Rapalje, baptized September 21, 1701, in Brooklyn; buried July 25, 1777; married Marytje Symonsen, supposed daughter of Frederick Symonsen and Lea Fonteyn; buried May 9, 1772. August 5, 1769, he sold land to his son Mouris Cashow, 13 acres between Wolver Hollow and Norridge (East Norwich), for £200.
    Issue:
Jacob Cashow, married Lena Stockholm.
Frederick Cashow, married Maragriete Hardenburg.
Marya Cashow, married Abraham Snediker. Johannes Cashow II, married Antenatte Snediker.
Mouris Cashow, married Catryna Van Wicklen.
Abraham Cashow, married Sara Downing.
# A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente/William Adriense Bennet

William Adriense Bennet in the A Documentary History of Het (the) Nederdeutsche Gemeente.
William Adriense Bennet, an Englishman and a cooper by trade, and the ancestor of the early Bennet family of Kings County, was in this country prior to 1636, for in that year he and Jaques Bentyn purchased of the Indians 930 acres at Gowanus, of which, December 26, 1639, he appears to have bought Bentyn's interest. He married Mary Badye (sometimes written Mary Thomas), daughter of Altien Breckanne by a former husband. William died prior to 1644. Mary, the widow, was living as late as January, 1697. Made his mark, "W."
       Issue:
Adriaen Willemse Bennet, born 1639; married Angenietje Van Dyck.
Willem Bennett, married April 9, 1660, Geertruyt Van Mullen.
Christian Bennett, baptized January 6, 1641, in New York, died an infant.
Sara Bennett, baptized November 10, 1641, in New York.
Christian Bennett, baptized March 30, 1642, in New York.
Marretje Bennett, baptized May 9, 1644, in New York.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Snoring of Swunksus

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THE SNORING OF SWUNKSUS
THE original proprietor of Deer Isle, off the coast of Maine—at least, the one who was in possession one hundred and thirty years ago—had the liquid name of Swunksus. His name was not the only liquid thing in the neighborhood, however, for, wherever Swunksus was, fire-water was not far. Shortly before the Revolution a renegade from Boston, one Conary, moved up to the island and helped himself to as much of it as he chose, but the longer he lived there the more he wanted. Swunksus was willing enough to divide his domain with the white intruder, but Conary was not satisfied with half. He did not need it all; he just wanted it. Moreover, he grew quarrelsome and was continually nagging poor Swunksus, until at last he forced the Indian to accept a challenge, not to immediate combat, but to fight to the death should they meet thereafter.
The red man retired to his half of the island and hid among the bushes near his home to await the white man, but in this little fastness he discovered a jug of whiskey that either fate or Conary had placed there. Before an hour was over he was "as full and mellow as a harvest moon," and it was then that his enemy appeared. There was no trouble in finding Swunksus, for he was snoring like a fog horn, and walking boldly up to him, Conary blew his head off with a load of slugs. Then he ​took possession of the place and lived happily ever after. Swunksus takes his deposition easily, for, although he has more than once paraded along the beaches, his ghost spends most of the time in slumber, and terrific snores have been heard proceeding from the woods in daylight.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Lewiston Hermit

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THE LEWISTON HERMIT
IN an island above the falls of the Androscoggin, at Lewiston, Maine, lived a white recluse at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The natives, having had good reason to mistrust all pale-faces, could think no good of the man who lived thus among but not with them. Often they gathered at the bank and looked across at his solitary candle twinkling among the leaves, and wondered what manner of evil he could be planning against them. Wherever there are many conspirators one will be a gabbler or a traitor; so, when the natives had resolved on his murder, he, somehow, learned of their intent and set himself to thwart it. So great was their fear of this lonely man, and of the malignant powers he might conjure to his aid, that nearly fifty Indians joined the expedition, to give each other courage.
Their plan was to go a little distance up the river and come down with the current, thus avoiding the dip of paddles that he might hear in a direct crossing. When it was quite dark they set off, and keeping ​headway on their canoes aimed them toward the light that glimmered above the water. But the cunning hermit had no fire in his cabin that night. It was burning on a point below his shelter, and from his hiding-place among the rocks he saw their fleet, as dim and silent as shadows, go by him on the way to the misguiding beacon.
Presently a cry arose. The savages had passed the point of safe sailing; their boats had become unmanageable. Forgetting their errand, their only hope now was to save themselves, but in vain they tried to reach the shore: the current was whirling them to their doom. Cries and death-songs mingled with the deepening roar of the waters, the light barks reached the cataract and leaped into the air. Then the night was still again, save for the booming of the flood. Not one of the Indians who had set out on this errand of death survived the hermit's stratagem.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Dead Ship of Harpswell

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THE DEAD SHIP OF HARPSWELL
AT times the fisher-folk of Maine are startled to see the form of a ship, with gaunt timbers showing through the planks, like lean limbs through rents in a pauper's garb, float shoreward in the sunset. She is a ship of ancient build, with tall masts and sails of majestic spread, all torn; but what is her name, her port, her flag, what harbor she is trying to make, no man can tell, for on her deck no ​sailor has ever been seen to run up colors or heard to answer a hail. Be it in calm or storm, in-come or ebb of tide, the ship holds her way until she almost touches shore.
There is no creak of spars or whine of cordage, no spray at the bow, no ripple at the stern—no voice, and no figure to utter one. As she nears the rocks she pauses, then, as if impelled by a contrary current, floats rudder foremost off to sea, and vanishes in twilight. Harpswell is her favorite cruising-ground, and her appearance there sets many heads to shaking, for while it is not inevitable that ill luck follows her visits, it has been seen that burial-boats have sometimes had occasion to cross the harbor soon after them, and that they were obliged by wind or tide or current to follow her course on leaving the wharf.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Schoolmaster had not reached Orrington

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THE SCHOOLMASTER HAD NOT REACHED ORRINGTON.
THE quiet town of of Orrington, in of Maine, was founded by Jesse Atwood, of Wellfleet, Cape Cod, in 1778, and has become known, since then, as a place where skilful farmers and brave sailors could always be found. It also kept Maine supplied for years with oldest inhabitants. It is said that the name was an accident of illiteracy, and that it is the only place in the world that owes its title to bad spelling. The settlers who followed ​Atwood there were numerous enough to form a township after ten years, and the name they decided on for their commonwealth was Orangetown, so called for a village in Maryland where some of the people had associations, but the clerk of the town-meeting was not a college graduate and his spelling of Orange was Orring, and of town, ton. His draft of the resolutions went before the legislature, and the people directly afterward found themselves living in Orrington.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Jack Welch's Death Light

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JACK WELCH'S DEATH LIGHT
POND COVE, Maine, is haunted by light that on a certain evening, every summer, rises a mile out at sea, drifts to a spot on shore, then whirls with a buzz and a glare to an old house, where it vanishes. Its first appearance was simultaneous with the departure of Jack Welch, a fisherman. He was seen one evening at work on his boat, but in the morning he was gone, nor has he since shown himself in the flesh.
On the tenth anniversary of this event three fishermen were hurrying up the bay, hoping to reach home before dark, for they dreaded that uncanny light, but a fog came in and it was late before they reached the wharf. As they were tying their host a channel seemed to open through the mist, and along that path from the deep came a ball of pallid flame with the rush of a meteor. There was one of the men who cowered at the bottom of the boat with ashen ​face and shaking limbs, and did not watch the light, even though it shot above his head, played through the rigging, and after a wide sweep went shoreward and settled on his house. Next day one of his comrades called for him, but Tom Wright was gone,—gone, his wife said, before the day broke. Like Jack Welch's disappearance, this departure was unexplained, and in time he was given up for dead.
Twenty years had passed, when Wright's presumptive widow was startled by the receipt of a letter in a weak, trembling hand, signed with her husband's name. It was written on his death-bed, in a distant place, and held a confession. Before their marriage, Jack Welch had been a suitor for her hand, and had been the favored of the two. To remove his rival and prosper in his place, Wright stole upon the other at his work, killed him, took his body to sea, and threw it overboard. Since that time the dead man had pursued him, and he was glad that the end of his days was come. But, though Tom Wright is no more, his victim's light comes yearly from the sea, above the spot where his body sank, floats to the scene of the murder on the shore, then flits to the house where the assassin lived and for years simulated the content that comes of wedded life.