OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Shonkeek-Monkeek

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SHONKEEK-MOONKEEK
THIS is the Mohegan name of the pretty lake in the Berkshires now called Pontoosuc. Shonkeek was a boy, Moonkeek a girl, and they were cousins who grew up as children commonly do, whether in house or wigwam: they roamed the ​woods and hills together, filled their baskets with flowers and berries, and fell in love. But the marriage of cousins was forbidden in the Mohegan polity, and when they reached an age in which they found companionship most delightful their rambles were interdicted and they were even told to avoid each other. This had the usual effect, and they met on islands in the lake at frequent intervals, to the torment of one Nockawando, who wished to wed the girl himself, and who reported her conduct to her parents.
The lovers agreed, after this, to fly to an Eastern tribe into which they would ask to be adopted, but they were pledged, if aught interfered with their escape, to meet beneath the lake. Nockawando interfered. On the next night, as the unsuspecting Shonkeek was paddling over to the island where the maid awaited him, the jealous rival, rowing softly in his wake, sent an arrow into his back, and Shonkeek, without a cry, pitched headlong into the water. Yet, to the eyes of Nockawando, he appeared to keep his seat and urge his canoe forward. The girl saw the boat approach: it sped, now, like an eagle's flight. One look, as it passed the rock; one glance at the murderer, crouching in his birchen vessel, and with her lover's name on her lips she leaped into her own canoe and pushed out from shore. Nockawando heard her raise the death-song and rowed forward as rapidly as he could, but near the middle of the lake his arm fell palsied.
​The song had ended and the night had become strangely, horribly still. Not a chirp of cricket, not a lap of wave, not a rustle of leaf. Motionless the girl awaited, for his boat was still moving by the impetus of his last stroke of the paddle. The evening star was shining low on the horizon, and as her figure loomed in the darkness the star shone through at the point where her eye had looked forth. It was no human creature that sat there. Then came the dead man's boat. The two shadows rowed noiselessly together, and as they disappeared in the mist that was now settling on the landscape, an unearthly laugh rang over the lake; then all was still. When Nockawando reached the camp that night he was a raving maniac. The Indians never found the bodies of the pair, but they believed that while water remains in Pontoosue its surface will be vexed by these journeys of the dead.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Balanced Rock

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BALANCED ROCK
BALANCED ROCK, or Rolling Rock, near Pittsfield, Massachusetts, is a mass of limestone that was deposited where it stands by the great continental glacier during the ice age, and it weighs four hundred and eighty tons (estimated) in spite of its centuries of weathering. Here one of the Atotarhos, kings of the Six Nations, had his camp. He was a fierce man, who ate and drank from bowls made of the skulls of enemies, and who, when he received messages and petitions, wreathed himself from head to foot with poison snakes. The son of this ferocious being inherited none of his war-like tendencies; indeed, the lad was almost feminine in appearance, and on succeeding to power he applied himself to the cultivation of peaceful arts. Later historians have uttered a suspicion that he was a natural son of Count Frontenac, but that does not suit with this legend.
​The young Atotarho stood near Balanced Rock watching a number of big boys play duff. In this game one stone is placed upon another and the players, standing as far from it as they fancy they can throw, attempt to knock it out of place with other stones. The silence of Atotarho and his slender, girlish look called forth rude remarks from the boys, who did not know him, and who dared him to test his skill. The young chief came forward, and as he did so the jeers and laughter changed to cries of astonishment and fear, for at each step he grew in size until he towered above them, a giant. Then they knew him, and fell down in dread, but he took no revenge. Catching up great boulders he tossed them around as easily as if they had been beechnuts, and at last, lifting the balanced rock, be placed it lightly where it stands to-day, gave them a caution against ill manners and hasty judgments, and resumed his slender form. For many years after, the old men of the tribe repeated this story and its lesson from the top of Atotarho's duff.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Wizard's Glen

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WIZARD'S GLEN
FOUR miles from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, among the Berkshire Hills, is a wild valley, noted for its echoes, that for a century and more has been called Wizard's Glen. Here the Indian priests performed their incantations, and on the red-stained Devil's Altar, it was said, they offered ​human sacrifice to Hobomocko and his demons of the wood. In Berkshire's early days a hunter, John Chamberlain, of Dalton, who had killed a deer and was carrying it home on his shoulders, was overtaken on the hills by a storm and took shelter from it in a cavernous recess in Wizard's Glen. In spite of his fatigue he was unable to sleep, and while lying on the earth with open eyes he was amazed to see the wood bend apart before him, disclosing a long aisle that was mysteriously lighted and that contained hundreds of capering forms. As his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light he made out tails and cloven feet on the dancing figures; and one tall form with wings, around whose head a wreath of lightning glittered, and who received the deference of the rest, he surmised to be the devil himself. It was such a night and such a place as Satan and his imps commonly chose for high festivals.
As he lay watching them through the sheeted rain a tall and painted Indian leaped on Devil's Altar, fresh scalps dangling round his body in festoons, and his eyes blazing with fierce command. In a brief incantation he summoned the shadow hordes around him. They came, with torches that burned blue, and went around and around the rock singing a harsh chant, until, at a sign, an Indian girl was dragged in and flung on the block of sacrifice. The figures rushed toward her with extended arms and weapons, and the terrified girl gave one cry that rang in the hunter's ears all his life after. The wizard raised ​his axe: the devils and vampires gathered to drink the blood and clutch the escaping soul, when in a lightning flash the girl's despairing glance fell on the face of Chamberlain. That look touched his manhood, and drawing forth his Bible he held it toward the rabble while he cried aloud the name of God. There was a crash of thunder. The light faded, the demons vanished, the storm swept past, and peace settled on the hills.
# Moberly Weekly Monitor/1908/As Old As Missouri

* related portals: Jacob Harrison Ford.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Jacob Harrison Ford (1821-1908) in Moberly Weekly Monitor on November 27, 1908.
As Old As Missouri. Jacob H. Ford, who died at Tidswell Station yesterday afternoon, was proud of the fact that his age was practically the same as that of Missouri. His birth in Monroe county, August 21, 1821, was ten days after the admission of the state into the Union. The burial took place at Paris, Missouri. Tirey L. Ford, a son who lives in San Francisco, and who is general counsel for the traction companies of that city, arrived at his father's bedside just before the death angel came.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Knocking at the Tomb

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KNOCKING AT THE TOMB
KNOCK, knock, knock! The bell has just gone twelve, and there is the clang again upon the iron door of the tomb. The few people of Lanesboro who are paying the penance of misdeeds or late suppers, by lying awake at that dread ​hour, gather their blankets around their shoulders and mutter a word of prayer for deliverance against unwholesome visitors of the night. Why is the old Berkshire town so troubled? Who is it that lies buried in that tomb, with its ornament of Masonic symbols? Why was the heavy iron knocker placed on the door? The question is asked, but no one will answer it, nor will any say who the woman is that so often visits the cemetery at the stroke of midnight and sounds the call into the chamber of the dead. Starlight, moonlight, or storm—it makes no difference to the woman. There she goes, in her black cloak, seen dim in the night, except where there are snow and moon together, and there she waits, her hand on the knocker, for the bell to strike to set up her clangor. Some say that she is crazy, and it is her freak to do this thing. Is she calling on the corpses to rise and have a dance among the graves? or has she been asked to call the occupant of that house at a given hour? Perhaps, weary of life, she is asking for admittance to the rest and silence of the tomb. She has long been beneath the sod, this troubler of dreams. Who knows her secret?
# Desert Sentinel/1975/Anton Julius Winblad

Anton Julius Winblad II (1886-1975) in Desert Sentinel on 3 April 1975.
Anton Julius Winblad
Mr. and Mrs. Tony Winblad are both reported to be doing nicely after their recent accidents. Mr. Winblad was knocked down by a car at Horton's Parking lot on February 21, 1969. He suffered a broken hip and was taken to Kaiser Foundation Hospital in Fontana, California where a plate and two pins were put in. He is now at Fontana Convalescent Hospital, 17403 Marigold Ave., Fontana 92335. He says he will be happy to have visitors or receive cards. Visiting hours are 9 a.m. until 8 p.m. Mrs. Winblad had a bad fall, while at their son's, hurting both knees. Although she can get around, her knees still give her great pain. Cards can be sent care of Earl Winblad, 122515 Marine Avenue, Wilmington, California 90745.
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) between 1929 and 1977 (inclusive) without a copyright notice.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Jersey Journal/1914/R. V. Schuyler

Rutsen Van Rensselaer Schuyler I (1853-1914) obituary in the The Jersey Journal on August 15, 1914. In the news article Nicholas Murray Butler is incorrectly identified as "Richard Murray Butler".
R. V. Schuyler.
Rutsen Van Rensselaer Schuyler died last night in Kenilworth, New Jersey. He was 52 years old years old and a resident of Bayonne where he was employed by Babcock and Wilcox Company, until a few months ago. He was the son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Schuyler, whose home in Bayonne on West Eleventh Street is now the Pavonia Yacht Club. A sister of Mr. Schuyler was the late wife of President Richard Murray Butler [sic] of Columbia University. He is survived by a widow, two daughters, and one son.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Oakland Tribune/1972/Perry M. Olsen

* related portals: Perry Maranius Olsen, Perry Arthur Olsen.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Perry Maranius Olsen (1886-1972) in the Oakland Tribune on September 19, 1972.
Perry M. Olsen. Funeral services were held yesterday for the late Perry M. Olsen, a onetime secretary of the Oakland YMCA, who died September 14. Mr. Olsen, 86, a native of Illinois, had lived in the Bay Area since 1906 when he came west with the Southern Pacific Railroad. He was retired from The Sisalkraft Company. His affiliations included the Olympic Club, a 64-year membership in the First Baptist Church of Oakland, Park Boulevard Lodge No. 568 F. & A.M. and Scottish Rite Bodies of Oakland. Surviving Mr. Olsen are his wife, Dorothy of Oakland; a son. Dr. Perry A. Olsen of San Jose and daughters Mrs. Dorothy Graham of Oakland and Mrs. Marjorie Higgingbotham of Tulare. He has 10 grandchildren and 11 great grandchildren.
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) between 1929 and 1977 (inclusive) without a copyright notice.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Ocean Grove Times

* related portals: Newspapers.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
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/Ocean Grove Times/
# Brooklyn Citizen/1908/Richard Barnsley Patterson

* related portals: Richard Barnsley Patterson.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Richard Barnsley Patterson (1853-1941) in the Brooklyn Citizen on 8 September 1908.
Richard Barnsley Patterson.
Richard Barnsley Patterson, widely known in the shoe business in Manhattan, who had been for sixty years a resident of Brooklyn, died on Sunday at his home, No. 686 Jefferson avenue, where services will be held this evening with the assistant pastor of Janes' M. E. Church officiating. The body will be buried in Greenwood Cemetery. Mr. Patterson for nearly a decade past had been manager of several large stores. He was born in the city of Lisburn, Ireland, in 1835. His death, which followed an illness of three days, was caused by pneumonia. Surviving are his widow, Cornelia A. Betts; three sons. John C., Robert L. and Richard B., residents of Philadelphia, and five daughters. Mrs. Robert G. Coile, Mrs. Edwin Webb, Mrs. Donald Miller, Mrs. Edgar Benson and Miss Cornelia Patterson.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# New England Shoe and Leather Industry/1908/Richard Barnesly Patterson Dead

Richard Barnsley Patterson (1904-1954) in New England Shoe and Leather Industry in 1908.
Richard Barnesly Patterson Dead. Richard Barnsley Patterson widely known in the shoe business in Manhattan and who had for sixty years been a resident of Brooklyn, died on Sunday at his home, 686 Jefferson avenue. Deceased was in the retail line with a store in New York for many years, and for nearly a decade past had been manager of several large stores. He was born in the city of Lisburn, Ireland, May 5, 1835. His death, which followed an illness of three days, was caused by pneumonia. Surviving the deceased are his widow, Cornelia A. Betts; three sons, John C., Robert L., and Richard B., residents of Philadelphia, and five daughters, Mrs. Robert G. Coile, Mrs. Edwin Webb, Mrs. Donald Miller, Mrs. Edgar Benson and Miss Cornelia Patterson.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# How a play is produced

Translated from the Czech original Jak vzniká divadelní hra a průvodce po zákulisí (1925)
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HOW A PLAY IS PRODUCED
BY KAREL ČAPEK
ILLUSTRATED BY JOSEPH ČAPEK
Translated by P. Beaumont Wadsworth
Geoffrey Bles
Suffolk St., Pall Mall
London
First published
Made and Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
​Contents
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# How a play is produced/Casting the Play

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​Casting the Play
OF course, before the actual rehearsals begin there is the business of casting the play. The author now makes the valuable discovery that this is anything but easy. There are in the play, let us say, three ladies and five gentlemen. For the eight rôles, therefore, the author chooses eight or nine of the best players in the theatre ensemble, and declares that he has written the parts specially for them, and for them alone. It is a wonder that he does not call up Moshna, the famous Czech comedian, out of the grave to play a part—“It’s only a small one, but very important.” So far so good. He now hands his list to the producer, and the matter wanders, as they say, “higher up.”
Now, however, it turns out that:
1. Miss A. cannot take the principal rôle ​because she is just now playing another principal rôle.
2. Miss B. returns the rôle the dramatist has chosen for her, protesting in a hurt manner that it is not a suitable part for her.
3. Miss C. cannot be given the rôle which the author has chosen for her because she had a rôle last week, and Miss D. must have one now.
4. Mr. E. cannot have the principal male rôle. Mr. F. must get it instead, because the rôle of Hamlet was taken from him after he had wanted it, and given to Mr. G.
​5. On the other hand Mr. E. might take the fifth rôle as a substitute, but he is dead certain to return it angrily because the dramatist has not chosen the fourth rôle for him, which is his own line.
6. Mr. H. must take care of himself because he has a cold owing to a conflict with the dramatic director.
7. Mr. K. cannot play the rôle No. 7 because there is no one else suitable for rôle No. 5. Although it is not his line, he says that he “will manage it all right.”
8. The eighth rôle, that of a telegraph messenger, will be assigned, by special request, to the player chosen by the dramatist himself.
Thus it comes to pass that the whole affair turns out quite differently from what the inexperienced dramatist imagined. Not only that, but a general bitterness is prevalent among the players, who cannot forgive the dramatist for not having assigned the rôles direct to them. From the moment that the parts have been handed out, two quite ​different opinions develop in the theatre. One group says that there are good parts in the play, but that they have been badly assigned. The other group declares, however, that the play has nothing but bad rôles in it, out of which nothing can be made—even if one were an acrobat, and could wrap one’s legs around one’s neck!
# How a play is produced/The Production

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​The Production
THE producer of the play works on the sound basis that the piece must be given a helping hand, as they say. In practice that means that it must be produced quite differently from the way the author has arranged things.
“You know,” says the author, “I had always imagined it quite a quiet drawing-room piece. . .”
“Oh! That wouldn’t do at all,” replies the producer, “the play must be given in quite a grotesque manner.”
“Clara is a shy, passive creature,” explains the author further.
“What are you thinking of!” cries the producer. “Clara is decidedly a Sadist by nature; a cruel creature. Look here, on page 37 Danesh says to her: ‘Do not torment ​me, Clara!’ When he says this line Danesh will writhe on the ground, while Clara will stand by in hysterics. You understand, of course?”
“But that was not my idea a bit,” protests the author.
​“But, my dear fellow, that is just the best scene of all,” says the producer dryly. “Otherwise the second act has no proper curtain.”
“The scene takes place in an ordinary middle-class room,” the author goes on to explain.
“Oh, but we must certainly have some ​steps or at least a platform in it,” says the producer.
“But why a platform?”
“So that Clara can stand on it when she cries out the word: ‘Never!’ This moment must be pushed into prominence, do you understand? The platform must be at ​least nine feet high. And then, in the third scene, Vchelak jumps down from it.”
“But why should he jump down from it?”
“Because you distinctly state in the stage direction that ‘he jumps into the room.’ That is one of the strongest moments. You know, your play wants a little more life in it. You surely didn’t intend a common-or-garden scene that any Tom, Dick or Harry might write? Did you now?”
“Oh no, of course not!” replies the author hurriedly.
“Good. I knew you’d see my point.”
I will now betray certain deep secrets of the dramatic art. A creative author is one who will not allow himself to be hampered by the theatre; and a creative producer is one who will not allow himself to be hampered by the text. As far as the creative actor is concerned, the poor devil has no other choice than that of following his own judgment (in this case one lays the blame of the bad interpretation on the producer), or of follow​ing the producer’s instructions (in which case the bad interpretation is imputed to the actor).
If by pure chance no one should stumble in the dialogue on the first night, no badly fixed scenery should suddenly fall down, no reflector should burn itself out, and no other similar misfortune should take place, the producer is then praised in the local press as “having produced very carefully”: but it is really pure chance, whether any of these things should occur. Before the first night is reached, however, the martyrdom of rehearsals must be endured.