OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Western Metropolis/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
79 U.S. 389
The Western Metropolis
ON motion.-John Low, Jr., had libelled the steamer Western Metropolis, in the District Court at New York, for damages sustained by a collision between that steamer and the schooner Triumph, owned by the libellant.
The District and Circuit Courts decreed in his favor, and the owner of the steamer appealed to this court.
Mr. Hubley Ashton, counsel of the appellant, now filed an affidavit of that party, stating that since the taking and perfecting of the appeal he had learned that two of the witnesses for the schooner in the District Court, the master and the mate of that vessel, had received from the libellant, John Low, Jr., before giving their testimony, an agreement for the payment of a sum of money on the contingency and in the event that the case should be decided in favor of the libellant and he should receive the damages claimed.
On this affidavit a motion was made, on behalf of the appellant, that a commission be issued under the 12th rule of this court,* to take the testimony of the master and mate of the Triumph as to the alleged agreement.
The application, it was contended, was brought by the affidavit of the appellant within the rule laid down in the case of The Mabey.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Western Times/1881/The death of William Miles, Esq, J.P.

Exeter, Devon, England; Friday, March 11, 1881; p. 2
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The death of William Miles, Esq, J.P.
It is our painful task to record the death of one of our oldest friends connected with the City of Exeter—William Miles, Esq., of Dixs Field House. The deceased gentleman expired on Saturday evening, after only two days' illness, at his villa residence at Budleigh Salterton, where he had been spending some months. Though at the advanced age of 81 years, he preserved to the last his bright and clear intellect and the amiable and patient disposition which ever characterised him. Mr. Miles, who in his early life was in the 1st Life Guards, came to Exeter in 1831. He married first Dorothy Rose, daughter of John Rose Drewe, of the Grange, Honiton, and secondly, Louisa daughter of the Rev. H. Grylls, of Cardynham, Cornwall, who survives him, and who by her unceasing devotion was helped to cheer and comfort his declining years. Mr. Miles was a form and ready supporter of all good and charitable institutions and his aim through a long life has been to help his fellow neighbours. Tender to his sympathy, lowly in the estimation of himself, warm in his affections, a firm friend, ever ready to help the distressed by advice and sympathy, and to hold out the hand of charity in a most liberal yet ostentatious manner. As an author and amateur artist he was well known, and as a magistrate and in all public business (until prevented by advancing years and increasing weakness) he tool his full share. In the words of the poet, of him may we not justly say—
Such calm old age as conscience pure, And self-commanding hearts ensure; He waited his summons to the sky Content to live, but not afraid to die.
—Communicated
This work was published in 1881 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 142 years or less since publication.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Western 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/The Western Times/
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/To Stella

TO STELLA. March 13, 1723-4.
WRITTEN ON THE DAY OF HER BIRTH, BUT NOT ON THE SUBJECT, WHEN I WAS SICK IN BED.
TORMENTED with incessant pains, Can I devise poetick strains? Time was, when I could yearly pay My verse on Stella's native day: But now, unable grown to write, I grieve she ever saw the light. Ungrateful! since to her I owe That I these pains can undergo. ​She tends me like an humble slave; And, when indecently I rave, When out my brutish passions break, With gall in every word I speak, She, with soft speech, my anguish cheers, Or melts my passions down with tears: Although 'tis easy to descry She wants assistance more than I; Yet seems to feel my pains alone, And is a stoick in her own. When, among scholars, can we find So soft, and yet so firm a mind? All accidents of life conspire To raise up Stella's virtue higher; Or else to introduce the rest Which had been latent in her breast. Her firmness who could e'er have known, Had she not evils of her own? Her kindness who could ever guess, Had not her friends been in distress? Whatever base returns you find From me, dear Stella, still be kind. In your own heart you'll reap the fruit, Though I continue still a brute. But, when I once am out of pain, I promise to be good again: Meantime, your other juster friends Shall for my follies make amends: So may we long continue thus, Admiring you, you pitying us.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/To the Earl of Peterborow

TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH,
Who commanded the British Forces in Spain.
MORDANTO fills the trump of fame, The Christian worlds his deeds proclaim, And prints are crowded with his name.
​In journies he outrides the post, Sits up till midnight with his host, Talks politicks, and gives the toast.
Knows every prince in Europe's face, Flies like a squib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.
From Paris gazette a-la-main, This day arriv'd, without his train, Mordanto in a week from Spain.
A messenger comes all a-reek Mordanto at Madrid to seek; He left the town above a week.
Next day the postboy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.
Mordanto gallops on alone, The roads are with his followers strown, This breaks a girth, and that a bone;
His body active as his mind, Returning sound in limb and wind, Except some leather lost behind.
A skeleton in outward figure, His meagre corpse, though full of vigour, Would halt behind him, were it bigger.
So wonderful his expedition, When you have not the least suspicion, He's with you like an apparition.
Shines in all climates like a star; In senates bold, and fierce in war; A land commander, and a tar:
​Heroick actions early bred in, Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading, But by his namesake Charles of Sweden.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/To the Rev. Daniel Jackson

This is the twelfth of twelve poems on the same subject: 1. On Dan Jackson's Picture; 2. On the same; 3. On the same; 4. On the same; 5. Dan Jackson's Defence; 6. Mr. Rochfort's Reply; 7. Dr. Delany's Reply; 8. Sheridan's Reply; 9. A Rejoinder, by the Dean; 10. Another Rejoinder, by the Dean; 11. Sheridan's Submission, by the Dean; and 12. To the Rev. Daniel Jackson.
TO THE REV. DANIEL JACKSON;
TO BE HUMBLY PRESENTED BY MR. SHERIDAN IN PERSON, WITH RESPECT, CARE, AND SPEED.
DEAR DAN,
HERE I return my trust, nor ask, One penny for remittance; If I have well perform’d my task, Pray send me an acquittance.
Too long I bore this weighty pack, As Hercules the sky; Now take him you, Dan Atlas, back, Let me be stander-by.
Not all the witty things you speak In compass of a day, Not half the puns you make a week, Should bribe his longer stay. ​With me you left him out at nurse, Yet are you not my debtor; For, as he hardly can be worse, I ne'er could make him better.
He rhymes and puns, and puns and rhymes, Just as he did before; And, when he's lash'd a hundred times, He rhymes and puns the more.
When rods are laid on schoolboys bums, The more they frisk and skip: The schoolboy's top but louder hums, The more they use the whip.
Thus, a lean beast beneath a load (A beast of Irish breed) Will, in a tedious, dirty road, Outgo the prancing steed.
You knock him down and down in vain, And lay him flat before ye, For, soon as he gets up again, He'll strut, and cry, Victoria!
At every stroke of mine, he fell, 'Tis true he roar'd and cry'd; But his impenetrable shell Could feel no harm beside.
The tortoise thus, with motion slow, Will clamber up a wall; Yet, senseless to the hardest blow, Gets nothing but a fall.
Dear Dan, then, why should you, or I, Attack his pericrany? And, since it is in vain to try, We'll send him to Delany.
POSTSCRIPT.
Lean Tom, when I saw him, last week, on his horse awry, Threaten’d loudly to turn me to stone with his sorcery. But, I think, little Dan, that, in spite of what our foe says, He will find I read Ovid and his Metamorphosis. For omitting the first (where I make a comparison, With a sort of allusion to Putland or Harrison) Yet, by my description, you'll find he in short is A pack and a garran, a top and a tortoise. So I hope from henceforward you ne'er will ask, can I maul This teazing, conceited, rude, insolent animal? And, if this rebuke might turn to his benefit, (For I pity the man) I should be glad then of it.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Tom Mullinix and Dick

TOM MULLINIX AND DICK.
TOM and Dick had equal fame, And both had equal knowledge; Tom could write and spell his name, But Dick had seen the college. ​Dick a coxcomb, Tom was mad, And both alike diverting; Tom was held the merrier lad, But Dick the best at farting.
Dick would cock his nose in scorn, But Tom was kind and loving; Tom a footboy bred and born, But Dick was from an oven.
Dick could neatly dance a jig, But Tom was best at borees; Tom would pray for every whig, And Dick curse all the tories.
Dick would make a woeful noise, And scold at an election; Tom huzza'd the black-guard boys, And held them in subjection.
Tom could move with lordly grace, Dick nimbly skipt the gutter; Tom could talk with solemn face, But Dick could better sputter.
Dick was come to high renown Since he commenc'd physician; Tom was held by all the town The deeper politician.
Tom had the genteeler swing, His hat could nicely put on; Dick knew better how to swing His cane upon a button.
Dick for repartee was fit, And Tom for deep discerning; Dick was thought the brighter wit, But Tom had better learning. ​Dick with zealous noes and ays Could roar as loud as Stentor, In the house 'tis all he says; But Tom is eloquenter.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Upon Stealing a Crown When the Dean Was Asleep

The next poem, The Dean's Answer, is a response to this poem.
UPON STEALING A CROWN WHEN THE DEAN WAS ASLEEP.
BY DR. SHERIDAN.
DEAR Dean, since you in sleepy wise Have op'd your mouth, and clos'd your eyes; Like ghost, I glide along your floor, And softly shut the parlour door: For, should I break your sweet repose, Who knows what money you might lose; ​Since oftentimes it has been found, A dream has given ten thousand pound? Then sleep, my friend; dear dean, sleep on, And all you get shall be your own; Provided you to this agree, That all you lose belongs to me.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Upon the Horrid Plot discovered by Harlequin

UPON THE HORRID PLOT
DISCOVERED BY HARLEQUIN,
THE BISHOP OF ROCHESTER'S FRENCH DOG.
In a Dialogue between a Whig and a Tory. 1723.
I ASK'D a whig the other night, How came this wicked plot to light? He answer'd, that a dog of late Inform'd a minister of state. Said I, from thence I nothing know; For are not all informers so? A villain who his friend betrays, We style him by no other phrase; And so a perjur'd dog denotes Porter, and Pendergast, and Oates, And forty others I could name. Whig. But you must know, this dog was lame. Tory. A weighty argument indeed! Your evidence was lame: — proceed: ​Come, help your lame dog o'er the stile. Whig. Sir, you mistake me all this while: I mean a dog (without a joke) Can howl, and bark, but never spoke. Tory. I'm still to seek, which dog you mean; Whether our Plunkett, or whelp Skean, An English or an Irish hound; Or t'other puppy, that was drown'd; Or Mason, that abandoned bitch: Then pray be free, and tell me which: For every stander by was marking That all the noise they made was barking. You pay them well, the dogs have got Their dogs-heads in a porridge pot: And 'twas but just; for wise men say, That every dog must have his day. Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on't, He'd either make a hog or dog on't; And look'd, since he has got his wish, As if he had thrown down a dish. Yet this I dare foretel you from it, He'll soon return to his own vomit. Whig. Besides, this horrid plot was found By Neynoe, after he was drown'd. Tory. Why then the proverb is not right, Since you can teach dead dogs to bite. Whig. I prov'd my proposition full: But jacobites are strangely dull. Now, let me tell you plainly, sir, Our witness is a real cur, A dog of spirit for his years, Has twice two legs, two hanging ears; His name is Harlequin, I wot, And that's a name in every plot: ​Resolv'd to save the British nation, Though French by birth and education; His correspondence plainly dated Was all decipher'd and translated: His answers were exceeding pretty Before the secret wise committee; Confest as plain as he could bark: Then with his forefoot set his mark. Tory. Then all this while have I been bubbled, I thought it was a dog in doublet: The matter now no longer sticks; For statesmen never want dog tricks. But since it was a real cur, And not a dog in metaphor, I give you joy of the report, That he's to have a place at court. Whig. Yes, and a place he will grow rich in;
A turnspit in the royal kitchen. Sir, to be plain, I tell you what, We had occasion for a plot: And when we found the dog begin it, We guess'd the bishop's foot was in it. Tory. I own it was a dangerous project; And you have prov'd it by dog-logick. Sure such intelligence between A dog and bishop ne'er was seen. Till you began to change the breed; Your bishops all are dogs indeed!
# The Woman and the Priest/Translator's Note

Translator's Note
The Woman and the Priest is an unusual book, both in its story and its setting in a remote Sardinian hill village, half civilized and superstitious. But the chief interest lies in the psychological study of the two chief characters, and the action of the story takes place so rapidly (all within the space of two days) and the actual drama is so interwoven with the mental conflict, and all so forced by circumstances, that it is almost Greek in its simple and inevitable tragedy.
The book is written without offence to any creed or opinions, and touches on no questions of either doctrine or Church government. It is just a human problem, the result of primitive human nature against man-made laws it cannot understand.
# The Woman in White

The Woman in White is an epistolary novel written by Wilkie Collins in 1859, serialized in 1859-1860, and first published in book form in 1860. It is considered to be among the first mystery novels. The various strands of the plot combine to produce a thrilling story, leading this particular type of fiction to be described as 'sensation'. A strong theme in the novel is that of marriage and its impact on women (in particular on Laura Fairlie). The plot revolves around men stealing women's identities. Warning: template has been deprecated.

## Epoch 1

Walter Hartright
* I
* II
* III
* IV
* V
* VI
* VII
* VIII
* IX
* X
* XI
* XII
* XIII
* XIV
* XV
Vincent Gilmore
* I
* II
* III
* IV
Marian Halcombe
* I
* II

## Epoch 2

Marian Halcombe
* I
* II
* III
* IV
* V
* VI
* VII
* VIII
* IX
* X
Frederick Fairlie
Eliza Michelson
* I
* II
Several Narratives
* 1
* 2
* 3
* 4
* 5

## Epoch 3

Walter Hartright
* I
* II
* III
* IV
* V
* VI
* VII
* VIII
* IX
* X
* XI
Mrs. Catherick
Walter Hartright
* I
* II
* III
* IV
* V
* VI
* VII
The Count
Walter Hartright
* I
* II
* III
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 Woman at the Washtub

The Woman at the Washtub,  She works till fall of night; With soap, and suds and soda  Her hands are wrinkled white. Her diamonds are the sparkles  The copper-fire supplies; Her opals are the bubbles  That from the suds arise.
The Woman at the Washtub  Has lost the charm of youth; Her hair is rough and homely,  Her figure is uncouth; Her temper is like thunder,  With no one she agrees – The children of the alley  They cling around her knees.
The Woman at the Washtub,  She too had her romance; There was a time when lightly  Her feet flew in the dance. Her feet were silver swallows,  Her lips were flowers of fire; Then she was Bright and Early,  The Blossom of Desire.
O Woman at the Washtub,  And do you ever dream Of all your days gone by in  Your aureole of steam? From birth till we are dying  You wash our sordid duds, O Woman of the Washtub!  O Sister of the Suds!
One night I saw a vision  That filled my soul with dread, I saw a Woman washing  The grave-clothes of the dead; The dead were all the living,  And dry were lakes and meres, The Woman at the Washtub  She washed them with her tears.
I saw a line with banners  Hung forth in proud array — The banners of all battles  From Cain to Judgment Day. And they were stiff with slaughter  And blood, from hem to hem, And they were red with glory,  And she was washing them.
“Who comes forth to the Judgment,  And who will doubt my plan?” “I come forth to the Judgment  And for the Race of Man. I rocked him in his cradle,  I washed him for his tomb, I claim his soul and body,  And I will share his doom.”
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also 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 Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
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
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 Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wheels of Chance/Omissions

OMISSIONS
XI
Now the rest of the acts of Mr. Hoopdriver in Guildford, on the great opening day of his holidays, are not to be detailed here. How he wandered about the old town in the dusk, and up to the Hogsback to see the little lamps below and the little stars above come out one after another; how he returned through the yellow-lit streets to the Yellow Hammer Coffee Tavern and supped bravely in the commercial room—a Man among Men; how he joined in the talk about flying-machines and the possibilities of electricity, witnessing that flying-machines were "dead certain to come," and that electricity was "wonderful, wonderful"; how he went and watched the billiard playing and said, "Left 'em" several times with an oracular air; how he fell a-yawning; and how he got out his cycling map and studied it intently,—are things that find no record here. Nor will I enlarge upon his going into the writing-room, and marking the road from London to Guildford with a fine, bright line of the reddest of red ink. In his little cyclist hand-book there is a diary, and in the diary there is an entry of these things—it is there to this day, and I cannot do better than reproduce it here to witness that this book is indeed a true one, and no lying fable written to while away an hour.
At last he fell a-yawning so much that very reluctantly indeed he set about finishing this great and ​splendid day. (Alas! that all days must end at last!) He got his candle in the hall from a friendly waiting-maid, and passed upward—whither a modest novelist, who writes for the family circle, dare not follow. Yet I may tell you that he knelt down at his bedside, happy and drowsy, and said, "Our Father 'chartin' 'eaven," even as he had learned it by rote from his mother nearly twenty years ago. And anon when his breathing had become deep and regular, we may creep into his bedroom and catch him at his dreams. He is lying upon his left side, with his arm under the pillow. It is dark, and he is hidden; but if you could have seen his face, sleeping there in the darkness, I think you would have perceived in spite of that treasured, thin, and straggling moustache, in spite of your memory of the coarse words he had used that day, that the man before you was, after all, only a little child asleep.
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