OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/The Outpost

When evening cools the yellow stream,  And shadows stalk the jungle’s ways,  Zimbabwe’s palace flares ablaze For a great King who fears to dream.
For he alone of all mankind  Waded the swamp that serpents shun;  And struggling toward the setting sun, Came on the veldt that lies behind.
No other eyes had vented there  Since eyes were lent for human sight—  But there, as sunset turned to night, He found the Elder Secret’s lair.
Strange turrets rose beyond the plain,  And walls and bastions spread around  The distant domes that fouled the ground Like leprous fungi after rain.
A grudging moon writhed up to shine  Past leagues where life can have no home;  And paling far-off tower and dome, Shewed each unwindowed and malign.
Then he who in his boyhood ran  Through vine-hung ruins free of fear,  Trembled at what he saw—for here Was no dead, ruined seat of man.
Inhuman shapes, half-seen, half-guessed,  Half solid and half ether-spawned,  Seethed down from starless voids that yawned In heav’n, to these blank walls of pest.
And voidward from that pest-mad zone  Amorphous hordes seethed darkly back,  Their dim claws laden with the wrack Of things that men have dreamed and known.
The ancient Fishers from Outside—  Were there not tales the high-priest told,  Of how they found the worlds of old, And took what pelf their fancy spied?
Their hidden, dread-ringed outposts brood  Upon a million worlds of space;  Abhorred by every living race, Yet scatheless in their solitude.
Sweating with fright, the watcher crept  Back to the swamp that serpents shun,  So that he lay, by rise of sun, Safe in the palace where he slept.
None saw him leave, or come at dawn,  Nor does his flesh bear any mark  Of what he met in that curst dark— Yet from his sleep all peace has gone.
When evening cools the yellow stream,  And shadows stalk the jungle’s ways,  Zimbabwe’s palace flares ablaze, For a great King who fears to dream.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Assorted Photographs

A number of photographs were inserted throughout the pages of The O-Wash-Ta-Nong. They are collected on this page.
The Editor and friendly dog pause at old rail fence.
Winter’s battalions are met and partly held at the old rail fence
Letter A of Presidents’ Field in Winter
We offer this as a banquet of the 62nd at Boston. Our S. P. couldn’t get it all so he got this much. There was no official picture taken so this must suffice.
| An image should appear at this position in the text. If you are able to provide it, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images for guidance. | Our S. P. gets candid taken of himself. He is in the act of taking a picture at Presidents’ Field while standing beside a healthy memorial tree. By 1941 the trees should average six feet in height. Grand Rapids in 1941 |
A mid-November snow blankets Green Briar Lodge which has been improved and enlarged since Convention Days of ’36.
The springs flow, increased by melting snows, shows dark but clear beneath the pines while the witch-hazel, last shrub to flower, and still in leaf, looks on.
Gateway to countless memories—Entrance to Presidents’ Field
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/The Outpost

The Outpost By H. P. Lovecraft
When evening cools the yellow stream, And shadow stalks the jungles ways, Zim babwe’s palace flares ablaze For a great King who fears to dream.
For he alone of all mankind Waded the swamp that serpents shun; And struggling toward the setting sun, Came on the veldt that lies behind.
No other eyes had ventured there Since eyes were lent for human sight— But there, as sunset turned to night, He found the Elder Secret’s lair.
Strange turrets rose beyond the plain, And walls and bastions spread around The distant domes that fouled the ground Like leprous fungi after rain.
A grudging moon writhed up to shine Past leagues where life can have no home; And paling far-off tower and dome, Showed each unwindowed and malign.
Then he who in his boyhood ran Through vine-hung ruins free from fear, Trembled at what he saw—for here Was no dead, ruined seat of man.
Inhuman shapes, half-seen, half-guessed, Half solid and half ether-spawned, Seethed down from starless voids that yawned In heav’n, to these blank walls of pest.
And voidward from that pest-mad zone Amorphous hordes seethed darkly back, Their dim claws laden with the wrack Of things that men have dreamed and known.
The ancient Fishers from Outside— Were there not tales the high-priest told, Of how they found the worlds of old, And took what pelf their fancy spied.
Their hidden, dread-ringed outposts brood Upon a million worlds of space; Abhorred by every living race, Yet scatheless in their solitude.
Sweating with fright, the watcher crept Back to the swamp that serpents shun, So that he lay, by rise of sun, Safe in the palace where he slept.
None saw him leave, or come at dawn, Nor does his flesh bear any mark Of what he met in that curst dark— Yet from his sleep all peace has gone.
When evening cools the yellow stream, And shadow stalks the jungle’s ways, Zim babwe’s palace flares ablaze For a great King who fears to dream.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/The Birth of British Amateur Journalism

The Birth of British Amateur Journalism
There is no doubt that there had been quite a number of attempts to organize amateur journalism in Great Britain ever since 1884 when it is recorded “an effort was made to join the scattered units of amateurdom and fuse them into one harmonious whole” and through this and subsequent attempts proved more or less failures, it is fairly safe to say they lead up to the inception of the British Amateur Press Association which took effect in August, 1891. The honor of being the founder seemed for some little time to be somewhat of a mystery but the late R. D. Bird, who was the first official editor, in 1899 spent considerable time unravelling the tangled skein of which this honour seemed to be entwined and at length clearly demonstrated that the honour of founding it was evenly balanced between two brothers—Robert and James Goss. A pro tem. number of officals were gathered together, the first issue of “The Amateur Journailist” the official organ, was brought out in May, 1891 and with numerous amateur magazines being printed all headed for the most historic first convention of the British Amateur Press Association. This was held in London in August, 1891 and Thomas Adams was there elected its first president. But, however enthusiastic the first year had been, the second year, beginning with the second convention, which was held in Manchester on August 1st, 1892, under the presidency of Fred A. Whitehead, certainly seemed to wane. To combat this it was decided to publish the official organ every month. For three months this was done—September, October and November, then blank—for it was discovered this was leading them in heavy debt and the official organ appeared no more during the session. The third year saw the convention again in London being held August 7th, 1893 and Arthur Du Soir was appointed president. The town of Hull captured the fourth convention which was held in August, 1894, and under the presidency of Alfred H. Pearce saw renewed activity and closed with a large-sized official organ. The fifth convention was held at Manchester in August, 1895 and Alfred H. Pearce was re-elected president. This Edwin Hadley Smith attended as an American associate, and as a result interest in the two countries was beginning to be manifest and exchanges of magazines began to arrive fairly frequent. The sixth convention was held at Blackport in August, 1896 but of this I have no details. Thus I hope I have given some little insight into the early days of the British Amateur Press Association.
By A. Harris
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Where There's a Will There's a Way-Out

Where There’s a Will There’s a Way-Out
It was the day of the capture of Lansing, Michigan, by John Lewis’ lawless C.I.O. The streets were filled with milling crowds, bent upon hearing what the vacillating governor whom they had just put in office, was going to do, or say for them.
Down a certain street came a large truck. It approached a crossing, when out from the curb and into the truck’s course stepped a big workman. He raised his hand in a signal to stop. “Buddy”, he commanded, “Turn this truck around and get it back to the garage and keep it there!”
The truck driver grasped a heavy wrench from the seat beside him, jumped to the ground, and walked briskly up to the workman. “Buddy”, roared the truckman, “This truck is going through to Grand Rapids! Get out of the way!” The workman wasted no time in getting out of the way and the truck went through.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Rose

Rose
Sweet as the flower with her name Her happy smile, always the same. Ever with me; teaching how To live and hope; I see it now As tho it were beside me, clear As cyrstal, and as dear As anything my heart desires For consolation.
Quite a girl is little Rose, Her dashing ways and pretty clothes Go far to make my day less weary, To brighten up the times less cheery Than those happy moments spent In lover’s arms; There’s no repent For moments with love’s glowing fires As compensation.
Her kisses warm all go to make My soul with deep ambition quake, And so at dawn I rise refreshed, And venture forth on life’s hard quest Of fame and fortune; For her sake A name in marble; set to wake In other men, strength Fate requires As commendation.
I’ll fight my way thru thick and thin And then some day I’ll look back in At the weary struggle, from without: A self-made man, there’s not a doubt To others, who know less than I Of Rose—her smile, and flashing eye, That brought me safe from out the mires Of desolation.
Harold D. Ellis
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Be a Booster and be Present

Be a Booster …… and be Present
The Sixty Third Convention
This is about the way a snappy letter head tells of the next National Convention. Old Timer Bill Dowdell with Young Timer Rebt. Dunlap are listed as the Local Reception Committee which is positive assurance of a fine welcome and a grand convention.
There are rumors afloat which makes one believe Cincinnati amateurs will hold up the fine civic pride and will to do of their great city by presenting a convention program which will equal, if not surpass any of recent years.
Plan now on being in attendance at the 63rd. Help make it a great gathering by attending. Ask for your vacation so it will cover these dates, July 2-3-4.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Japanese Hokku

Japanese Hokku
There is something very great in Far Eastern esthetics which the Western World misses almost completely—a feeling born of a truly rational philosophy which recognizes the insignificance of mankind. The genuine un-Westernized Chinese or Japanese poet—or artist—sees the supreme beauty in large rhythms of nature, and in momentary perceptions of natural objects, or arrangements of things, which symbolizes those rhythms. In all this, mankind and its emotions are necessarily subordinated in just proportion to the whole scheme of cosmic entity—or visible cosmic entity. The Oriental does not slop over—hence his classic disapproval of effusive amatory lyrics.
Some of the most fascinating Japanese hokkus (17-syllable poems) are to be found in the essay “Butterflies,” by Lafcadio Hearn, in his volume called Kwerdan. Speaking of the prominence of the butterfly in Japanese art and lore, Hearn assembles a number of hokkus on the subject—presenting both the Japanese sounds in Roman letters and a literal prose translation of the meaning. Of course to us the beauty comes mainly from the translation; but we can also catch from the original sounds something of the grace and music of the language and poetic form. I append some which appeal most strongly to me:
Rakkwa éda ni Kaeru to miréba Kocho kana!
(When I saw the fallen flower return to the branch—lo, it was only a butterfly!)
Chiru—hana ni— Karusa arasoü Kocho kana!
(How the butterfly strives to compete in lightness with the falling flowers!)
Taurigané ni Tomorité nemuru Kocho kana!
(Perched upon the temple bell, the butterfly sleeps.)
Chö tondé— Kazé naki hi to mo Miezari ki!
(Even though it did not seem a windy day, the fluttering of the butterflies…). —Extract from a Lovecraft Letter, 1936.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/The Lambkin

The Lambkin
“Invest in gilt-edge so and so—” A whisper uttered finger-lipped— “A chance to make some big-time dough—” And fifteen thousand suckers slipped! By word of mouth the tip was spread, They bought—the stock went down instead. In manner thus are suckers bled, Hornswoggled and un-hipped! “The price of such and such a brew Is but a dollar fifty cents. Buy now a thousand shares or two, And sell for double, one year hence.” Punch-drunk on words of potent pull, He bought; and bally bear and bull, Urbanely sheared and shared his wool— Then tossed him o’re the fence! The late P. T. his onions knew— The showman sure was right. But now instead of one it’s two Per minute day and night! But lambs were born that they be shorn Of all their wool, and left forlorn; To “gambol” in the frosty morn— And ponder on their plight!
By Dave Innes
# Marriage (Enabling) Act 1960

* related portals: Acts of the Parliament of the United Kingdom
* sister projects: Wikidata item
Collective Citation: Marriage Acts, 1949 to 1960 Date of Commencement: 13th April 1960 See this legislation with any revisons at legislation.gov.uk .
layout 2
CHAPTER 29
An Act to enable a person to marry certain kin of a former spouse. [13th April, 1960]
BE it enacted by the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:—
Certain marriages to be void. 1.—(1) No marriage hereafter contracted (whether in or out of Great Britain) between a man and a woman who is the sister, aunt or niece of a former wife of his (whether living or not), or was formerly the wife of his brother, uncle or nephew (whether living or not), shall by reason of that relationship be void or voidable under any enactment or rule of law applying in Great Britain as a marriage between persons within the prohibited degrees of affinity.
(2) In the foregoing subsection words of kinship apply equally to kin of the whole and of the half blood.
(3) This section does not validate a marriage, if either party to it is at the time of the marriage domiciled in a country outside Great Britain, and under the law of that country there cannot be a valid marriage between the parties.
(4) The enactments mentioned in the Schedule to this Act are hereby repealed to the extent specified in the third column of the Schedule.
Short title, citation and extent. 2.—(1) This Act may be cited as the Marriage (Enabling) Act, 1960, and this Act and the Marriage Acts, 1949 to 1958, may be cited together as the Marriage Acts, 1949 to 1960.
(2) This Act shall not apply to Northern Ireland.
SCHEDULE Enactments Repealed
This work is in the public domain worldwide because it is one of the following types of legislation in the United Kingdom or its predecessor states, and received Royal Assent or the approval of HM in Council (as applicable) before 1975:
* Act of Parliament
* Act of the Scottish Parliament
* Measure of the National Assembly for Wales
* Act of Senedd Cymru (formerly known as an Act of the National Assembly for Wales)
* Act of the Northern Ireland Assembly
* Measure of the General Synod of the Church of England
See section 164 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/In Correction

In Correction
While the usual amateur journalist’s report of some event, so often is drab and bare in its meagre word picture it seems a little unreasonable, perhaps, to tone down an article on which the color pot was used too lavishly while it is not our intention to go quite that far, I do wish to correct one statement.
O.A.P.C. Review for December gave in the article “O.A.P.C., Prexy Appointed Manuscript Recorder to Succeed Ellis,” stated “Harold D. Ellis found he would be unable to find time to handle the Manuscript Bureau.” I regret this announcement as there was no grounds, insofar as I know, for such a statement.
In explanation of Mr. Ellis’ resignation and Mr. Rolley’s appointment I offer the following:
Mr. Jack Bond was first appointed Recruiting Chairman but could not serve after which Mr. Curtiss Johnson, Jr. was offered the position but due to certain reasons he also refused.
Mr. Ellis had already accepted the office of Manuscript Recorder but due to his training along lines which I deemed would be helpful in Recruiting he was asked to take that office and resign as Manuscript Recorder in which position he had performed his duties as required.
In the meantime Mr. Rolley was asked to serve out Mr. Ellis’ term and graciously agreed to do so. Mr. Ellis then turned over the manuscript on hand together with his records and information.
This may seem many words to explain a small matter but I would rather give this space to correct a misleading statement involving two such excellent amateurs as Robt. Rolley and Harold D. Ellis both of whom were prompt to serve when asked, giving me much cause to be pleased.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Forget It Kid

Forget It Kid
By S. Teets
No use cryng over spilt milk kid…so forget it…dry your eyes…lift your head…look to the sun and say, “At first I didn’t succeed, but I’ll try and try again.”
Honestly, kid, there’s every evidence of encouragement in that motto…perseverance means plenty to you…plenty. It means a place for you somewhere out there under that blanket of blue…a place of pride and dignity…and its yours, with out a sob-story…without no prevarication at all…Its yours…not for the asking…but for the perseverance you have in you…
So why not show some perseverance?…real perseverance…perseverance that will set your soul afire with renewed hopes and ambition!…perseverance that will get you somewhere…a place you seek…and when you do get it, via that method, you must, of course, fight to hold it…and fight darn hard.
But if you have the proper spirit, and the will to put up a stiff fight, then the battle is WON. For, like everything else in this world, it takes perspiration to retain it…and you can retain it—successfully—if you put your heart and soul to it and say “I WILL.”
But its no use crying, kid…that won’t get you anything…not even a glimpse of that place…no promises at all…“But these are chaotic times,” you say…I know these are chaotic times…difficult and severe…with but scant opportunities for you…I need no indication to make me see them…to understand them…in fact, we are slugging through an era never before experienced or realized by humanity…never before dreamed of…But God bless us, kid, ’cause aren’t we still slugging? Aren’t we still progressing?…Of course we are…BUT you will obviously make that era more severe and more difficult for you if you shed tears and think the end is at hand when its not…Apparently, you will make others believe you are a sob-sister…a cry-baby…trying to slug your way to the front with a sob-story…trying tearfully and feverishly to make others take pity on you…to caress you and shower you with all they’ve got…
Fie, kid, that won’t pay…it never did…No worthy human being ever obtained a place of recognition that way…No, indeed…They got theirs with dry eyes and a lifted chin…and got it in spite of the ruthless, demoralizing effects aimed at them…and I expect you to do the same…You can if you want to…there’s no such a thing as I can’t…You can if you put on a new mask and face the world as it should be faced…with strength and determination…not with sob-stories, or crying to the sky for “breaks” and all that kind of rot…I call it “rot” because that’s what it is…nothing but rot…and the worst kind of rot that humanity has ever known!
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Sand vs. Mud

Sand vs. Mud
By G. W. Macauley
One can easily comprehend the privilege of wealth and it is no task to recall memories of the privilege too-greatly enjoyed by big business. While it is not a fact that such influence—political and social—as was once the possession of big business has disappeared, it is beyond question to believe that they are now limited.
While it is also a fact in a large way that the “underprivileged,” so heartily exploited by big and little politicians throughout the nation, are usually—for the spellbinder’s convenience—lumped into one mass according to income and nothing else. To the convenience of using this class as the one to represent, there is the necessity for the politico to go through the form, at least, of soliciting votes, in order to keep office.
Today, the highest rank of privilege is that of the powerful politician who is in office. That we must sooner or later concern ourselves with the problem of this new priviliged class is apparent to every thinking American.
With the continued backing of a large underprivileged voting class, determined to obtain what the politician tells them is their “just due,” the question grows greater as to just how much longer the politicians of the New Deal will go to the bother of putting on an election.
Our politicos disregard laws when they so wish and even block court orders. Bureaucrats have done the same in the past, just as we now have executive orders replacing law.
These are only steps which lead down one definite road to certain complications very few of us are prepared to meet and of which still fewer are aware.
That we are faced today with a political regime which may need more than a legal election to turn out of office is well within the scope of possibilities. Yet the question is also apparent: How can we throw out the present political machine before it crashes what is left of the Republic’s credit?
National depressions, such as the one we are still passing through, are never welcomed events, yet they should be of great value in the lessons they offer. It is high time that we, as a nation, be able to discern cause and effect well enough to better absorb the shock of a great depression.
Much as we dislike depressions, it is very probable that we are building up for a letdown such as the depression of 1930–1936.
In 1921–1929 we were building on sand while today we are building on mud, and should we skid, it is to be hoped that the present crop of politicos will be buried in the deluge which they have created.
# The O-Wash-Ta-Nong/Volume 3/Number 1/Early Michigan Literati

Early Michigan Literati
One of Michigan’s early authors was Harriet Matineau, of French Huguenot descent, who visited Michigan in 1836, and wrote a series of interesting anecdotes. She said that Milton must have traveled in Michigan before he wrote the garden parts of “Paradise Lost.” She stayed at Niles, where three flags had waved prior to the Stars and Stripes.
Going back to the year 1780, we find that a Major De Peyster, English commandant at Detroit, was an amateur poet and found time to render such dities as this:
“The goblet goes ’round, while sweet echoes repeating, The words that have passed through fair lady’s lips; Wild deer (with projected long ears) leave off eating; And bears sit attentive, erect on their hips.”
If we do not hear of an earlier poet than De Peyster, we will give him the credit of being the original Detroit amateur journalist.
James Fenimore Cooper, famous early American novelist, visited Michigan, and here laid the scenes of his book, “Oak Openings.” Michigan was then heavily wooded, except where for some reason, there was an opening. One of the best known was called “Prairie Ronde” by the French and lay south of Kalamazoo. Here Cooper wrote, as he also did at Plainwell, and at the old Walker Tavern, south of Jackson.
# The Philadelphia Inquirer

The Philadelphia Inquirer is a daily newspaper based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
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 Philadelphia Inquirer/