OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Guilty Dog

FABLE XL. THE GUILTY DOG.
At length the awful news was spread— Towser had kill'd the pet lamb dead! Who could believe the tidings true, That Towser such a deed would do? The dread of wolves, the shepherd's friend— How could he come to such an end?
And not alone a lamb he'd kill'd, But her own mother's blood had spill'd!  Nor was this the worst of it,  For e'en the shepherd he had bit!  If this be true, Then what's the world a-coming to?
'Twas thus beside a brooklet's course, Two sheep engaged in sad discourse. It was an undisputed fact, He had been captured in the act. Towser himself confess'd his crime, And would be punish'd in short time. The shepherds had resolv'd that he A warning to all dogs should be.
With triple murder being charg'd, The case went through the court with speed, Upon the crime the judge enlarged— The witnesses were all agreed, And he was sentenced to be shot Upon the very self-same spot  Where he had done the deed. The whole farm then turn'd out to see  The execution done. The lambs beseeched for clemency;  The farmer granted none. He made them take their place assign'd; The dogs took their's near by, resign'd, Humbled and lorn, with drooping ears; The cheeks of some were bath'd in tears.
All mourn'd for their friend Towser's fate, And all in fun'ral silence sate,  Or sobbing cried aloud. At length between two shepherds bound, Towser was led upon the ground,  And thus address'd the crowd:
"Oh, you whom I no longer dare To call my friends as formerly, Of my example all beware, And take this warning word from me. A virtuous course of fifteen years Is now to close in blood and tears.
"My crimes are these:—at early day As I near by a forest lay, Guarding the flock, a wolf sprang out, And bore a bleeding lamb away. We fought—I put him to the rout. So far so good. But when I saw The mangled lambkin near me lie, And felt the tempting morsel draw, I could not help one taste to try.  The sight and smell of blood Had made me ravenous for food. 'Tis true I hesitated long, But yet my appetite was strong; And so I yielded, and at last, Of the slain lamb made a repast;  Such was the source of all my woe. The mother sheep I fear'd might go
And tell the shepherd what I'd done, And say that I had kill'd her son. So therefore without more ado To silence her, I kill'd her too.  My head was turn'd;  With rage I burn'd; And what I did I hardly knew; I even at my master flew. Until at last I am brought here, To terminate my sad career. From this career you may take heed, Lest your small faults to great ones lead. The slightest wrong, however small, May lead the wisest to his fall. Of all false steps beware of this— The first one towards a precipice."
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Hedgehog and the Rabbits

FABLE XXXVIII. THE HEDGEHOG AND THE RABBITS.
Some characters are ne'er at ease, And always must be making war: They like to sting, and to displease, And highly gifted at it are. To me they are a perfect pest. Though they be wise as Solomon, And have e'en royal garments on,
Yet their rude manners I detest. The robes of virtue's self should be  Politeness and civility. A hedgehog once of evil fame, Forc'd from his home by some disgrace, Unto a rabbit-warren came, Burning with hate against his race. He told the gentle inmates there, All that he'd suffer'd everywhere; Against his foes exhal'd his bile, And ask'd asylum for a while. "With pleasure, sir," the leader said, "You'll here find shelter, board, and bed. Be one of us; make free and bold; We all things here in common hold. We simple, frugal people are, And have no great affairs on hand; To crop the clover our chief care, Or nibble o'er the dewy land. At the first streak of early dawn, We're out betimes upon the lawn. The dangers from our homes to ward, Each takes his turn in standing guard. And when the sentry gives alarm, We're off at once to hide from harm. Thus with our little ones and wives, We pass our happy, cheerful lives. These lives, 'tis true, are oft cut short, And made of dogs and boys the sport. But this good reason serves to give
Why we make merry while we live. We study friendship, love, and peace, And our enjoyments thus increase. Life we embellish all we may, By kind attentions all the day. If you're content with us to be, Then come and join our colony. If not, why then at least you'll stay, And take your dinner here to-day. You'd please us with your company." The hedgehog to these words replied— "It would, indeed, give me great pride, With such good people to reside." Then every rabbit forward press'd, And civilly their joy express'd, With offer'd welcome to their guest. All things went well till night had come, When discord rent the happy home. For when at supper they began For morrow's work to fix the plan, The hedgehog, bent to have his will, At a young rabbit shot a quill. "Excuse me, friend," the father says; "I'm not accustom'd to such ways." This rais'd the bristling hedgehog's ire, And caus'd him right and left to fire  His angry darts. First one and then another smarts, Until no longer they can stand The stings he gives on ev'ry hand.
They gather round him and complain. "Messieurs," said he, "your talk is vain; It is my nature so to do, And I can't change it to please you." The leader then exclaim'd—"My friend, If such bad manners you can't mend; If you cannot your quills suppress, At least draw over them some dress; Or, failing this, then let me say, From decent people stay away."
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Inquisitive Cat

FABLE V. THE INQUISITIVE CAT.
Ye bold philosophers who strain Th' inexplicable to explain, Deign but to listen while I tell What once a curious cat befell.
This tabby one day chanced to pass Before her master's toilette glass; And made an effort to come at
What seemed to her a stranger cat. Failing in front the cat to find, She slyly then stole round behind. Not meeting there the cat she sought, And almost to her wit's end brought, Yet bent the mystery to explore,  She mounted on the glass astride, One paw behind and one before  And in that way to catch it tried.
Now, bending down, an ear she spies, And then another, which she eyes; Then with spry movements, quick and deft, Working her paws from right to left, She strives to grab the fleeting shade. The shadows still her grasp evade,  Till, losing balance, down she went— Down from the table to the floor— Resolv'd to hunt for shades no more,  But with plain sense to be content.
Turning away from things so nice, She left the glass and went for mice. "For what," thought she, "can be the use Pursuing matters so abstruse?" Involv'd in snares without an end, Which none can ever comprehend, Let wise philosophers discuss, What has no use for them or us.
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Journey

FABLE LI. THE JOURNEY.
To set out ere the dawn of day, Groping in darkness for the way, Caring for naught, nor making quest If going North, South, East, or West;— From fall to fall to stumble on Till near one-third the course be run: Then, as the dark clouds gather round, To enter on unstable ground, Yet pushing onwards, though quite lost, 'Midst thick'ning doubts, and tempest tost,
With no sure aim, no end in view, And seldom knowing what to do;— Driven, forc'd on, and in great stress, Seeking some spot, some safe recess, Where to arrive all out of breath,  And there to creep  To the last sleep— Such then is Birth, and Life, and Death; This is the way we journey on:—  God's will be done!
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Laughing Solitaire

FABLE XV. THE LAUGHING SOLITAIRE.
Throughout all Greece 'twas known  That Mysone lived alone— That he lov'd wisdom for herself; Was free from trouble as from pelf; Content and easy, without strife, Reflecting on the things of life.
In woods retir'd he pass'd his days, Far from the crowd's accustom'd ways.  But in this solitude, Where nothing trivial might intrude, He would at times quite jovial be, And laugh out loud and merrily. At length one day two Grecians came, Attracted by his laughing fame, And in amazement wish'd to know How any mortal living so, Could laugh. "How can you laugh, Mysone," They ask'd, "since you live all alone?" "That is the very reason why I laugh," was his reply.
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Ivy and the Thyme

FABLE IX. THE IVY AND THE THYME.
"How I do pity you, indeed, My sorry, little trembling weed!" Once said the ivy to the thyme. "You always creep and never climb.
Whilst scarce above the ground you rise,
I mount this oak and seek the skies:—
The old oak which Jove cherishes,  My comrade is."
"I know," the thyme replied, "'tis true, In height I can't dispute with you, But my support is all my own, While you could never stand alone. 'Tis by that tree you mount so high; Alone you could not climb at all; But in your feebleness would fall,  And creep e'en lower than I."
Attend ye authors who would seek By learned Latin, or by Greek, To climb aloft in prose or rhyme:—
 Whate'er you do,  Keep well in view, These words of wisdom of the thyme.
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Juggler

FABLE XXXVI. THE JUGGLER.
A mountebank amidst a crowd  Thus cried aloud— "Walk up, Messieurs and try the cure For every evil men endure! It is a powder which will give All things for which you strive and live.
To fools it gives intelligence; And to the guilty innocence. Honors on rascals it bestows, And to old women brings young beaux; Secures old men young, pretty wives; Makes madmen lead well-temper'd lives— In short, whatever you would gain, It will assist you to attain  It is a perfect panacea."
The juggler's table I drew near, This wond'rous powder to behold Of which such miracles were told. It was a little powder'd gold!
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Gardener and the Aged Tree

FABLE VIII. THE GARDENER AND THE AGED TREE.
A tree that in a garden stood, Had grown too old for doing good:  Such is the fate of all. It was a pear-tree that no more
Its former luscious fruitage bore;  And hence was doom'd to fall. Scarce had th' ungrateful gardener sunk His sharp-edged axe into its trunk,  When thus the old tree spoke:— "Oh think of all the good I've done; The fruit I've borne; the praise I've won,  And spare the murd'rous stroke! Oh do not hasten to their end The few last days of your old friend!" The ingrate answer'd:—"Yea, indeed, I'm truly loath to lay you low; But still of wood I stand in need, And cannot to the forest go." The nightingales then intercede; Gush out a long and loud refrain, And of th' intended wrong complain. They wake the gardener's memory— His wife oft sitting 'neath that tree, And list'ning to their song the while Their dulcet notes her cares beguile. But he, unheeding their appeal, Resolv'd another blow to deal. The aged trunk the stroke broke in, Which rais'd around his ears a din. For out there came a swarm of bees, And gave th' intruder words like these:— "What are you doing, wretched man? Your int'rests inj'ring all you can! Are you not able to perceive
That if this home to us you'd leave, Our honey of more worth would be Than all the wood of this old tree? All tender memories apart, Does not this reason reach your heart?" "Ah, yes!" the gardener said at last, "What happy days have here been past! Much do I owe this good old tree For all the fruit 't has given me. How oft my wife has hither stray'd, To sit beneath its soothing shade, While 'midst its whisp'ring leaves above, The nightingales recall'd our love!
 Yes, let the old tree stand!
And for these bees whose honied store Will make me richer than before,  With flowers I'll plant the land."
So thus it is, we may rely,  That mankind grateful will be found, When only ev'ry means we try  To have them by their int'rests bound.
# The Fables of Florian (tr. Phelps)/The Grasshopper

FABLE XXXVII. THE GRASSHOPPER.
"'Tis over now, and I must fly! This odious sight I cannot bear— The crime, the rage, the misery, That meet my vision ev'rywhere! To some obscure retreat I'll go, Far from abuses, vice, and woe. The wicked knaves who've cross'd my path, I'll visit with my studied wrath.
Only because I'd upright be, I've got the whole world's enmity! Every man, and child, and beast—  Yes ev'ry little bird,  By hate and envy stirr'd, Do make of me their scand'lous feast.  Oh base ingratitude! To treat one thus who is so good. How little I am understood! They'll yet regret what they have done; But only when I'm dead and gone." Thus in hypochondriac strain, A grasshopper did once complain. O'er the world's wrongs he seem'd to groan, While thinking of himself alone. A comrade said,—"Holla, my dear! How did you come by that idea? Why not enjoy these fields in peace? They yield for you their rich increase.  Let the world go,  And all is woe. What is't to you, I'd like to know? 'Tis bad and always will be so. You cannot shape it to your view By all that you may say or do. Besides, my friend, where can you find A world more suited to your mind? And as to having this world's spite, I think you are mistaken quite. It is a fancy, or perchance
Even a touch of arrogance, That springs from your o'erweening pride, Rather than any thing beside." The grasshopper not even deign'd To make reply when thus arraign'd, But forthwith from his old home flew,  To seek a new. When finally two days were o'er, He'd made two hundred steps or more, And fancied that at last he'd found The end of this world's farthest bound. The land seem'd new, the people strange, The wheat-fields offer'd a fine range,  And fill'd him with delight. Their long stalks waving in the wind, Gave welcome to his troubl'd mind;  It was a glorious sight! "Here then," he cried, "all trouble past, I've found security at last. No more shall enemies invade My peace within this friendly shade."  But lo! When o'er the east spread morning's glow, A band of reapers came along, With laugh, and jest, and merry song, And 'neath their sickles fell the grain All level with the naked plain; And to the view the spot disclos'd, Where our unfortunate repos'd. "There 'tis again!" the insect cried,
"When will my foes be satisfied? Turn where I will, I'm still pursu'd, For having done the world some good! Scarce have I reach'd this distant land, When I'm assail'd on ev'ry hand. These foes come here to seek me out, And in their mad, infernal rout. Would almost any means employ, So that they might my life annoy, Yes, even their own crops destroy. I really think to glut their ire, They'd set their very fields on fire." Then to the reapers thus he said,— "Come! let your wrath fall on my head; You've hunted me like thing accurs'd, And now, Messieurs, just do your worst!" A busy worker at the sheaf, By chance observ'd his mighty grief: He seized him, held him up to view, Then flung him where bright flowers grew: "Go!" he exclaim'd, "where posies are; Go, little friend, get supper there!"
# The First Book of Napoleon

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
FIRST BOOK
OF
NAPOLEON,
THE
TYRANT OF THE EARTH:
WRITTEN
IN THE 5813th YEAR OF THE WORLD, AND 1809th YEAR OF THE CHRISTIAN ERA,
BY
ELIAKIM THE SCRIBE,
A DESCENDANT OF A MODERN BRANCH OF THE TRIBE OF LEVI; A RABBI EDUCATED IN THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF THE SONS OF THE PROPHETS.
BOOK OF NAPOLEON, Chap. II. verse 14.
LONDON:
SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, & ORME, AND J. J. STOCKDALE, PALL-MALL; P. HILL, EDINBURGH; AND M. KEENE, DUBLIN.
1809.
ELIAKIM'S
ADDRESS TO HIS READERS.
Charitable and Gentle Reader! to thee the Author of this Book has little to say, thy attributes being the godlike virtues of meekness and charity.
Pious and Religious Reader! let not thy feelings be offended, and withhold thy censure, until thou shalt find in these pages a single sentiment inconsistent with the spirit and principles of that holy religion which thou professest; and condemn not the feebly imitative manner of writing therein occasionally employed, until thou canst point out a language more impressive, or more appropriate, than that in imitation whereof these chapters are framed.
Readers in general! take warning from the awful examples, and profit by the ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/10 ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/11 ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/12 ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/13 ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/14 ​CONTENTS. vii sellor pilots the vessel and weathers the #*orm.— 4. The vessel is brought into a safe harbour ; but the pilot thereof dieth, through his endeavours to save the vessel Page 00 CHAP. XV. 1. Mode of reforming the Commonwealth recommended,— 2. Warnings against violent and dangerous changes. — 3. Admonitions to the people of Albion in regard thereto 95 CHAP. XVI. 1. The parable of the Bear and the Monkey. — 2. The Monkey is suddenly changed into a Tyger, which de- voureth the Bear, and scattereth his flesh and his bones to the winds of heaven 100 CHAP. XVII. The Vision of Eliakim 104 CHAP. XVIII. The Vision Continued 108 CHAP. XIX. The End of the Vision 115 qpAP. xx. The warnings and admonitions which the Angel gave in commission, to be delivered unto the King of AU ​Page:The First Book of Napoleon.djvu/16 ​
ERRATA. :
| Chap. | II, | verse | 8, | for but read except. |
| ——— | III, | ——— | 17, | — backs — ruins. |
| ——— | IV, | ——— | 18, | — ways — designs. |
| ——— | IX, | ——— | 23, | — overthrow none — overthrown one. |
| ——— | XII, | ——— | 4, | — traiterous — traitorous |
| ——— | XIII, | ——— | 37, | — infalliably — infallibly. |
# The First Battle/Life of William Jennings Bryan/Presentation of Gray's Elegy at Close of Debate, by William J. Bryan (1890)

Mr. Connell:
We now bring to a close this series of debates which was arranged by our committees. I am glad that we have been able to conduct these discussions in a courteous and friendly manner. If I have, in any way, offended you in word or deed I offer apology and regret, and as freely forgive. I desire to present to you in remembrance of these pleasant meetings this little volume, because it contains "Gray's Elegy", in perusing which I trust you will find as much pleasure and profit as I have found. It is one of the most beautiful and touching tributes to humble life that literature contains. Grand in its sentiment and sublime in its simplicity, we may both find in it a solace in victory or defeat. If success should crown your efforts in this campaign, and it should be your lot "The applause of listening senates to command," and I am left
Forget not us who in the common walks of life perform our part, but in the hour of your triumph recall the verse:
If, on the other hand, by the verdict of my countrymen, I shall be made your successor, let it not be said of you:
But find sweet consolation in the thought:
But whether the palm of victory is given to you or to me, let us remember those of whom the poet says:
These are the ones most likely to be forgotten by the Government. When the poor and weak cry out for relief they, too, often hear no answer but "the echo of their cry", while the rich, the strong, the powerful are given an attentive ear. For this reason is class legislation dangerous and deadly. It takes from those least able to lose and gives to those who are least in need. The safety of our farmers and our laborers is not in special legislation, but in equal and just laws that bear alike on every man. The great masses of our people are interested, not in getting their hands into other people's pockets, but in keeping the hands of other people out of their pockets. Let me, in parting, express the hope that you and I may be instrumental in bringing our Government back to better laws which will give equal treatment without regard to creed or condition. I bid you a friendly farewell.
# The Fourth Book/Chapter XLII
## How Pantagruel held a treaty with Niphleseth, Queen of the Chitterlings

The monster being out of sight, and the two armies remaining silent, Pantagruel demanded a parley with the lady Niphleseth, Queen of the Chitterlings, who was in her chariot by the standards; and it was easily granted. The queen alighted, courteously received Pantagruel, and was glad to see him. Pantagruel complained to her of this breach of peace; but she civilly made her excuse, telling him that a false information had caused all this mischief; her spies having brought her word that Shrovetide, their mortal foe, was landed, and spent his time in examining the urine of physeters.
She therefore entreated him to pardon them their offence, telling him that sir-reverence was sooner found in Chitterlings than gall; and offering, for herself and all her successors, to hold of him and his the whole island and country; to obey him in all his commands, be friends to his friends, and foes to his foes; and also to send every year, as an acknowledgment of their homage, a tribute of seventy-eight thousand royal Chitterlings, to serve him at his first course at table six months in the year; which was punctually performed. For the next day she sent the aforesaid quantity of royal Chitterlings to the good Gargantua, under the conduct of young Niphleseth, infanta of the island.
The good Gargantua made a present of them to the great King of Paris. But by change of air, and for want of mustard (the natural balsam and restorer of Chitterlings), most of them died. By the great king's particular grant they were buried in heaps in a part of Paris to this day called La Rue pavee d'Andouilles, the street paved with Chitterlings. At the request of the ladies at his court young Niphleseth was preserved, honourably used, and since that married to heart's content; and was the mother of many children, for which heaven be praised.
Pantagruel civilly thanked the queen, forgave all offences, refused the offer she had made of her country, and gave her a pretty little knife. After that he asked several nice questions concerning the apparition of that flying hog. She answered that it was the idea of Carnival, their tutelary god in time of war, first founder and original of all the Chitterling race; for which reason he resembled a hog, for Chitterlings drew their extraction from hogs.
Pantagruel asking to what purpose and curative indication he had voided so much mustard on the earth, the queen replied that mustard was their sanc-greal and celestial balsam, of which, laying but a little in the wounds of the fallen Chitterlings, in a very short time the wounded were healed and the dead restored to life. Pantagruel held no further discourse with the queen, but retired a-shipboard. The like did all the boon companions, with their implements of destruction and their huge sow.