OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Killian v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.

## Dissenting Opinions

    Black
    Brennan
United States Supreme Court
368 U.S. 231
Killian v. United States
Argued: Oct. 10, 1961. --- Decided: Dec 11, 1961
See 368 U.S. 979, 82 S.Ct. 476.
[Syllabus from pages 231-233 intentionally omitted]
David B. Rothstein, Chicago, Ill., and Basil R. Pollitt, Brooklyn, N.Y., for petitioner.
Kevin T. Maroney, Washington, D.C., for respondent.
Mr. Justice WHITTAKER delivered the opinion of the Court.

## 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
# Killgore v. Blackwell/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
381 U.S. 278
Killgore v. Blackwell
The motion for leave to proceed in forma pauperis and the petition for writ of certiorari are granted. In accordance with the suggestion of the Solicitor General and upon an examination of the entire record the judgment is reversed and the case is remanded to the United States District Court for the Middle District of Pennsylvania with instructions to reinstate petitioner's adult sentence of October 19, 1962, and release him in accordance with the terms of that sentence.

## 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
# Killian v. Ebbinghaus

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Killian v. Ebbinghaus."
* sister projects: 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.
* Killian v. Ebbinghaus (110 U.S. 568)
* Killian v. Ebbinghaus (111 U.S. 798)
# Life, and Death, and Giants—

Life, and Death, and Giants — Such as These — are still — Minor — Apparatus — Hopper of the Mill — Beetle at the Candle — Or a Fife's Fame — Maintain — by Accident that they proclaim —
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1727/So is the Story Told

* SO IS THE STORY TOLD.
* A fair head meekly bowed,
* A shy glance coming after,
* Voices not over loud,
* And a low sweet laughter:
* So is the story told
* Up in the cottage old
* Under the smoky rafter.
* A fair maid flushing red
* With an unknown feeling,
* But shamed to bow her head
* For all her lover's kneeling:
* So is the story told
* Down 'mid the white and gold
* Under the painted ceiling.
* Blackwood's Magazine.J. R. S.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1727/The Dog of the Barracks

From The Leisure Hour.
THE DOG OF THE BARRACKS.
From a French correspondent we have the following: — We had for several years a fine dog, named Tarquin. Since his death he was always called Tarquin l'Ancien, to distinguish him from his successor, who, from his great beauty, we had named Tarquin le Superb. The first Tarquin was born and brought up in an artillery barrack. He was caressed, played with, teased, amused by all the soldiers, his daily companions, who, as all know, in their amusements are like big children. His master, a sergeant-major, having completed his term of military service, returned to his home at Nancy, and there sold the young dog to my father. Tarquin led a happy life with us, was caressed, and certainly was better fed than he had been in the barrack. Still, he had a clinging fondness for the companions of his youth, the artillerymen; and although there were then no artillery in garrison at Nancy, every time that by chance an artillery soldier passed through the town, down our street, the poor dog rushed forth and affectionately caressed him, to the soldier's great astonishment, who, at first, did not know what to make of his rude ​gratulations. My father would, from the window, call the soldier in, offer him a glass of wine, and recount to him Tarquin's birth and bringing up in an artillery barrack.
There were sapeurs-pompiers at Nancy, wearing the same uniform, black trousers, with a double red stripe, the only difference being that, en grande tenue, the pompiers had a brass helmet, and the artillery a shako, but on ordinary occasions the uniform was the same for both. However much we might be deceived by the similarity of their uniform, the good Tarquin, who could not read the number of their regiment on the artillerymen's buttons, as we could, always discerned the difference. That was certainly very singular; perhaps the cloth of their garments was of different manufacture. Something must have struck a dog's sense, or instinct, not noticeable to us, his superiors in knowledge.
Tarquin often acted as our commissionnaire. My mother, sometimes feeling lonely, wished to see my grandfather, and would call Tarquin, fastening a small missive to his collar, then open the door and say to him. "Va, chercher grand-pere." At the end of a quarter of an hour Tarquin reappeared escorting him.L. H..
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1729

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIX. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1729. — August 4, 1877. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXIV. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Pascal and Montaigne. By the late Professor Grote, | Contemporary Review, | 259 |
| II. | The Little Old Man of the Batignolles. A Chapter from a Detective's Memoir. Translated for The Living Age, from the French of | Emile Gaborain, | 266 |
| III. | The Egyptian Campaign in Abyssinia. From the notes of a Staff-Officer, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 278 |
| IV. | Pauline. By L. B. Walford, author of "Mr. Smith," etc. Part IX., | Advance Sheets, | 287 |
| V. | The Planet of War, | Cornhill Magazine, | 293 |
| VI. | Green Pastures and Piccadilly. By William Black. Part XXIII., | Examiner, | 302 |
| VII. | Miss Mary Carpenter, | Spectator, | 305 |
| VIII. | Notes on the Geographical Distribution of Animals. By W. F. Kirby, | Popular Science Review, | 308 |
| IX. | Japanese Children, | Spectator, | 312 |
| X. | The Debate on the Sale of Livings, | Spectator, | 315 |
| XI. | Parliaments, | Saturday Review, | 317 |
| XII. | A New Zealand Divine on Early Closing, | Otago Daily Times, | 319 |
POETRY. :
| Switzerland, viâ Paris And Neuchatel, | 258 | Spring's Secret, | 258 |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 320 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1727/Lord Justice Mellish

* LORD JUSTICE MELLISH.
* Brave soul, who well the anguish didst endure
* Of thy life's scourge; controlling more and more
* By patient will the taint, which baffled cure,
* Of fell disease; while, rich in varied store,
* In subtlest reason schooled, the unclouded brain
* Braved toil and keen encounter, in disdain
* Of curtained ease and tendance, to explore
* The law's dim labyrinths and rugged lore.
* Great advocate! who nobly didst maintain
* The entrusted cause, while throbbed each nerve with pain;
* Judge of high aim, clear thought, unruffled mien,
* Masking thine inward pangs with brow serene!
* Soldier of Him who vanquished pain, well done!
* Joy to each loyal heart! thy well-earned rest is won.
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1727/No More Sea

* NO MORE SEA.
* There shall be no more sea: no wild winds bringing
* Their stormy tidings to the rocky strand,
* With its scant grasses, and pale sea-flowers springing
* From out the barren sand.
* No angry wave, from cliff and cavern hoary,
* To hearts that tremble at its mournful lore;
* Bearing on shattered sail and spar the story
* Of one who comes no more;
* The loved and lost, whose steps no more may wander
* Where wild gorse sheds its blooms of living gold,
* Nor slake his thirst where mountain rills meander
* Along the heathy wold.
* Never again through flowery dingles wending,
* In the hushed stillness of the sacred morn,
* By shady woodpaths, where tall poppies, bending,
* Redden the ripening corn.
* Neath whispering leaves his rosy children gather
* In the grey hamlet's simple place of graves,
* Round the low tomb where sleeps his white-haired father,
* Far from the noise of waves.
* There shall be no more sea! No surges sweeping
* O'er love and youth, and childhood's sunny hair:
* Naught of decay and change, nor voice of weeping
* Ruffle the fragrant air
* Of that fair land within whose pearly portal
* The golden light falls soft on fount and tree;
* Vexed by no tempest, stretch those shores immortal,
* Where there is no more sea.
* Argosy.J. I. L.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1728/Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton (Lady Stirling-Maxwell)

* related authors: Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, Wikidata item.
* CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON
* (LADY STIRLING-MAXWELL).
* Born, 1809. Died, June 15, 1877.
* One lived for grace — one lived for good; so runs,
* In brief, the record of two women's claims,
* Whose lives, unlike, closed with close-following suns,
* Bequeathing memories diverse as their fames.
* One, the famed daughter of a famous line,
* With grace and charm, with wit and beauty dowered,
* Yet on whose power to please, and will to shine,
* Some adverse star malignant influence showered.
* Her bridal wreath was blent with weeds of strife:
* An ill world's ill report, by party aimed,
* Fleshed its foul shafts in her unguarded life,
* Until fair-weather friendship shrank afraid,
* And hate and envy gave their tongues free play
* On the proud soul that would not be o'erborne,
* But strove to show brave face to bleakest day,
* And hid her wounds, and gave back scorn for scorn:
* And sang her song, and smiled her smile, and staunched
* Her tears to strain her children to her breast,
* But death's pale blight her hope's bright blossom blanched,
* And left her all but lone in dark unrest.
* Till time and fair life bore down ill-report,
* And grief in patience, if not peace, was lost;
* And she lived on, and sang, and held her court,
* And dwelt in memories of the loved and lost.
* Still beautiful, still graceful, with her voice
* Of low, sweet music, and her gift of song;
* Tenacious of the friendships of her choice, —
* Fast because wisely made as cherished long.
* Truest of all, the friend who, at the last,
* Gave her marred life the shelter of his name,
* And a short sunshine o'er her evening cast,
* Denied her in the morning of her fame.
* Noble of soul as beautiful, endowed
* With all that should have crowned a life with joy, —
* Well for her she has passed beyond the cloud,
* Tended by faithful love, to join her boy.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1727/The Evening Time

* THE EVENING TIME.
* Together we walked in the evening time,
* Above us the sky spread golden and clear,
* And he bent his head and looked in my eyes,
* As if he held me of all most dear.
* Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!
* Grayer the light grew and grayer still,
* The rooks flitted home through the purple shade;
* The nightingales sang where the thorns stood high,
* As I walked with him in the woodland glade.
* Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!
* And our pathway went through fields of wheat;
* Narrow that path and rough the way,
* But he was near, and the birds sang true,
* And the stars came out in the twilight gray.
* Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!
* Softly he spoke of the days long past,
* Softly of blessed days to be;
* Close to his arm and closer I prest
* The corn-field path was Eden to me.
* Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!
* And the latest gleams of daylight died;
* My hand in his enfolded lay;
* We swept the dew from the wheat as we passed,
* For narrower, narrower, wound the way.
* Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!
* He looked in the depths of my eyes and said,
* "Sorrow and gladness will come for us, sweet;
* But together we'll walk through the fields of life
* Close as we walked through the fields of wheat."
* Good Words.A. C. C.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1728

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIX. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1728. — July 28, 1877. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXIV. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | George Sand. By Matthew Arnold, | Fortnightly Review, | 195 |
| II. | The Marquis of Lossie. By George Mac Donald, author of "Malcolm," etc. Conclusion, | Advance Sheets, | 204 |
| III. | Is the Moon Dead? | Cornhill Magazine, | 222 |
| IV. | Carita. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of "Chronicles of Carlingford," "Zaidee," etc. Part XVII., | Cornhill Magazine, | 232 |
| V. | Green Pastures and Piccadilly. By William Black. Part XXII., | Examiner, | 251 |
| POETRY. ||||
| Two Women ||||
| Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton (Lady Stirling-Maxwell), | Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton (Lady Stirling-Maxwell), | Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton (Lady Stirling-Maxwell), | 194 |
| Mary Carpenter, | Mary Carpenter, | Mary Carpenter, | 194 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 134/Issue 1728/Mary Carpenter

* MARY CARPENTER.
* Born, April 1807. Died, June 14, 1877.
* Not on the heights of England's proud estate,
* Where its spoilt children keep their giddy round,
* The other learned to weigh man and man's fate,
* Studied life's lessons and life's labor found.
* But in a frugal, pure, and peaceful home,
* A place of sober learning, learned to see,
* Through faith and trust in God's good time to come,
* That where ill is, good may, and will, yet be.
* Her parents' help, her sisters', brothers' guide,
* She grew as high of heart, as mild of mood;
* With power o'er youth's rebelliousness and pride,
* As one that from her own youth up was good.
* And early fixed her mind, and chose her part,
* To work in the high faith which few can feel,
* That there's a spring of good in every heart,
* So you have love its fountain to unseal.
* This faith it was that marked a course for her,
* And braced her for its trouble and its toil,
* Cheered her 'gainst proofs how much the best may err,
* And kept her pure as snow from taint or soil.
* Out of the scaffold's shadow and the dark
* Of lives from youth up weaned of light and air,
* She gathered sinking souls into her ark
* Of love that rode the deluge of despair.
* 'Twas she first drew our city waifs and strays
* Within the tending of the Christian fold,
* With eyes of love for the averted gaze
* Of a world prompt to scourge and shrill to scold.
* From seeds she sowed — in season mattered not,
* Or out — for good all seasons are the same —
* Sprang new appliances, of love begot,
* Lost lives to save, and wanderers reclaim.
* Nor at home only; when her hair was white
* She crossed the sea, on India to bestow
* The love that England prized at length aright,
* Following leads she was the first to show.
* Not from far Pisgah only did she view
* The promised land, but lived its soil to tread;
* And dies bequeathing work for us to do,
* While praise and blessing crown her reverend head!
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1839/A Society of Antiquaries

60
* A SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES.
* Artist: Jenkins - Engraved by: T. A. Dean
A SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES.
How many are the fancies  That joyous childhood hath! It stoops to gather flowers  Where’er may be its path.
And age, too, has its fancies,  As earnest, if less sweet; It makes but stormy weather  When fancies chance to meet.
It is an ancient chamber,  Where he for years has stored What years have gone to gather—  The antiquary’s hoard.
It is their grandsire’s birthday,  And every child is come In merriment and secret  To spoil the guarded room.
One trails a mystic garment  That once a mummy wore; One empties a rich casket  Of coins upon the floor.
In comes the angry grandsire,  His cane is in his hand: There seems but little terror  ’Mid that detected band.
Methinks a pleasant lesson  Is given by the scene— That age alike and childhood  Delight in what has been.
They will make, those happy children,  The old man’s heart their own— There never was a pleasure  Could be enjoyed alone.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1839/Crossing the Choor Mountains

see Shimla
46
* CROSSING THE CHOOR MOUNTAINS.
* Artist: C. Stanfield - Engraved by: J. Tingle
CROSSING THE CHOOR MOUNTAINS.
Lieutenant Moorcroft was the first European who ever crossed the Choor Mountains. After many hardships and difficulties, he died at Andhko. The elevation of this mountain-pass above the level of the sea, is twelve thousand one hundred and forty-nine feet. During a considerable part of the year, the Choor is hoary with snow; and when moonlight falls upon the scene, an effect is produced as if floods of molten silver were poured over the surface. Moonlight in these regions assumes a novel charm. The rugged peaks, stern and chilling as they are, lose their awful character, and become brilliant as polished pearl; the trees, covered with icicles, seem formed of some rich spar; and the face of nature becoming wholly changed, presents the features of a world calm and tranquil, but still and deathlike.
He was the first that ever crossed  Those pale hills, with their snow, Whose summits in the clouds are lost,  From whence the cold rills flow. He stood—the pines at his right hand,  The eagle at his side; He thought upon his English land,  And Solitude replied.
How strange it must have been to hear  Our own familiar tongue, Bringing its home and childhood near  Those mountain-tops among. Within that English traveller’s heart  What deep emotions stirred, As talked their little band apart,  Each with an English word!
Were they familiar thoughts and fond—  Thoughts linked with early hours, That scarcely give a look beyond  The present’s fruit and flowers, That seem to pass like streams away,  And yet that leave behind Music that many an after day  Will bring again to mind?
’Tis strange how often early years  Will unexpected rise, And bring back soft and childlike tears  To cold and world-worn eyes. Soft voices come upon the wind,  Old songs and early prayers, And feel how much of good and kind  Our weary life still spares.
Or had he lofty thoughts and stern,  Of what before him lay; Did his aspiring thoughts discern  Honours some future day, Of science, aided by his toil—  Of knowledge, taught to roam— Of all the rich and varied spoil  The traveller brings home?
He needed all—the hopes that guide—  The memories that cheer— For after hours were at his side,  Of care, and pain, and fear. His was a hard and weary lot,  His hour of wandering past; Alas! for him awaited not  A welcome home at last.
Strange hands sustained his sinking head,  Strange steps were at his side, Strange faces bent above the bed,  The bed whereon he died. I cannot bear to think of this—  Death-lone on that far strange shore; And yet the death-bed that was his  Awaiteth many more.
Our careless crowds too little think  Of those who work their will; Of dangers from which we should shrink—  Of toils, while we are still. Too late some vain regret may wake,  And pity then affords For some young bold adventurer’s sake,  A few vain tears and words.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1839/Jacob Blessing Ephraim and Manasseh

16
* JACOB BLESSING THE CHILDREN OF JOSEPH.
* Artist: J. Franklin - Engraved by: G. Presbury
JACOB BLESSING EPHRAIM AND MANASSEH.
"And Joseph took them both, Ephraim in his right hand towards Israel’s left hand, and Manasseh in his left hand towards Israel’s right hand, and brought them near unto him. And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim’s head, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh’s head, guiding his hands wittingly; for Manasseh was the first-born. And he blessed Joseph, and said, God, before whom my fathers Abraham and Isaac did walk, the God which fed me all my life long unto this day, the Angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads."—Genesis, chap. xiviii. ver. 13, et seq.
The old man’s head is white with age, Weary has been his pilgrimage; Yet "few and evil" were the years Spent amid our vale of tears.
At his side there is his son, He so long unlooked upon; And a stately chief is he Whom the father cannot see.
Two young children with soft hair Bright as locks of childhood are, Kneel with sweet uplifted eyes, Touched with infantine surprise—
Wondering, as they look above, Who is he that claims their love. Yet familiar seems the prayer, Words from childhood heard are there.
Earnest is the mother’s gaze— Hath she gone to other days, When the father of her child Was betrayed—oppressed—exiled?
Weak the old man’s voice and low, Through her soul it seems to go. Piercing many a future hour With the prophet’s mighty power.
Peace upon each spirit came, As he blessed them in God’s name; Holy are the words and high,— And the old man turns to die.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1839/Dunstanburgh Castle

82
* DUNSTANBURGH CASTLE, NORTHUMBERLAND.
* Artist: T. Allom - Engraved by: J. Sands
DUNSTANBURGH CASTLE.
This commanding position was originally occupied by a British fortress, to which a Roman castellum succeeded: it was strengthened subsequently, at several periods, and rebuilt on a more extensive plan, by Thomas, Earl of Lancaster. In the year 1642 it was unroofed by order of Edward IV, from which period its decay has proceeded with a rapidity to be expected from a position so exposed. The castle and outworks covered nine square acres: the cliffs on the north side present a mural precipice of considerable height: and on the east front of the rock is a deep wave-worn excavation, called Rumble Churn, into which the tide rushed with so much violence, that the report of its lashes is heard at the distance of a mile from the spot.
There was no flag upon the mast,  None knew the vessel’s name, What were the seas where she had past,  The country where she came. The first grey dawn of morning light,  Shone through the sky of clouds; But yet the darkness of the night  Was on that vessel’s shrouds.
The night now passing from the west,  But only served to show The tumult of the ocean’s breast  The deeper night below. Men gathered fast upon the sands  With eager aid—in vain— What is might of human hands  To struggle with the main?
The beacon-fires upon the height  Are stronger than the day; In vain their warning gleam was bright,  They could not point the way, On high their crimson gleam is tost,  High on the hill-tops shed; The first faint light of day is lost  Amid their fiercer red.
The crimson tints the sea-bird’s wing  At every downward sweep; Yet even they in mid air spring,  As if they shunned the deep. How white and wan their wings appear  Amid the dusky air! One pale, as if with conscious fear—  One dark, as with despair.
On struggles still the gallant ship,  But every time more weak: Amid the waves her rent sails dip,  The billows o’er her break. No human hands are on her deck,  No cry is on the air, The waves have swept above the wreck—  Death is the monarch there.
Darker and darker grows the sky,  And darker grows the sea, And darker grows the human eye,  That such a sight must see. There rises an appealing cry,  But only from the shore. One last black wave has burst on high—  That ship is seen no more.
For many days to come were flung  Strange relics on the strand, Wealth over which wild whispers hung,  And foreign gun and brand. And of a dark and mingled race  The bodies washed ashore; Hardships were marked on every face  And wild the garb they wore.
Day after day the waves restore  To land th’ unburied dead; And old men, as they came ashore,  Watched each dark face, and said, That God was good—and still his power  Avenged the course of ill; That winds and waters knew the hour  In which to work his will.