OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Magic: A Fantastic Comedy/Prelude

SCENE: A plantation of thin young trees, in a misty and rainy twilight; some woodland blossom showing the patches on the earth between the stems.
THE STRANGER is discovered, a cloaked figure with a pointed hood. His costume might belong to modern or any other time, and the conical hood is so drawn over the head that little can be seen of the face.
A distant voice, a woman's, is heard, half-singing, half-chanting, unintelligible words. The cloaked figure raises its head and listens with interest. The song draws nearer and PATRICIA CARLEON enters. She is dark and slight, and has a dreamy expression. Though she is artistically dressed, her hair is a little wild. She has a broken branch of some flowering tree in her hand. She does not notice the stranger, and though he has watched her with interest, makes no sign. Suddenly she perceives him and starts back.
PATRICIA. Oh! Who are you?
STRANGER. Ah! Who am I? [Commences to mutter to himself, and maps out the ground with his staff.]
    I have a hat, but not to wear;
    I wear a sword, but not to slay,
    And ever in my bag I bear
    A pack of cards, but not to play.
PATRICIA. What are you? What are you saying?
STRANGER. It is the language of the fairies, O daughter of Eve.
PATRICIA. But I never thought fairies were like you. Why, you are taller than I am.
STRANGER. We are of such stature as we will. But the elves grow small, not large, when they would mix with mortals.
PATRICIA. You mean they are beings greater than we are.
STRANGER. Daughter of men, if you would see a fairy as he truly is, look for his head above all the stars and his feet amid the floors of the sea. Old women have taught you that the fairies are too small to be seen. But I tell you the fairies are too mighty to be seen. For they are the elder gods before whom the giants were like pigmies. They are the Elemental Spirits, and any one of them is larger than the world. And you look for them in acorns and on toadstools and wonder that you never see them.
PATRICIA. But you come in the shape and size of a man?
STRANGER. Because I would speak with a woman.
PATRICIA. [Drawing back in awe.] I think you are growing taller as you speak.
[The scene appears to fade away, and give place to the milieu of ACT ONE.]
# Magic (Ellis Stanyon)

Copyright 1901 by The Penn Publishing Company
Contents
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Little Dorrit

First serialised between 1855 and 1857. The novel is a work of satire on the shortcomings of the government and society of the period. Much of Dickens' ire is focused upon the institutions of debtor's prisons—in which people who owed money were imprisoned, unable to work, until they repaid their debts; most other critiques are about other issues with regards to the social safety net: industry, and the treatment and safety of workers; the bureaucracy of the British government's ministries; and the separation of people based on the lack of intercourse between the classes.
Layout 2
LITTLE DORRIT
BY CHARLES DICKENS
FRONTISPIECE

## CONTENTS
### BOOK THE FIRST. POVERTY

       Preface
CHAPTER
* Sun and Shadow
* Fellow Travellers
* Home
* Mrs Flintwinch has a Dream
* Family Affairs
* The Father of the Marshalsea
* The Child of the Marshalsea
* The Lock
* Little Mother
* Containing the whole Science of Government
* Let Loose
* Bleeding Heart Yard
* Patriarchal
* Little Dorrit’s Party
* Mrs Flintwinch has another Dream
* Nobody’s Weakness
* Nobody’s Rival
* Little Dorrit’s Lover
* The Father of the Marshalsea in two or three Relations
* Moving in Society
* Mr Merdle’s Complaint
* A Puzzle
* Machinery in Motion
* Fortune-Telling
* Conspirators and Others
* Nobody’s State of Mind
* Five-and-Twenty
* Nobody’s Disappearance
* Mrs Flintwinch goes on Dreaming
* The Word of a Gentleman
* Spirit
* More Fortune-Telling
* Mrs Merdle’s Complaint
* A Shoal of Barnacles
* What was behind Mr Pancks on Little Dorrit’s Hand
* The Marshalsea becomes an Orphan

### BOOK THE SECOND. RICHES

* Fellow Travellers
* Mrs General
* On the Road
* A Letter from Little Dorrit
* Something Wrong Somewhere
* Something Right Somewhere
* Mostly, Prunes and Prism
* The Dowager Mrs Gowan is reminded that ‘It Never Does’
* Appearance and Disappearance
* The Dreams of Mrs Flintwinch thicken
* A Letter from Little Dorrit
* In which a Great Patriotic Conference is holden
* The Progress of an Epidemic
* Taking Advice
* No just Cause or Impediment why these Two Persons
* Getting on
* Missing
* A Castle in the Air
* The Storming of the Castle in the Air
* Introduces the next
* The History of a Self-Tormentor
* Who passes by this Road so late?
* Mistress Affery makes a Conditional Promise
* The Evening of a Long Day
* The Chief Butler Resigns the Seals of Office
* Reaping the Whirlwind
* The Pupil of the Marshalsea
* An Appearance in the Marshalsea
* A Plea in the Marshalsea
* Closing in
* Closed
* Going
* Going!
* Gone
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
# Little Daisy

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Little Daisy."
* 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.
* "Little Daisy", a poem by Mary C. Ryan
* "Little Daisy", a poem by Martha A. Smith
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Summer

ON SUMMER.
Esteville fire begins to burn; The auburn fields of harvest rise;
The torrid flames again return, And thunders roll along the skies.
Perspiring Cancer lifts his head, And roars terrific from on high;
Whose voice the timid creatures dread, From which they strive with awe to fly.
The night-hawk ventures from his cell, And starts his note in evening air;
He feels the heat his bosom swell, Which drives away the gloom of fear.
Thou noisy insect, start thy drum; Rise lamp-like bugs to light the train;
And bid sweet Philomela come, And sound in front the nightly strain.
The bee begins her ceaseless hum, And doth with sweet exertions rise: ​And with delight she stores her comb, And well her rising stock supplies.
Let sportive children well beware, While sprightly frisking o'er the green;
And carefully avoid the snare, Which lurks beneath the smiling scene.
The mistress bird assumes her nest, And broods in silence on the tree,
Her note to cease, her wings at rest, She patient waits her young to see.
The farmer hastens from the heat; The weary plough-horse droops his head;
The cattle all at noon retreat, And ruminate beneath the shade.
The burdened ox with dauntless rage, Flies heedless to the liquid flood,
From which he quaffs, devoid of guage, Regardless of his driver's rod.
Pomaceous orchards now expand Their laden branches o'er the lea;
And with their bounty fill the land, While plenty smiles on every tree.
On fertile borders, near the stream, Now gaze with pleasure and delight;
See loaded vines with melons teem— 'T is paradise to human sight. ​With rapture view the smiling fields. Adorn the mountain and the plain,
Each, on the eve of Autumn, yields A large supply of golden grain.
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On the Death of Dr. Samuel Marshall

​ ​Or from Olympus' height look down and see
A Town involved in grief, bereft of thee.
Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead,
And rends the graceful tresses from her head;
Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest,
Sigh follows sigh, deep heaving from her breast.
Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?
Ah! lost forever to thy wife and son!
The hapless child, thine only hope and heir,
Clings round his mother's neck, and weeps his sorrow there.
The loss of thee on Tyler's soul returns,
And Boston for her dear physician mourns.
When sickness called for Marshall's healing hand,
With what compassion did his soul expand!
In him we found the father and the friend:
In life how loved! how honored in his end!
And must not then our Æsculapius stay,
To bring his lingering infant into day?
The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost,
And seems in anguish for its father lost.
Gone is Apollo from his house of earth,
But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth:
The common parent whom we all deplore,
From yonder world unseen must come no more;
Yet midst our Woes immortal hopes attend
The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On the Death of Rev. George Whitfield

ON THE DEATH OF THE
REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD.—1770.
Hail, happy saint! on thine immortal throne,
Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown:
We hear no more the music of thy tongue;
Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.
Thy sermons in unequalled accents flowed,
And ev'ry bosom with devotion glowed; ​Thou didst, in strains of eloquence refined,
Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.
Unhappy, we the setting sun deplore,
So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.
Behold the prophet in his towering flight!
He leaves the earth for heaven's unmeasured height,
And worlds unknown receive him from our sight.
There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,
And sails to Zion through vast seas of day.
Thy prayers great saint, and thine incessant cries,
Have pierced the bosom of thy native skies.
Thou, moon, hast seen, and all the stars of light,
How he has wrestled with his God by night.
He prayed that grace in ev'rv heart might dwell;
He longed to see America excel;
He charged its youth that ev'ry grace divine
Should with full lustre in their conduct shine.
That Saviour, which his soul did first receive,
The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give,
He freely offered to the numerous throng,
That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung. "Take him, ye wretched for your only good,
"Take him, ye starving sinners, for your food;
"Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream,
"Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;
"Take him, my dear Americans, he said,
"Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid:
"Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you;
"Impartial Saviour is his title due:
"Washed in the fountain of redeeming blood, "You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God."
​ Great Countess, we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;
New-England deeply feels, the orphans mourn,
Their more than father will no more return.
But though arrested by the hand of death,
Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath,
Yet let us view him in the eternal skies,
Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise;
While the tomb, safe, retains its sacred trust,
Till life divine reanimates his dust.
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Recollection

ON RECOLLECTION.
Mneme begin Inspire, ye sacred Nine,
Your vent'rous Afric, in her great design.
Mneme, immortal power, I trace thy spring;
Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing: ​The acts of long departed yours by thee
Recovered, in due order ranged we see:
Thy power the long-forgotten calls from night,
That sweetly plays before the fancy's sight.
Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours
The ample treasure of her secret stores;
Swift from above, she wings her silent flight
Through Phebe's realms, fair regent of the night,
And, in her pomp of images displayed,
To the high-raptured poet gives her aid;
Through the unbounded regions of the mind,
Diffusing light, celestial and refined.
The heavenly phantom paints the actions done
By every tribe beneath the rolling sun.
Mneme, enthroned within the human breast,
Has vice condemned, and every virtue blest.
How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear!
Sweeter than music to the ravished ear,
Sweeter than Maro's entertaining strains,
Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race
Who scorn her warnings, and despise her grace!
By her unveiled each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
Days, years, misspent, oh what a hell of woe!
Hers the worst tortures that the soul can know.
Now eighteen years their destined course have run.
In fast succession round the central sun. ​How did the follies of that period pass
Unnoticed, but behold them writ in brass!
In Recollection see them fresh return,
And sure 'tis mine to be ashamed and mourn.
O Virtue! smiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy power, and change the scene;
Be thine employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.
Of Recollection such the power enthroned
In every breast, and thus her power is owned.
The wretch who dared the vengeance of the skies,
At last awakes in horror and surprise,
By her alarmed, he sees impending fate,
But howls in anguish and repents too late.
But oh! what peace, what joys are hers to impart
To ev'ry holy, ev'ry upright heart!
Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,
Feels himself sheltered from the wrath divine!
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Spring

ON SPRING.
Hail, thou auspicious vernal dawn!
Ye birds, proclaim the winter's gone, Ye warbling minstrels sing;
Pour forth your tribute as ye rise,
And thus salute the fragrant skies The pleasing smiles of Spring.
Coo sweetly, oh thou harmless Dove,
And bid thy mate no longer rove In cold, hybernal vales;
Let music rise from every tongue, ​Whilst winter flies before the song, Which floats on gentle gales.
Ye frozen streams dissolve and flow
Along the valley, sweet and slow; Divested fields be gay;
Ye drooping forests bloom on high,
And raise your branches to the sky, And thus your charms display.
Thou world of heat—thou vital source,
The torpid insects feel thy force, Which all with life supplies;
Gardens and orchards richly bloom,
And send a gale of sweet perfume, To invite them as they rise.
Near where the crystal waters glide,
The male of birds escorts his bride, And twitters on the spray;
He mounts upon his active wing,
To hail the bounty of the Spring, The lavish pomp of May.
Inspiring month of youthful Love,
How oft we in the peaceful grove, Survey the flowery plume;
Or sit beneath the sylvan shade,
Where branches wave above the head, And smile on every bloom.
Exalted month, when thou art gone,
May Virtue then begin the dawn ​Of an eternal Spring?
May raptures kindle on my tongue,
And start a new, eternal song, Which ne'er shall cease to ring!
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Liberty and Slavery

ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY.
Alas! and am I born for this, To wear this slavish chain?
Deprived of all created bliss, Through hardship, toil and pain!
How long have I in bondage lain, And languished to be free!
Alas! and must I still complain— Deprived of liberty.
Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief This side the silent grave—
To soothe the pain—to quell the grief
And anguish of a slave? ​Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound, Roll through my ravished ears!
Come, let my grief in joys be drowned, And drive away my fears.
Say unto foul oppression, Cease: Ye tyrants rage no more,
And let the joyful trump of peace, Now bid the vassal soar.
Soar on the pinions of that dove Which long has cooed for thee,
And breathed her notes from Afric's grove, The sound of Liberty.
Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize, So often sought by blood—
We crave thy sacred sun to rise, The gift of nature's God!
Bid Slavery hide her haggard face, And barbarism fly:
I scorn to see the sad disgrace
In which enslaved I lie.
Dear Liberty! upon thy breast, I languish to respire;
And like the Swan unto her nest, I'd to thy smiles retire.
Oh, blest asylum—heavenly balm! Unto thy boughs I flee— ​And in thy shades the storm shall calm, With songs of Liberty!
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On being brought from Africa to America

ON BRING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO
AMERICA.
'T was mercy brought me from my pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there's a God — that there's a Saviour too;
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye—
'Their color is a diabolic dye.'
Remember, Christians, Negroes black as Cain
May be refined, and join the angelic train.
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On the Death of Rebecca

ON THE DEATH OF REBECCA.
Thou delicate blossom! thy short race is ended, Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave!
No more are thy beauties by mortals attended, They now are but food for the worms and the grave.
Thou art gone to the tomb, whence there's no returning, And left us behind in a vale of suspense;
In vain to the dust do we follow thee mourning, The same doleful trump will soon call us all hence.
I view thee now launched on eternity's ocean, Thy soul how it smiles as it floats on the wave;
It smiles as if filled with the softest emotion, But looks not behind on the frowns of the grave.
The messenger came from afar to relieve thee— In this lonesome valley no more shalt thou roam;
Bright seraphs now stand on the banks to receive thee, And cry, "Happy stranger, thou art welcome at home."
Thou art gone to a feast, while thy friends are bewailing, Oh, death is a song to the poor ransom'd slave;
Away with bright visions the spirit goes sailing, And leaves the frail body to rest in the grave.
Rebecca is free from the pains of oppression, No friends could prevail with her longer to stay; ​She smiles on the fields of eternal fruition, Whilst death like a bridegroom attends her away.
She is gone in the whirlwind—ye seraphs attend her; Through Jordan's cold torrent her mantle may lave;
She soars in the chariot, and earth falls beneath her, Resign'd in a shroud to a peaceable grave.
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Virtue

ON VIRTUE.
O thou bright jewel, in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder and no more attempt
Thine height to explore, or fathom thy profound.
But O my soul, sink not into despair;
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee,—hovers o'er thine head.
Fain would the heaven-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promised bliss.
Auspicious queen! thine heavenly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along.
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Arrayed in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, through my youthful years;
Oh, leave me not to the false joys of time, ​ But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what shall I call thee,
To give an higher appellation still:
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthroned with cherubs in the realms of day!
# Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/On Winter

ON WINTER.
When smiling Summer's charms are past, The voice of music dies;
Then Winter pours his chilling blast From rough inclement skies.
The pensive dove shuts up her throat, The larks forbear to soar,
Or raise one sweet, delightful note, Which charm'd the ear before.
The screech-owl peals her shivering tone Upon the brink of night;
As some sequestered child unknown, Which feared to come in sight.
The cattle all desert the field, And eager seek the glades
Of naked trees, which once did yield Their sweet and pleasant shades.
The humming insects all are still, The beetles rise no more, ​The constant tinkling of the bell, Along the heath is o'er.
Stern Boreas hurls each piercing gale With snow-clad wings along,
Discharging volleys mixed with hail Which chill the breeze of song.
Lo, all the Southern windows close, Whence spicy breezes roll;
The herbage sinks in sad repose, And Winter sweeps the whole.
Thus after youth old age comes on, And brings the frost of time,
And e'er our vigor has withdrawn, We shed the rose of prime.
Alas! how quick it is the case, The scion youth is grown—
How soon it runs its morning race, And beauty's sun goes down.
The Autumn of declining years Must blanch the father's head,
Encumbered with a load of cares, When youthful charms have fled.
# Manual of The Mother Church/Appendix/Applications

* Special Instructions Regarding Applications for Church Membership
* To Applicants
* Application forms
# Manual of The Mother Church/Appendix/Applications/Special Instructions

Appendix.
Special Instructions.
Regarding Applications for Church Membership.
1. Loyal members of The Mother Church are eligible to approve candidates to unite with this Church.
2. No persons are eligible to countersign applications except loyal students of Mrs. Eddy, Directors, and students of the Board of Education who have been given a degree, and are members of The Mother Church.
3. Those who approve applicants should have applications returned to them after being filled out by the applicants, as required by Article V, Sect. 6, and should compare them with the forms here given, and see that names are legibly written, before sending them to the Clerk of the Church. If not correct, the applicant will be notified, and new applications will ​be required, as none will be returned that are not correctly made out. This requirement is to prevent applications being duplicated and the confusion that might result therefrom. It is important that these seemingly strict conditions be exactly complied with, as the names of the members of The Mother Church will be recorded in the history of the Church and become a part thereof.
4. All names, whether of applicants, approvers, or countersigners, must be plainly written, and one, at least, of the given names of each, written in full. Initials only of first names will not be received. Women must sign Miss or Mrs. before their names as the case may be.
All names must be written the same in all places where they are required.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunt, Walter Freeman

​Hunt, Walter Freeman, M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1871, goes the South-eastern circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 3 Nov., 1865 (then aged 20), called to the bar 17 Nov., 1869 (2nd son of James Hunt, Esq., of Clapham Common, Surrey); born , 1844.
    10, King's Bench Walk, Temple, E.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunter, Charles Stephen

​Hunter, Charles Stephen, M.A., Trin. Hall, Camb., 1883, B.A., LL.B. 1880, goes the North-eastern circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 15 April, 1878 (then aged 19), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1881 (younger son of Michael Hunter, jun., of Greystones, Sheffield, Yorks, manufacturer); born 2 July, 1858; unmarried.
    Greystones, Sheffield; 6, Pump Court, Temple E.C.; Junior Oxford and Cambridge Club, S.W.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunt, Henry Thorowgood

​Hunt, Henry Thorowgood, late lieut 17th regt., educated at Eton, a student of the Middle Temple 24 April, 1865, called to the bar 6 June, 1868 (eldest son of Henry Hunt, Esq., of Leamington, co. Warwick); born , .
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunt, Jackson

​Hunt, Jackson, M.A., Caius Coll., Camb., 1866, conveyancer and equity draftsman, a student of Lincoln's Inn 31 Jan., 1862 (then aged 20), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1866 (only son of Jackson King Hunt, Esq., of London); born , 1842.
    23, Montagu Square, W.; 10, Old Square, W.C.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunter, Donald Ross

​Hunter, Donald Ross, B.A. Trin. Coll., Camb., a student of Lincoln's Inn 18 Jan., 1872 (then aged 20), called to the bar 10 May, 1876 (2nd son of Ven. James Hunter, vicar of St. Matthew's, Bayswater, late archdeacon of Cumberland, Rupert's Land); born , 1852.
    23, St. Petersburg Place, Bayswater, W.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunter, Francis

​Hunter, Francis, a student of Lincoln's Inn 7 May, 1870 (then aged 21), called to the bar 30 April, 1873 (4th son of Walter John Hunter, Esq., of Banghurst, Southants, late Bombay C.S.); born , 1849.
    17, Burnaby Street, Chelsea, S.W.
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunt, Edward Henry

​Hunt, Edward Henry, associate of King's Coll., London, a student of Gray's Inn 16 April, 1861, called to the bar 26 Jan., 1872 (2nd son of Edward Hunt, late of Fareham, Hants, gentleman); born , .
# Men-at-the-Bar/Hunt, Edwin Mason

​Hunt, Edwin Mason, practising before the High Court of New South Wales, a student of the Middle Temple 5 June, 1861, called to the bar 17 Nov., 1864 (only son of Edward Hunt, Esq., of Balmain, New South Wales); born , .
    Sydney, New South Wales.