OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Letters of Julian/Letter 27

From The Works of the Emperor Julian, volume III (1913) Loeb Classical Library.

## 27. To the Thracians

[362, Before May, Constantinople]
To an Emperor who had an eye solely to gain, your request would have appeared hard to grant, and he would not have thought that he ought to injure the public prosperity by granting a particular indulgence to any. But since I have not made it my aim to collect the greatest possible sums from my subjects, but rather to be the source of the greatest possible blessings to them, this fact shall for you too cancel your debts. Nevertheless it will not cancel the whole sum absolutely, but there shall be a division of the amount, and part shall be remitted to you, part shall be used for the needs of the army; since from it you yourselves assuredly gain no slight advantages, namely, peace and security. Accordingly I remit for you, down to the third assessment, the whole sum that is in arrears for the period preceding. But thereafter you will contribute as usual. For the amount remitted is sufficient indulgence for you, while for my part I must not neglect the public interest. Concerning this I have sent orders to the prefects also, in order that your indulgence may be carried into effect. May the gods keep you prosperous for all time!

## Footnotes

* ↑ An answer to a petition. For Julian's remission of arrears, ἐλλείματα, Latin reliqua, of taxes at Antioch, cf. Misopogon, 365b. For his popularity with the provincials due to this liberality, cf. Ammianus 25. 4. 15.
* ↑ Apparently he means that the arrears are remitted down to the year 359, but they must pay what is due from that date.
# Letters of Julian/Letter 30

From The Works of the Emperor Julian, volume III (1913) Loeb Classical Library.

## 30. To Philip

[362, Spring, Constantinople]
I call the gods to witness that, when I was still Caesar I wrote to you, and I think it was more than once. However, I started to do so many times, but there were reasons that prevented me, now of one kind, now another, and then followed that wolf's friendship that arose between myself and Constantius of blessed memory, in consequence of the proclamation. I was exceedingly careful not to write to anyone beyond the Alps for fear of getting him into serious trouble. So consider the fact that I did not write a proof of my goodwill. For it is often impracticable to make one's language harmonise with one's real sentiments. Then, too, letters from the Emperor to private persons might well lead to their display for bragging and making false pretences when they come into the hands of persons with no sense of propriety, who carry them about like seal-rings and show them to the inexperienced. Nay, genuine friendship is produced first and foremost by similarity of disposition, but a second kind is, when one feels true and not pretended admiration, and a humane, moderate and virtuous man is cherished by one who is his superior in fortune and intelligence. Moreover letters of this sort are full of conceit and nonsense, and, for my part, I often blame myself for making mine too long, and for being too loquacious when I might discipline my tongue to Pythagorean silence.
Yes, I received the tokens, namely, a silver bowl weighing one mina and a gold coin. I should be very glad to invite you to visit me as you suggest in your letter. But the first signs of spring are here already, the trees are in bud, and the swallows, which are expected almost immediately, as soon as they come drive our band of campaigners out of doors, and remind us that we ought to be over the border. We shall travel through your part of the country, so that you would have a better chance of seeing me, if the gods so will it, in your own home. This will, I think, be soon, unless some sign from heaven should forbid it. For this same meeting I am praying to the gods.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Schwarz wrongly suspects this letter on stylistic grounds. Philip was perhaps the Cappadocian to whom Libanius wrote several extant letters, e.g. Letter 1190. For his zeal in aiding Julian to restore paganism he suffered persecution after the Emperor's death.
* ↑ i.e. of himself as Augustus by the army in Gaul, early in 360; cf. Vol. 2, Letter to the Athenians 283-286; he was Caesar 355-360.
* ↑ Such tokens were often sent to friends; cf. To Hecebolius, p. 219.
* ↑ Julian set out for Antioch about May 12th, 362, and expected to see Philip in Cappadocia.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/In Memoriam W. E. Forster

Originally published in Academy. Wikipedia article on W. E. Forster
(Obiit, April 5, 1886.)
Oh honest, stalwart man whose earnest face  Mirrored the soul within; whose every deed  Made answer to thy word; who gav'st no heed To foolish babble or the lust of place.
Who, grieved to see thy country's hapless case  For lack of knowledge, help'st to aid her need,  Bestowing all she wished; whose civic creed Was not of party, but took in the race.
A year has passed since thou wert laid to rest,  Yet is thy memory fragrant; thy bequest  A work whose scope and grandeur none can gauge.
England some day, her daughter-lands apart  No longer, will recall with pride of heart  Who showedst the way to gain her heritage.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/Some of our Immigrants

Originally published in Lloyd's Newspaper.
Some of our Immigrants - The constant enormous immigration of the poorest class of Germans and of Polish Jews to the eastern districts of the metropolis is becoming a matter of serious moment. So far as we know, we are the only nation which permits the free incoming of destitute aliens; even the United States prevent it. We have had experience in receiving poor Flemings, outlawed Huguenots, and others to our shores, whose skill and industry have reacted upon our people and helped to create our trade. The present settlers are of a different style. With the lowest standard of comfort in life they exist rather than live — dwelling in houses on the verge of condemnation, and amidst the most repulsive surroundings. Thus conditioned, they are able to compete with great success against the lowest classes of our laborers, increasing their present heavy difficulties. At this moment there are about 276,000 foreigners in Germany, of whom 11,000 are English; while in London there were, according to the last census, 55,136 persons of foreign birth, of whom 21,966 were born Germans. Perhaps no legislative enactment is practicable to diminish the strain of foreign competition in our midst; but surely our consuls might successfully interfere to diminish the influx of persons so poor and destitute that they leave their native land simply as the off-scourings — the ne’er-do-wells who are sent abroad rather to rid the country of them than with any hope of their future well-doing. None can doubt the bitterness of feeling which exists in the East End on this point, and we should be glad to know that representations on the subject have been made to foreign powers with a view to minimixing the difficulty. Much satisfaction will be felt that Captain Colomb has given notice to bring the matter again before the House of Commons at the earliest opportunity.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/In April

Originally published in Spectator.
Love and Youth, the gods of verse, Pour dew and flowers on Winter's hearse, At the sun's kiss, Nature's eyes Open with a glad surprise.
And the heart of life thus stirred, Throbs again in flower and bird, Glows upon the young man's face, Fills the maiden's form with grace.
Wood and meadow, sky and sea, Catch the impulse, feel the glee; And the lark upon its wing Bears the music of the Spring.
Though in London streets to-day, Yet with restless joy I stray Where the primrose, tender-eyed, Smiles upon the copse's side;
Where the river, mountain-fed, Rushes through its rocky bed; Where the stream, by sallows bound, Murmurs with a silvery sound.
April's breath upon my face, Many a woodland path I trace; Many a heath'ry track explore, Pass by many a cottage door,
Watch the swallow darting by, Hear the far-off cuckoo's cry — Till my heart with them takes flight, Filled with measureless delight.
Straight the happy dream has fled, Houses tower overhead, Newsboys shout, and cabmen ply, London smoke obscures the sky. -.
Yet with sunshine in the heart, From the eager crowd I part, And a sense of sweet content With the vision's loss is blent.
Richer far am I than they Whom I pass upon the way; Richer far, — for I have been In the fields where poets glean.
And although my song be weak, Yet of Nature I can speak, And a lover's tribute bring To the treasures of the Spring.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/Forth

Originally published in All The Year Round.
Not my own waves that thunder on the shore;  Not my own wild wind sweeping o'er the seas; Not my own music in the mighty roar  That makes its chords of all the yellowing trees; Not my own skies that shine in gloom and gleam,  Over the turbid waters in their strife; Not my own wide horizon's pale grey dream,  In yon faint glimpse of the fair hills of Fife. Yet, as two meeting in a foreign land,  Hailing the subtle link of glance or tone, Stretch eagerly to clasp a kindred hand,  That pulses with the blood that warms his own, So, yearning always for my English North,  I linger, listening lovingly, by Forth.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/To a Hyacinth in an April Storm

Originally published in Academy.
Poor broken flower, in this vile tempest whirled,  What prompteth thee to such untimely birth,  To be so soon down-trodden in the earth, Before thy pearly petals had unfurled The bells that ring in springtime to the world?  Thou would'st have brought us welcome, and with mirth  Led all our thoughts away from winter's dearth, Had fate but left thy beauty unimperilled.
In this sad world, thine is a common fate,  A world in which the gentlest heart fares worst, Borne down. by the intolerable weight  Of kindness unregarded, or accurst; Its labor spurned, its love disconsolate  As thine, fair flower! The purest perish first.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2240/Electric Lighting at Windsor Castle

Originally published in Electrical Review.
Electric Lighting at Windsor Castle - The electric light installation at Windsor Castle has, it is believed, been arranged in order that the queen may be able to judge of its effect, and the current will be supplied by the dynamo machinery in the chamber under the North Terrace. The incandescent lamps have only been hung in a portion of the palace, but should her Majesty approve the lighting it may probably be extended to other apartments in the castle.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2237/My Chaffinch

Originally published in Pall Mall Gazette.
His hours he spends upon a fragrant fir;  His merry "chink," his happy "Kiss me, dear," Each moment sounded keeps the copse astir.  Loudly he challenges his rivals near, Anon aslant down to the ground he springs Like to a sunbeam made of colored wings.
The firm and solid azure of the ciel  That struck by hand would give a hollow sound; A dome turned perfect by the sun's great wheel,  Whose edges rest upon the hills around, Rings many a mile with blue enamelled wall; His fir-tree is the centre of it all.
A lichened cup he set against the side,  High up this mast, earth-stepped, that could not fail, But swung a little as a ship might ride,  Keeping an easy balance in the gale; Slow-heaving like a gladiator's breast Whose strength in combat feels an idle rest.
Whether the cuckoo or the chaffinch most  Do triumph in the issuing of their song? I say not this, but many a swelling boast  They throw each at the other all day long. Soon as the nest had cradled eggs a-twin The jolly squirrel climbed to look therein.
Adown the lane athwart this pleasant wood  The broad-winged butterflies their solace sought, A green-necked pheasant in the sunlight stood  Nor could the rushes hide him as he thought, A humble-bee through fern and thistle made A search for lowly flowers in the shade.
A thing of many wanderings, and loss,  Like to Ulysses on his poplar raft, His treasure hid beneath the tunnelled moss  Lest that a thief his labor steal with craft, Up the round hill, sheep-dotted, was his way Zigzagging where some new adventure lay.
"My life and soul," as if 'he were a Greek.  His heart was Grecian in his greenwood fane; "My life and soul," through all the sunny week  The chaffinch sang with beating heart amain. "The humble-bee the wide wood-world may roam; One feather's breadth I shall not stir from home."
No note he took of what the swallows said  About the firing of some evil gun, Nor if the butterflies were blue or red,  For all his feelings were intent in one. The loving soul a-thrill in all his nerves A life immortal as a man's deserves.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2238/Solomon's Judgment in Chinese

Originally published in Academy.
Solomon's Judgment in Chinese - Two women came before a mandarin in China, each of them protesting that she was the mother of a little child they had brought with them. They were so eager and so positive that the mandarin was sorely puzzled. He retired to consult with his wife, who was a wise and clever woman, whose opinion was held in great repute in the neighborhood.
She requested five minutes in which to deliberate. At the end of that time she spoke:
“Let the servants catch me a large fish in the river, and let it be brought me here alive.”
This was done.
“Bring me now the infant,” she said, “but leave the women in the outer chamber.”
This was done, too. Then the mandarin’s wife caused the baby to be undressed, and its clothes put on the large fish.
“Carry the creature outside now, and throw it into the river in the sight of the two women.”
The servant obeyed her orders, flinging the fish into the water, where it rolled about and struggled, disgusted, no doubt, by the wrapping in which it was swaddled.
Without a moment’s pause, one of the mothers threw herself into the river with a shriek. She must save her drowning child.
“Without doubt, she is the true mother,” she declared; and the mandarin’s wife commanded that she should be rescued, and the child given to her.
“Without a doubt, she is the true mother,” she declared. And the mandarin nodded his head, and thought his wife the wisest woman in the Flowery Kingdom. Meantime, the false mother crept away. She was found out in her imposture; and the mandarin’s wife forgot all about her in the occupation of donning the little baby in the best silk she could find in her wardrobe.
For other varieties of the same story, see Rhys Davids, “Buddhist Birth Stories’s (vol. i., pp. xiii. and xliv.); “Tibetan Tales,” by Schiefner and Ralston (pp. xliii. 121); Max Muller, “India, what can it teach us?” (p II).
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2240/"The Other Side"

Originally published in Belgravia.
a comparison.
The lilies droop, and my room is chill, Though 'tis Easter, not Christmastide: But I see my neighbor draw his blind, For the sun, on "the other side."
Sweet hopes of love, and of toil's reward, Have drooped with the flowers, and died: I wonder if there is something yet To be said on "the other side."
And life drags on like a winter night, Black and cold, without star to guide; Perchance we must wait to understand Till we get to "the other side."
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 52

To MISS RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Feb. 26, 1805.
I have been reading a power of good books: Montesquieu sur la Grandeur et Décadence des Romains, which I recommend to you as a book you will admire, because it furnishes so much food for thought, it shows how history may be studied for the advantage of mankind, not for the mere purpose of remembering facts and repeating them.
Sneyd has come home to spend a week of vacation with us. He is now full of logic, and we perpetually hear the words syllogisms, and predicates, majors and minors, universals and particulars, affirmatives and negatives, and BAROK and BARBARA, not Barbara Allen or any of her relations: and we have learnt by logic that a stone is not an animal, and conversely that an animal is not a stone. I really think a man talking logic on the stage might be made as diverting as the character of the Apprentice who is arithmetically mad; pray read it: my father read it to us a few nights ago, and though I had a most violent headache, so that I was forced to hold my head on both sides whilst I laughed, yet I could not refrain. Much I attribute to my father's reading, but something must be left to Murphy. I have some idea of writing in the intervals of my severer studies for Professional Education, a comedy for my father's birthday, but I shall do it up in my own room, and shall not produce it till it is finished. I found the first hint of it in the strangest place that anybody could invent, for it was in Dallas's History of the Maroons, and you may read the book to find it out, and ten to one you miss it. At all events pray read the book, for it is extremely interesting and entertaining: it presents a new world with new manners to the imagination, and the whole bears the stamp of truth. It is not well written in general, but there are particular parts admirable from truth of description and force of feeling.
Your little goddaughter Sophy is one of the most engaging little creatures I ever saw, and knows almost all the birds and beasts in Bewick from the tom-tit to the hip-po-pot-a-mus, and names them in a sweet little droll voice.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Second son of Mrs. Elizabeth Edgeworth.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 53

To HENRY EDGEWORTH, AT EDINBURGH.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, March 1805.
It gives me the most sincere pleasure to see your letters to my father written just as if you were talking to a favourite friend of your own age, and with that manly simplicity characteristic of your mind and manner from the time you were able to speak. There is something in this perfect openness and in the courage of daring to be always yourself, which attaches more than I can express, more than all the Chesterfieldian arts and graces that ever were practised.
The worked sleeves are for Mrs. Stewart, and you are to offer them to her,—nobody can say I do not know how to choose my ambassadors well! If Mrs. Stewart should begin to say, "O! it is a pity Miss Edgeworth should spend her time at such work!" please to interrupt her speech, though that is very rude, and tell her that I like work very much, and that I have only done this at odd times, after breakfast you know, when my father reads out Pope's Homer, or when there are long sittings, when it is much more agreeable to move one's fingers than to have to sit with hands crossed or clasped immovably. I by no means accede to the doctrine that ladies cannot attend to anything else when they are working: besides, it is contrary, is not it, to all the theories of Zoonomia? Does not Dr. Darwin show that certain habitual motions go on without interrupting trains of thought? And do not common sense and experience, whom I respect even above Dr. Darwin, show the same thing?
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 50

MISS EDGEWORTH to MRS. CHARLOTTE SNEYD. BLACK CASTLE, December 1804.
Though Henry will bring you all the news of this enchanted castle, and though you will hear it far better from his lips than from my pen, I cannot let him go without a line. I need not tell you I am perfectly happy here, and only find the day too short. Pray make Henry give you an account of the grand dinner we were at, and the Spanish priest who called Rousseau and Voltaire vagabones, and the gentleman who played the "Highland Laddie" on the guitar, and of Mr. Grainger, who was present at one of the exhibitions of that German spectre-monger celebrated in Wraxall.
The cottages are improving here, the people have paved their yards, and plant roses against their walls. My aunt likes Ennui. I had thoughts of finishing it here, but every day I find some excuse for idleness.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 51

To MISS HONORA EDGEWORTH.
BLACK CASTLE, Jan. 1805.
I have thought of you often when I heard things that would entertain you, and thought I had collected a great store, but when I rummage in my head, for want of having had, or taken time to keep the drawers of my cabinet of memory tidy, I cannot find one single thing that I want, except that it is said that plants raised from cuttings do not bear such fine flowers as those raised from seeds.—That a lady, whose parrot had lost all its feathers, made him a flannel jacket. . . . I will bring a specimen of the silk spun by the Processionaires, of whom my aunt gave you the history. There is a cock here who is as great a tyrant in his own way as Buonaparte, and a poor Barbary cock who has no claws, has the misfortune to live in the same yard with him; he will not suffer this poor defenceless fellow to touch a morsel or grain of all the good things Margaret throws to them till he and all his protégées are satisfied.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 48

To MRS. RUXTON.
EDINBURGH, March 30, 1803.
In a few days I hope we shall see you. I long to see you again, and to hear your voice, and to receive from you those kind looks and kind words, which custom cannot stale. I believe that the more variety people see, the more they become attached to their first and natural friends. I had taken a large sheet of paper to tell you some of the wonders we have seen in our nine days' stay in Edinburgh, but my father has wisely advised me to content myself with a small sheet, as I am to have the joy of talking to you so soon, and may then say volumes in the same time that I could write pages. I cannot express the pleasure we have felt in being introduced to Henry's delightful society of friends here, both those he has chosen for himself and those who have chosen him. Old and young, grave and gay, join in speaking of him with a degree of affection and esteem that is most touching and gratifying. Mr. and Mrs. Stewart
surpassed all that I had expected, and I had expected much. Mr. Stewart is said to be naturally or habitually grave and reserved, but towards us he has broken through his habits or his nature, and I never conversed with any one with whom I was more at ease. He has a grave, sensible face, more like the head of Shakespear than any other head or print that I can remember. I have not heard him lecture; no woman can go to the public lectures here, and I don't choose to go in men's or boys' clothes, or in the pocket of the Irish giant, though he is here and well able to carry me. Mrs. Stewart has been for years wishing in vain for the pleasure of hearing one of her husband's lectures. She is just the sort of woman you would like, that you would love. I do think it is impossible to know her without loving her; indeed, she has been so kind to Henry, that it would be doubly impossible (an Irish impossibility) to us. Yet you know people do not always love because they have received obligations. It is an additional proof of her merit, and of her powers of pleasing, that she makes those who are under obligations to her forget that they are bound to be grateful, and only remember that they think her good and agreeable.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Mr. and Mrs. Dugald Stewart. As Professor at the University of Edinburgh, Mr. Stewart gave those lectures which Sir James Mackintosh said "breathed the love of virtue into whole generations of pupils."
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 54

To MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, March 25, 1805.
To-morrow we all, viz. Mr. Edgeworth, two Miss Sneyds, and Miss Harriet Beaufort, and Miss Fanny Brown, and Miss Maria, and Miss Charlotte, and Miss Honora, and Mr. William Edgeworth, go in one coach and one chaise to Castle Forbes, to see a play acted by the Ladies Elizabeth and Adelaide Forbes, Miss Parkins, Lord Rancliffe, Lord Forbes, and I don't know how many grandees with tufts on their heads, for every grandee man must now you know have a tuft or ridge of hair upon the middle of his pate. Have you read Kotzebue's Paris? Some parts entertaining, mostly stuff. We have heard from Lovell, still a prisoner at Verdun, but in hopes of peace, poor fellow.