OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Rose in the Ring

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
The only heir to a big Virginia estate, a boy still in his teens, is wrongfully accused, by an unscrupulous uncle, both of murder and of theft of a will; with circumstantial evidence tremendously against him, the boy runs away and finds a haven of refuge in a travelling circus, where in the disguise of a clown he finds himself able to elude the eyes of the sharpest detectives. Among his many friends none is more devoted than a certain professional pickpocket, whose devotion is inspired by his chance defence of the pickpocket's brother, a hunchback... —Taber Cooper in The Bookman, Nov 1910 {Full review in the Discussion page.]
The Rose in the Ring
George Barr M$^c$Cutcheon
His audience was fairly hanging on his words
(Page 190)
THE ROSE IN THE RING
BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
Author of "Beverly of Graustark," "Truxton King," etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. I. KELLER
NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1910
Copyright, 1910, by
Dodd, Mead and Company
Published, September, 1910
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

### CONTENTS

PART I
* ChapterPage
* I—The Fugitive 1
* II—In the Dressing Tent 18
* III—David enters the Sawdust Ring 40
* IV—A Stranger appears on the Scene 55
* V—Something about the Braddocks 77
* VI—David Jenison's Story 96
* VII—The Brothers Cronk 117
* VIII—An Invitation to Supper 133
* IX—A Thief in the Night 152
* X—Love wings a Timid Dart 168
* XI—Artful Dick goes Visiting 185
* XII—In which Many Things happen 199
* XIII—The Sale 221
PART II
* I—The Daughter of Colonel Grand 238
* II—The Stranger at the Hall 256
* III—The Man Who Served His Time 275
* IV—The Delivery of a Telegram 295
* V—The Love that was Staunch 310
* VI—Door-steps 329
* VII—Tom Braddock's Promise 345
* VIII—Colonel Grand and the Cronks 367
* IX—In the Little Triangular "Square" 388
* X—The Black Headlines 409

### ILLUSTRATIONS

* His audience was fairly hanging on his words (Page 190) Frontispiece
* "It is my money!" cried David Facing page 44
* Her lips parted in amazement, tremulously struggling into a smile of wonder and unbelief {{{1}}}„{{{1}}}„ 318
* "This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life" {{{1}}}„{{{1}}}„ 362
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1928, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 95 years or less. 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
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Christmas Memories

Christmas Memories.
Christmas bells are softly pealing Through the frosty morning air, O’er my heart the notes are stealing, Driving out the pain and care. Clearer now their tones are ringing Over the new-fallen snow, Once again the tidings bringing, Brought by angels long ago.
And my thoughts are softly turning To a vanished Christmas day, And my heart is filled with yearning For the dear ones far away, Sad, sweet memories, swiftly thronging Thrill my breast with joy and pain, And I long with tender longing To be with them once again,
O! the time seems long and dreary Since those parting words were said, And the path is rough and weary That my tired feet must tread. Yet though my life is filled with sadness, Still with fervent heart I pray, May their lives be filled with gladness And peace be theirs this Christmas day.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/A Christmas Prayer

A Christmas Prayer.
Dear Lord, at this glad Christmas tide, When loving friends with joyous mirth Meet ’round each cheerful Christmas hearth, Is there no Christmas guest for me? See Lord, my heart’s door opened wide, O, enter Thou, with me abide; This anniversary of Thy birth Wilt Thou not deign my guest to be?
Lord, when with loving hearts aglow, Friend greeteth friend with Christmas cheer, They offer gifts through friendship dear, Hast Thou no Christmas gift for me? Dear Lord, to me Thy kindness show, I long so much Thy Peace to know, Come Thou unto my hearth-stone drear And bring the gift of Peace with Thee.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/A New Year’s Greeting

A New Year’s Greeting.
Long years have passed since we last met, Long years of mingled joy and pain, And years may come and vanish yet Ere we two meet again.
The path I’ve trod since then, dear friend, Has proven rough unto my feet; I’ve learned that Life holds in the end More bitterness than sweet.
And now on this glad New Year’s day, When all the land is bright with cheer, I pause beside the mile-stone gray That marks another year.
Here Friendship comes with outstretched hand Her chosen, favored ones to meet. Unnoticed and alone I stand— I have no friend to greet.
In bitterness I turn away And sigh: “Is there not one that’s true, Whose friendship can outlast a day?” And then I think of you.
O truest heart! O noblest friend God ever sent to comfort me, Here at the Old Year’s fruitless end My soul cries out to thee.
Across the gulf of weary years My lonely spirit calls to thine, And memory brings the sadden tears, My friend of “Auld Lang Syne.”
How shall I word the message, dear, My greeting for this New Year’s day? How write the words of kindly cheer That my full heart would say?
May all your life from care be free, Not crushed as mine, ’neath Sorrow’s thrall, The sunlight God denied to me Across your pathway fall.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/At the River

At the River.
I am standing alone by a mystic tide, And the dark swift waters flow past my feet, While’st floating across from the other side Come strains of music, heavenly sweet, And I see the beautiful white-robed throng Beckoning to me across the wave, And I long to join in the rapturous song, But the cold, dark waters I dare not brave.
I press my feet to the River of Death, But backward shrink with quivering start For the icy waters have stopped my breath And frozen the blood in my frightened heart, Then softly and sweetly the angel song Comes floating across to my listening ear: “Though the river is dark and swift and strong, There is one who will help you, so be of good cheer.”
And then in the midst of the beautiful throng A wondrous vision bursts on my sight: I seem to see on that shining strand A form of celestial glory and light, And softly there steals to my troubled soul Those loving words that calm all fear: “Fear not, my child, though the river be cold I will bear thee up, so be of good cheer.”
With a world of love in his patient eyes He stretches the wounded hands to aid, And once more speaks in such sad surprise: “Oh doubting one, art thou still afraid? My feet once pressed the cold dark wave, Unaided I stepped o’er the river’s brink, And wil’t thou not trust me, its dangers brave? I will bear thee up and thou can’st not sink.”
Then all fear goes out from my doubting soul And a wondrous peace steals in instead, As once more I press to the river cold And the icy waters no longer dread, And as boldly I plunge in the chilling tide The song of the Angels rings sweet and clear— “Though the river is dark and cold and wide Thy Saviour is with thee, so be of good cheer.”
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Death of the Old Year

Death of the Old Year.
In the silent hour of midnight Like a mystic phantom gray, Head bowed low in weeping sorrow, So the Old Year steals away. None bestow a thought upon him, For his death none shed a tear, All are thinking of the morrow, Of the blithe and bright New Year.
Hastening on with weary footsteps, Wailing oft in saddened tone: “No one cares for all my sorrow, No one grieves that I am gone.” Shivering in the bitter night wind, Death’s dark shadows looming near, By every one he is deserted. Poor, forsaken, sad Old Year!
Now the midnight chimes are telling Of the gladsome New Year’s birth; How their cheery tones are swelling Into joyous songs of mirth Whilst in bitter, lonely sorrow, Passing on through pathways drear, To the sea of dark Oblivion, Glides the lonely, sad Old Year.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Good Luck

Good Luck.
While passing through a meadow All wet with early dew, I espied this four-leaved clover And gathered it for you.
They say a four-leaved clover Brings fortune, fair and true, And so with loving wishes I send it, dear, to you.
Oh! May it bring you best of luck, And health and wealth galore; May all that’s beautiful and bright For you be held in store.
May happiness be always thine, And peace your steps attend, And Heaven’s choicest blessings rest On you, my dearest friend.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/By the Sea

By the Sea.
On the cold, gray shore I walk alone Where the curling waves o’er the wet sands creep, And my heart responds to the sea’s sad moan As all in vain for my love I weep. O my dear, dead love! my only love, O love that I loved so fond and true, Do you ever look down from your home above, Or think of the heart that is aching for you?
I remember well when you sailed away, We stood on the shore in the wind and rain, And you said you’d come back to me, dear, some day, But ah! you will never come hack again, For under the cold, dark waves you sleep. Oh love, dear love, my heart is sore, And my eyes grow dim with the tears I weep For my dear, dead love, who will come no more.
With arms outstretched to the moaning sea I cry aloud in my dreary pain: “Bring back the love that you stole from me, Oh! bring me my dear, lost love, again,” But the cold waves break on the grey sea shore And a sorrowful dirge they sing to me, “You may weep and sigh till time is no more, But we’ll never bring back thy love to thee.”
And the dreary days drag wearily by, And I mourn and weep for the joys long past, On leaden wings the moments fly, But the end must surely come at last. O my dear, dead love, we will meet again On the golden shores of Eternity, And my weary waiting will not be vain When the sea gives back what it stole from me.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Canada

Canada.
I love the land of Canada, The dear land of my birth; I deem my native country The fairest place on earth. I love her lakes and rivers, Her forests, grand and high, And her golden sunsets bright’ning The landscape to the eye.
I love the slender Tamarac, The tall and stately Pine, The bonnie Birch and sturdy Oak With clinging Ivy vine. So beautiful! So glorious! In Autumn splendor drest, I love them all, but ah! I love The Maple Tree the best.
Old England has her Royal Rose, The Thistle’s Scotland's pride, Whilst many brave and gallant men For Erin’s Shamrock died. But give to me the Maple Leaf, More fair than all the rest, Our country’s precious emblem, The dearest and the best.
O lovely land of Canada May joy and peace be thine, May the sun of bright prosperity O’er thy Dominion shine. May thy sons be brave and noble, Thy daughters, true and kind, And the love of home and country Our hearts in friendship bind.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/From Out the Depths

From Out the Depths.
The night is closing fast around me, Lord, The shades of darkness gather, swift and gray, My aching eyes can scarcely pierce the gloom, And my weak, faltering feet have lost the way, O come to me in Sorrow’s dreary night And lead me from the darkness into light.
There was a time when I was well content To walk within the paths appointed me, But listening to my heart’s rebellious voice I wandered, step by step, afar from Thee. Night cometh fast, and swiftly fades the day; Father have pity, I have lost my way.
When, hand in hand, I walked with Thee, dear Lord, Thy strength upheld me in my darkest hour, But now my burden bends me to the earth— I miss the aid of Thy sustaining power. Lord, turn from me the vengeance of Thy wrath And lead my faltering steps along the path.
My sin is this, O Lord, I tried to solve Those problems that are known to none but Thee. Bewildered and perplexed, I vainly strove To find an answer to Life’s mystery. Thus, step by step, the dangerous path I trod Till like the fool, I said: “There is no God.”
Lord, I confess with tears, my sin is great, But, penitent and humbled in the dust, I ask Thy pardon for my waywardness; Have pity on me, Lord, in Thee I trust, Hear Thou my cry of penitence and grief: “Lord! I believe, help Thou my unbelief.”
# The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke/IV. Doreen

* Doreen
* WISH'T yeh meant it, Bill." Oh, 'ow me 'eart
* Went out to 'er that ev'nin' on the beach.
* I knoo she weren't no ordinary tart,
* My little peach!
* I tell yeh, square an' all, me 'eart stood still
* To 'ear 'er say, "I wish't yeh meant it, Bill."
* To 'ear 'er voice! Its gentle sort o' tone,
* Like soft dream-music of some Dago band.
* An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own
* 'Er little 'and,
* An' 'ow she blushed! O, strike! it was divine
* The way she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine.
* 'Er eyes! Soft in the moon; such boshter eyes!
* An' when they sight a bloke… O, spare me days
* 'E goes all loose inside; such glamour lies
* In 'er sweet gaze.
* It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's been
* To look into the eyes of my Doreen.
* ​The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon
* Shone yeller on the sea, all streakin' down.
* A band was playin' some soft, dreamy toon;
* An' up the town
* We 'eard the distant tram-cars whir an' clash.
* An' there I told 'er 'ow I'd done me dash.
* "I wish't yeh meant it." 'Struth! And did I, fair?
* A bloke 'ud be a dawg to kid a skirt
* Like 'er. An' me well knowin' she was square.
* It 'ud be dirt!
* 'Ed be no man to point wiv her, an' kid.
* I meant it honest; an' she knoo I did.
* She knoo. I've done me block in on 'er, straight.
* A cove 'as got to think some time in life
* An' git some decent tart, ere it's too late,
* To be 'is wife.
* But, Gawd! 'Oo would 'a' thort it could 'a' been
* My luck to strike the likes uv 'er?… Doreen!
* Aw, I can stand their chuckin' off, I can.
* It's 'ard; an' I'd delight to take 'em on.
* The dawgs! But it gets that way wiv a man
* When 'e's fair gone.
* She'll sight no stoush; an' so I 'ave to take
* Their mag, an' do a duck fer 'er sweet sake.
* ​Fer 'er sweet sake I've gone and chucked it clean:
* The pubs an' schools an' all that leery game.
* Fer when a bloke 'as come to know Doreen,
* It ain't the same.
* There's 'igher things, she sez, fer blokes to do.
* An' I am 'arf believin' that it's true.
* Yes, 'igher things—that wus the way she spoke;
* An' when she looked at me I sort o' felt
* That bosker feelin' that comes o'er a bloke,
* An' makes 'im melt;
* Makes 'im all 'ot to maul 'er, an' to shove
* 'Is arms about 'er… Bli'me? but it's love!
* That's wot it is. An' when a man 'as grown
* Like that 'e gets a sort o' yearn inside
* To be a little 'ero on 'is own;
* An' see the pride
* Glow in the eyes of 'er 'e calls 'is queen;
* An' 'ear 'er say 'e is a shine champeen
* "I wish't yeh meant it," I can 'ear 'er yet,
* My bit o' fluff! The moon wus shinin' bright,
* Turnin' the waves all yeller where it set—
* A bonzer night!
* The sparklin' sea all sort o' gold an' green;
* An' on the pier the band—O, 'Ell!… Doreen!
# The Subjection of Women

* related portals: Feminism.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, news, textbook, Wikidata item.
The Subjection of Women is an essay published in 1869 by English philosopher, political economist, and civil servant John Stuart Mill, with ideas he developed jointly with his wife Harriet Taylor Mill. At the time of its publication, the essay's argument for equality between the sexes was an affront to European conventional norms regarding the status of men and women.
THE
SUBJECTION
OF
WOMEN
BY
JOHN STUART MILL
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DYER
1869
LONDON:
SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
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 Trees of Great Britain & Ireland/Volume 3

The Trees of Great Britain & Ireland was a multi-volume work, privately published between 1906 and 1913. The third volume, here transcribed, was published 1908 and has the Plates inserted.
THE TREES OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND
LEBANON CEDAR AT HIGHCLIFFE CASTLE
From a Drawing by Charlotte Lady Phillimore.
CONTENTS
LIST OF PLATES
VOL. III
ILLUSTRATIONS
Sycamore at Newbattle 2 : . F : ; ‘ ; : 180
Sycamore at Drumlanrig 181
Sycamore at Castle Menzies . : , : ; ; : . ; 182
Sycamore in Switzerland : : ; : : é i ' ; 183
Common Maple at Cassiobury : ; : : : : ; 184
Common Maple at Langley Park, Norfolk . ; : : ; : . 185
Norway Maple at Emsworth . ‘ ; ; ‘ ‘ . : ; 186
Norway Maple at Park Place : : : ; . ; 3 : 187 Norway Maple at Colesborne : : i : : ‘ : : 188 Italian Maple at Hargham . : : F é 2 : ; 189 Montpellier Maple at Rice anenoiih : F ; ; : : 190 Sugar Maple at Park Place . : 3 : ; : 2 ; ' IgI Red Maple at Whitton ‘ ‘ : : i j : : ‘ 192 Western Maple in America . F ‘ : : ‘ ; ; . 193 Redwood at Claremont : ‘ ; ; : : : : ‘ 194 Redwood Forest in California : : ‘ : : ‘ ‘ ‘ 195 Wellingtonia at Fonthill : ‘ : . ‘ 4 , ‘ : 196 Wellingtonia at Aston Clinton : ‘ F . , i : . 197 Wellingtonia Avenue near Wellington College 3 ; ; ; ‘ ; 198 Nyssa, Diospyros, Sassafras, and Liquidambar ; leaves, etc. . : : 3 : 199 Castanea, Liquidambar, Diospyros, Nyssa, and Sassafras; buds and twigs : : ; 200 Carpinus and Ostrya; leaves, etc. ; F : ; ? , . 201 Nothofagus, Fagus, Castanopsis, and Castanea; leaves, etc. . : : : : 202 Carya ; leaves, etc. . : ; : ; : j ; ‘ 203 Platanus, Catalpa, and Hilesenions leaves, etc. : ‘ : . ; ‘ 204 Acer; leaves, etc. . : ; ; ; ‘ : : , : 205 Acer; leaves, etc. . . : : : : : : : : 206
Acer; leaves, etc. . 3 ; : ; : ‘ : : F 207
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)

THE STORY WITHOUT AN END
The Child tries to catch the little Lamb.
THE STORY WITHOUT AN END
From the German of Carové
BY
SARAH AUSTIN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK C. PAPÉ
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & CO.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY HENRY STONE AND SON, LTD., BANBURY, ENGLAND
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 Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 10

X.
During this conversation the dragon-fly had been preparing a bed for her host. The moss upon which the Child sat had grown a foot high behind his back, out of pure joy; but the dragon-fly and her sisters had so revelled upon it, that it was now laid at its length along the cave. The dragon-fly had awakened every spider in the neighbourhood out of her sleep, ​and when they saw the brilliant light, they had set to work spinning so industriously that their web hung down like a curtain before the mouth of the cave. But as the Child saw the ant peeping up at him, he entreated the fire-flies not to deprive themselves any longer of their merry games in the wood, on his account. And the dragon-fly and her sisters raised the curtain till the Child had laid him down to rest, and then let it fall again, that the mischievous gnats might not get in to disturb his slumbers.
The Child laid himself down to sleep, for he was very tired; but he could not sleep, for his couch of moss ​was quite another thing than his little bed, and the cave was all strange to him. He turned himself on one side and then on the other, and as nothing would do, he raised himself and sat upright to wait till sleep might choose to come. But sleep would not come at all, and the only wakeful eyes in the whole wood were the Child’s. For the harebells had rung themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown about till they were tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would fain have kept watch in front of the cave, had dropped sound asleep.
The wood grew stiller and stiller; here and there fell a dry leaf which ​had been driven from its old dwelling-place by a fresh one; here and there a young bird gave a soft chirp when its mother squeezed it in the nest; and from time to time a gnat hummed for a minute or two in the curtain, till a spider crept on tiptoe along its web, and gave him such a gripe in the wind-pipe as soon spoiled his trumpeting.
And the deeper the silence became, the more intently did the Child listen, and at last the slightest sound thrilled him from head to foot. At length, all was still as death in the wood, and the world seemed as if it never would wake again. The Child bent forward to see whether it were as dark abroad as in ​the cave, but he saw nothing save the pitch-dark night, who had wrapped everything in her thick veil. Yet as he looked upwards his eyes met the friendly glance of two or three stars, and this was a most joyful surprise to him, for he felt himself no longer so entirely alone. The stars were, indeed, far, far away, but yet he knew them, and they knew him, for they looked into his eyes.
The Child’s whole soul was fixed in his gaze, and it seemed to him as if he must needs fly out of the darksome cave thither, where the stars were beaming with such pure and serene light: and he felt how poor and lowly ​he was, when he thought of their brilliancy; and how cramped and fettered, when he thought of their free unbounded course along the heavens.
# The Story Without an End (Austin)

This page mentions only publications of Sarah Austin’s translation of the work. For other translations, see The Story Without an End.
English-language translations of Das Märchen ohne Ende include:
* The Story Without an End (1834) (illustrated by William Harvey)
* The Story Without an End (1897)
* The Story Without an End (1904) (illustrated by Curtis Wager-Smith)
* The Story Without an End (1913) (illustrated by Frank C. Papé)
# The Story of Mankind/Chapter 10

THE PHŒNICIANS
THE PHŒNICIANS WHO GAVE US OUR ALPHABET
THE PHŒNICIAN TRADER
The Phœnicians, who were the neighbours of the Jews, were a Semitic tribe which at a very early age had settled along the shores of the Mediterranean. They had built themselves two well-fortified towns, Tyre and Sidon, and within a short time they had gained a monopoly of the trade of the western seas. Their ships went regularly to Greece and Italy and ​Spain and they even ventured beyond the straits of Gibraltar to visit the Scilly islands where they could buy tin. Wherever they went, they built themselves small trading stations, which they called colonies. Many of these were the origin of modern cities, such as Cadiz and Marseilles.
They bought and sold whatever promised to bring them a good profit. They were not troubled by a conscience. If we are to believe all their neighbours they did not know what the words honesty or integrity meant. They regarded a well-filled treasure chest the highest ideal of all good citizens. Indeed they were very unpleasant people and did not have a single friend. Nevertheless they have rendered all coming generations one service of the greatest possible value. They gave us our alphabet.
The Phœnicians had been familiar with the art of writing, invented by the Sumerians. But they regarded these pothooks as a clumsy waste of time. They were practical business men and could not spend hours engraving two or three letters. They set to work and invented a new system of writing which was greatly superior to the old one. They borrowed a few pictures from the Egyptians and they simplified a number of the wedge-shaped figures of the Sumerians. They sacrificed the pretty looks of the older system for the advantage of speed and they reduced the thousands of different images to a short and handy alphabet of twenty-two letters.
In due course of time, this alphabet travelled across the Ægean Sea and entered Greece. The Greeks added a few letters of their own and carried the improved system to Italy. The Romans modified the figures somewhat and in turn taught them to the wild barbarians of western Europe. Those wild barbarians were our own ancestors, and that is the reason why this book is written in characters that are of Phœnician origin and not in the hieroglyphics of the Egyptians or in the nail-script of the Sumerians.