OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Whitmore, William Henry

Edition of 1889.
​WHITMORE, William Henry, genealogist, b. in Dorchester, Mass., 6 Sept., 1836. He is the son of a Boston merchant, was educated in the public schools of that city, and has devoted the leisure of his business life to antiquarian research and authorship. For eight years he was a member of the Boston common council, of which he became president in 1879, and he is a trustee of the Boston public library. The degree of A. M. was conferred on him by Harvard and Williams in 1867. About 1868 he was one of the patentees of a machine for making cube-sugar, and in 1882 he patented one for making hyposulphite of soda. His “Ancestral Tablets” (Boston, 1868) is an invention of great use to genealogists, being a set of pages cut and arranged to admit the insertion of a pedigree in a condensed form. He was a founder of the “Historical Magazine” in 1857, of the Prince society in 1858, and of the Boston antiquarian society in 1879, to which the Bostonian society succeeded. Mr. Whitmore has been an editor of the “New England Historical and Genealogical Register,” in which many of his papers first appeared, and “The Heraldic Journal,” which he established in 1863. He has edited “The Poetical Works of Winthrop Mackworth Praed” (New York, 1860); “The Hutchinson Papers,” with William Appleton (2 vols., Boston, 1865), “Dunton's Letters” (1867), and the “Andros Tracts” (3 vols., 1868-'74), the last three being for the Prince society; and the “Records” of the Boston record commission, which he established in 1875 (19 vols., with others ready for the press); and he was co-editor of “Sewall's Diary,” writing all the local notes (Boston, 1875-'82). He prepared the “Laws of Adoption,” his codification being passed by the legislature almost unchanged in 1876; a “Revision of the City Ordinances,” with Henry W. Putnam (1882); and a “Report on the State Seal,” which was accepted by the legislature in 1885. He reprinted in fac-simile the “Laws of Massachusetts of 1672” (Boston, 1887). Mr. Whitmore has contributed to various magazines, native and foreign, and is the author of many genealogies, the most important of which are the families of Temple, Lane, Norton, Winthrop, Hutchinson, Usher, Ayres, Payne, Whitmore, Lee, Dalton, and Wilcox. His other works comprise “Handbook of American Genealogy” (Albany, 1862), reprinted with additions as “The American Genealogist” (1868); “The Cavalier Dismounted,” an essay (Salem, 1864); the “Elements of Heraldry” (Boston, 1866); “Massachusetts Civil List, 1636-1774” (Albany, 1870); “Copp's Hill Epitaphs” (Albany, 1878); “History of the Old State-House,” issued by the city of Boston (1882); and “Life of Abel Brown,” the engraver (Boston, 1884).
# Bill Cosby Reminds Us That We Can All Be Scientists

* related authors: Bill Cosby.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, quotes, news, course, Wikidata item.
Bill Cosby Reminds Us That We Can All Be Scientists - Note no precise date given, most likely circa 1990. - Public service announcement by the National Science Foundation. http://science360.gov/obj/tkn-video/2d461d99-c3de-4f75-ac9d-0770867dbf27 and http://science360.gov/obj/tkn-video/2d461d99-c3de-4f75-ac9d-0770867dbf27/bill-cosby-reminds-scientists -- science360.gov.
Bill Cosby Reminds Us That We Can All Be Scientists
Bill Cosby Reminds Us That We Can All Be Scientists
Bill Cosby Public service announcement by the National Science Foundation
circa 1990
Bill Cosby Reminds Us That We Can All Be Scientists
When I was a kid I begged my mother and father to buy me a chemistry set, and they did.
And I was having the time of my life, until the fire.
My chance for the Nobel Prize went up in a big poof of smoke, pccchow!
But you see today, scientists and engineers are having all the fun.
It doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl, rich or poor, any color.
I mean if you love science and math, you can do anything, anything you want.
You know, I might even give chemistry another try, if I can get my dad to tell me where he hid that set.
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
# Bill Cosby made honorary chief petty officer

* related authors: Bill Cosby.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, quotes, news, course, Wikidata item.
Jeff Schogol, Stars and Stripes, Defense Media Activity, United States Department of Defense. "Bill Cosby made honorary chief petty officer" (February 17, 2011). Archived link at Internet Archive.
Bill Cosby made honorary chief petty officer
Stars and Stripes
Jeff Schogol Defense Media Activity, United States Department of Defense
February 17, 2011
WASHINGTON – Bill Cosby went from a boy to a man during his four years in the Navy. For Cosby, getting up at 4:30 a.m. for boot camp was a “wakeup call,” both literally and figuratively.
“At that time, you have to be up, you have to be awake with this call, and that’s the beginning of the obedience, and I think that’s the thing that also pushed me to realize the mistakes I had made guiding my life and what I could do with myself,” said Cosby.
It has been more than 50 years since Cosby left the Navy and went on to a distinguished career. He has won a litany of accolades, the latest of which came Thursday when the Navy made Cosby an honorary chief petty officer at age 73.
Navy Secretary Ray Mabus and Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy Rick West pinned on Cosby’s golden anchors at a ceremony in the Naval Heritage Center before a room packed full of chief petty officers.
Mabus joked that he knows it’s getting harder for sailors to make chief because retention rates are so high.
“Fifty-five years it took this guy,” he said, getting laughs from the chiefs.
Cosby recalled that one of the proudest moments of his mother’s life was seeing him graduate from boot camp. Several weeks earlier, he had written her that he didn’t like the yelling and threats of boot camp and asked what she could do about it.
In short order, Cosby was called before his company commander, who had received a letter from Cosby’s mother.
“My mother had written and told him what I said and my mother asked the company commander to continue to do these things,” he said.
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
# Bill Cosby Library of Congress Living Legend Award description

* related authors: Bill Cosby.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, quotes, news, course, Wikidata item.
Bill Cosby - Living Legends, Library of Congress. Awarded: April 2000. Archived link at Internet Archive.
Bill Cosby - Living Legends
Bill Cosby - Living Legends
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
April 2000
Bill Cosby - Living Legends
Awarded: April 2000
(b. July 12, 1937)
Bill Cosby is one of the nation's highly successful comedians, much of whose humor is based on personal experiences. His sitcom series, "The Cosby Show," was one of the first to feature a well-to-do African American family. Cosby is an active supporter of civil rights causes, and political, educational and social organizations and institutions.
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
# Bill Cosby Speaks About His Time In the U.S. Navy

* related authors: Bill Cosby.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, quotes, news, course, Wikidata item.
Bill Cosby Speaks About His Time In the U.S. Navy. Bill Cosby. September 15, 2010. Published by U.S. Navy account on YouTube.
Bill Cosby Speaks About His Time In the U.S. Navy
Bill Cosby
U.S. Navy
September 15, 2010
Bill Cosby Speaks About His Time In the U.S. Navy
U.S. Navy
September 15, 2010
Interview with Mr. Bill Cosby, comedian and 2010 Lone Sailor Award recipient who served in the Navy as a Hospital Corpsman. The Lone Sailor Award is presented to Sea Service veterans who have excelled with distinction in their civilian careers.
"What I learned in the U.S. Navy"
Bill Cosby
Lone Sailor Award Winner
Bill Cosby: It wasn't clear, until the first morning, when I awoke.
It didn't happen to me on my own.
A very rude man came in, in uniform and started banging on pots and pans, and yelling, at 04:30.
And he passed by my bunk, and kept going, banging on other people's bunks.
And I thought: 'This is very rude.'
That was, in fact, my wake-up call. About responsibility. And about learning how to take it on.
U.S. Navy question: What advice would you give current sailors and marines, about things that they should do, to make their civilian careers after the military successful?
Bill Cosby: While in, study. Study. Study. Study.
While in take full responsibility of all academic treats that one is offered.
Try to seriously think about a goal that you can achieve.
Or one that you want to achieve.
Because I think that the hands-on practicum is very very important.
This is the experience that you get.
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
# Archaeologia/Volume 13/Account of Flint Weapons discovered at Hoxne in Suffolk

Read June 22, 1797.
I TAKE the liberty to request you to lay before the Society some flints found in the parish of Hoxne, in the county of Suffolk, which, if not particularly objects of curiosity in themselves, must, I think, be considered in that light, from the situation in which they were found. See Pl. XIV, XV.
They are, I think, evidently weapons of war, fabricated and used by a people who had not the use of metals. They lay in great numbers at the depth of about twelve feet, in a stratified soil, which was dug into for the purpose of raising clay for bricks.
The strata are as follows:
2. Argill 71/2 feet.
3. Sand mixed with shells and other marine substances 1 foot.
Flint Weapon found at Hoxne in Suffolk.
Flint Weapon found at Hoxne in Suffolk.
The situation in which these weapons were found may tempt us to refer them to a very remote period indeed; even beyond that of the present world; but, whatever our conjectures on that head may be, it will be difficult to account for the stratum in which they lie being covered with another stratum, which, on that supposition, may be conjectured to have been once the bottom, or at least the shore, of the sea. The manner in which they lie would lead to the persuasion that it was a place of their manufacture and not of their accidental deposit; and the numbers of them were so great that the man who carried on the brick-work told me that, before he was aware of their being objects of curiosity, he had emptied baskets full of them into the ruts of the adjoining road. It may be conjectured that the different strata were formed by inundations happening at distant periods, and bringing down in succession the different materials of which they consist: to which I can only say, that the ground in question does not lie at the foot of any higher ground, but does itself overhang a tract of boggy earth, which extends under the fourth stratum; so that it should rather seem that torrents had washed away the incumbent strata and left the bog-earth bare, than that the bog earth was covered by them, especially as the strata appear to be disposed horizontally, and present their edges to the abrupt termination of the high ground.
If you think the above worthy the notice of the Society, you will please to lay it before them.
I am, Sir,
with great respect,
Your faithful humble Servant,
JOHN FRERE.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Orphan

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
THE ORPHAN.
“Whose child is this that in the wintry storm, The cutting north-wind, with its snow and ice, At midnight in the graveyard walks forlorn, And seeks a grave amidst the snow and ice?”
“Mother, oh my loving mother, hear me, Your little daughter calls, oh hear me now; I am forsaken of all men, I see; Since father died, how wretched I am now.
“Nothing but hunger and neglect are mine; Look where I will, no friendly face I see; Oh, look in pity on me, mother mine, Oh loving mother, let me come to thee.”
The little child wept, and the pearly tears Froze on her cheeks like diamonds clear and bright; Upon her mother’s grave she slept, no fears Came to disturb her, ’twas a sad, sad sight.
The snow fell fast upon the childlike form, But see, she dreamt a very happy dream; She heard her mother’s voice, and saw her form Stoop down to take her—Could it be a dream?
The child slept on, no need now to awake— In that glad dream the soul had passed away; Where she had slept they now her grave must make; Ah! woe is me, it was a sad, sad day.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Spinning Girl

THE SPINNING GIRL.
“What are you spinning, my sister, day by day, That your tears fall on the soft flax in this way?”
“My tears they fall with grief, o’er my love’s short dream! What I spin? Why my wedding garment I ween.”
“What spin you at night that no dreams make you doze, When no wedding you’ll have, sister mine, these days?”
“No bridal I’ll have, but my lover will wed, To his wedding I’ll go in white dress, I have said.”
“What spin you in haste, by the moon’s pale ray? Does your lover haste to the altar, I say?”
“I must hasten, my brother, the time is near— In my shroud I am spinning the moonlight drear.”
The bells are tolling reproachfully and slow— To her grave they bear the spinner, lying low.
Why are the bells pealing, so gladsome and clear, For a wedding they ring, with their noisy cheer.
But at night when the lovers are kissing sweet, At midnight the dead rise in their winding sheet.
“My bride, oh, who is it, that comes to us see?” “’Tis the moon—there is no one but you and me.”
“Who kisses my forehead? Whose tears on my cheek?” “The dew of evening, or perhaps the moon freak.”
“No, ’tis my dead bride! See in the midnight cold, Her dress in the moonlight shines fold upon fold.
“She waves me a farewell, adieu seems to say, Then beckons me onward to follow her way.
“I follow! By power of witchcraft drawn on!” “My lover! What madness is this, strange and strong.”
He climbs through the window, and stands on the sill, “Keep hold! Now alone God can save if He will!”
The moonlight is drawing him—dizzy the height— Life’s burden has passed from him into the night
“Stop lover! One step and death stands in your way!” Where he stood, falls undimmed the moonlight’s ray.
The moonlight shines clear on the river’s white bed, Where he and the spinner united lie dead.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Story of a Lost Soul

THE STORY OF A LOST SOUL.
A BOHEMIAN LEGEND.
Across a verdant meadow, Whose diamond dews were tears, Two blessed souls were walking; They had not any fears; And just behind them, sighing, Came a lost soul in tears.
At length they reached the gateway, And knocking at the door, Stood praying at the threshold To Him whose name they bore; With radiant faces waiting, The opening of that door.
Our Lord said to St. Peter, “Who knocks, I pray thee see.” “Two blessed souls, my Saviour, Who long thy face to see; And a very sinful soul, Who fain to Thee would flee.”
The Lord said, “Let them enter, Those righteous souls and true; But show that sinful soul The road that leads to rue; Where she in cleansing fire, Shall mourn her sins, not few.”
That poor soul went lamenting, And weeping very sore, Till tears of blood were sprinkled, Upon the robe she wore. And still her gaze kept seeking, That distant, close-shut door.
And while she wandered sadly, And thought upon her dole, She saw the blessed Virgin, Who gazed upon her soul, And asked in accents tender, “Poor soul, what is thy dole?”
“Alas! alas!” she answered, “My sins are very great, I cannot enter Heaven, My soul in Hell must wait. Alas! alas! dear mother, Have pity on my fate.”
The Blessed Virgin answered, “I can do nought but pray, Come with me, erring daughter, Upon this narrow way. And when we come to Heaven, I for thy soul will pray.”
With trembling fear and anguish— With many, many tears, The poor soul stood and waited, And struggled with her fears, While the loud knock resounded, And thundered in her ears.
Our Lord said to St. Peter, “Go see who knocketh so?” “My Lord, it is your Mother, With a lost soul from woe.” “Then let my mother enter, But the sinful soul must go.”
Not so, not so, beloved, My son, I pray thee hear, Have mercy, I beseech thee, Upon this soul in fear. And turn her bitter anguish To songs of praise, just here.”
“Right gladly would I hear thee, Oh, Blessed Mother mine, But in my Father’s mansions That sinful soul would pine; What good work has she finished, Meet for this home divine?”
“Alas! alas! I sinful Have walked in my own light; The world and all its pleasures, They were my sole delight; Alas! I am most sinful, Most sinful in my sight.”
“But say, some good work surely— Some fasts you must have kept?” The Blessed Mother questioned, The sinful soul that wept: “Some sins you must have thought of, And prayed for, ere you slept?”
“Alas! alas! I sinful Have nothing I can show, Except I sometimes tended The sick ones in their woe, And gave a little water To those down-stricken low.”
Ah, great then was the beauty, That shown in our Lord’s face: “Give me thy hand, redeemed one, Thy sins they are effaced; Come in, come in, redeemed one, Thou, too, hast won the race.”
And by the hand He took her, And led her to the throne. “This one,” He said, “did drink me, And tend me when alone. This act, oh Holy Father, For all her sins atone.”
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Mysterious Ringing

THE MYSTERIOUS RINGING.
The winter evening draweth near— O’er stubble fields the wind howls drear, And borne upon the northern blast To Karluv Týn rides a courier fast.
The tower bell rings sad to-day, Without is frost, within is May; The servants they are happy all, And oft a merry jest let fall.
The tower ringer enters now, An old man with a noble brow; Still round him gather all the youth, Like children for some news forsooth.
The old man sinks within his seat; Sad is his look, though mild and sweet; The youth stand round him waiting still, To hear his tale, or do his will.
Oh, sad the news I have to tell— Our loved king Charles, he is not well Pray, children, that he may recover; Charles whom we love, yea, like no other.
Long he has suffered fever’s pain Oh, would that he were well again! Oh, God in mercy, save our king, Save our good Charles, oh, spare our king.
A Christian! At St. Catherine’s shrine, Each year he prayed the King divine To bless his people; this good king Without God never did a thing.
He loved Bohemia from his heart— As king, as father took her part. He loved us all like children dear, Our good, good Charles, without a peer.
What’s that? You hear? The key hangs there— The tower’s shut—Let the light flare. You hear? How mournful is the tone— St. Catherine’s bell it rings alone!
Silence awhile, they listen all, The bell tolls from the tower tall, Then suddenly the bells ring all. And strange the message that they bore. “He is no more he is no more.”
A wonder—why the key hangs there— “Bring me a light, I’ll climb the stair.” Breathless he stands before the door, The bells are ringing as before.
The door is shut! he listening stands— The bells are rung by unknown hands; He trembles as he listening stands, For sad the message that they bore: “He is no more he is no more.”
The ringer opens quick the door, He climbs up to the turret floor; But there he breathless stands in fear, The bells toll, but no man is near.
He hears their iron hearts beat quick— The melody it makes him sick; He gazes round in mute despair, For not a living soul is there.
He falls upon his knees and prays, The great bell far above him sways, Then all ring, like on funeral days. He listens, praying on the floor, “Charles is no more! Charles is no more!”
The next day came a rider, sent From Prague to Karlův Týn sadly spent; And as he spoke the people wept— Yes, sadly wept—for Charles now slept.
They wept to hear their king was dead; He died the night before, they said. Bohemia honors still his name, Their good King Charles, well known to fame.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Old Bachelor

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
THE OLD BACHELOR.
If I only had a wife, Surely I’d drink water. In a beer room, by my life, Never I would saunter.
If I only had a wife, I’d go home at evening; Not a friend, and not a strife, Then would stop my leaving.
If I only had a wife, A simple forest thrush, I would sing, and I would fife, At home, till she said, “Hush.”
If I only had a wife, Were she little and wee, I’d stay by her, by my life, And ne’er go on a spree.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Rain

Folk song
THE RAIN.
It rained so hard, a dreadful rain, And it was muddy, Ah, so very muddy. Still I used to go and see you In spite of all that, Ah, in spite of all that. The more I loved you true, and well, The falser were you, sad to tell; That was all the thanks, Ah, that was all the thanks.
The nightingale is a small bird Very hard to catch, Ah, very hard to catch. A lover’s eyes are quick to see And won’t be deceived, Ah, and won’t be deceived. Before you will play false to me, I’ll choose a soldier’s life and be A warrior free, Ah, maid, so false to me.
Do you dream me sorrow-stricken? Weighed by heartaches down, Ah, weighed by heartaches down. Have I asked you for your daughter? That you think me blind, Ah, that you think me blind. There are maidens all too many, Like the berries on the holly, When one looks around, Ah, when one looks around.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Lover by the Grave

THE LOVER BY THE GRAVE.
A BOHEMIAN BALLAD.
Passing through the somber forest, Maidens two I saw. “Tell me, maidens, tell me, fair ones, That I hold in awe, Is my loved one midst your number, Making hay, or doth she slumber?”
“Ah, alas! your loved one slumbers, Deep within the grave. Yesterday we laid her lowly, Where the grasses wave.” “Dead! my loved one, oh, tell me where Lies my loved one, without compare?”
“’Tis a fair way that we took her, Winding up the hill; Where the youths trod there are pebbles, You can see them still. Where the maidens trod are roses, There she lies in death’s encloses.”
“Tell me, maidens, where she sleepeth, Whom I loved so well.” “Not far from the gateway, lover, By the graveyard cell.” Twice I wandered round God’s acre, Praying sore unto my Maker.
Weeping midst the graves I sought her, Who had been my bride; But her lowly grave I found not, Though I wept and sighed. “Who disturbs our peaceful sleeping?” Said a voice, as I stood weeping.
“Oh, beloved one, break thy slumber, Come from out thy grave; Three years I have yearned to see thee And I find thy grave!” “BUt my heart is cold within me, I am dead, and cannot love thee.
“Look around and find a shovel, Make me free from earth; Take me home, then, my beloved one, ’Midst the bridal mirth.” I dug deep, I found my loved one, Cold and pale I found my loved one.
In her wedding dress I saw her, With the myrtle wreath; But her eyes were closed in slumber, She had drank of lethe. “Take the ring off from my finger— Wherefor, lover, dost thou linger?
“Throw the ring into the river, It will bring thee peace; Leave me, then, in peaceful sleeping, Let thy sorrow cease. For my heart is cold within me, I am dead, and cannot love thee.”
“Oh, ring ye church bells, far and wide, That my bride is dead, Then ring ye church bells, long and loud, That my heart is dead. Oh, lay me in the self-same grave With her whom I had died to save.”