OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 26

CHAP. XXVI.
The corporal, who the night before had resolved in his mind, to supply the grand desideratum, of keeping up something like an incessant firing upon the enemy during the heat of the attack,—had no further idea in his fancy at that time, than a contrivance of smoaking tobacco against the town, out of one of my uncle Toby's six field pieces, which were planted on each side of his sentry-box; the means of effecting which occurring to his fancy at the same time, though he had pledged his cap, he ​thought it in no danger from the miscarriage of his projects.
Upon turning it this way, and that, a little in his mind, he soon began to find out, that by means of his two Turkish tobacco-pipes, with the supplement of three smaller tubes of wash-leather at each of their lower ends, to be tagg'd by the same number of tin pipes fitted to the touch holes, and sealed with clay next the cannon, and then tied hermetically with waxed silk at their several insertions into the Morocco tube,—he should be able to fire the six field pieces all together, and with the same ease as to fire one.———
—Let no man say from what taggs and jaggs hints may not be cut out for the advancement of human knowledge. Let no man who has read my father's first and second beds of justice, ever rise up and say again, from collision of what ​kinds of bodies, light may, or may not be struck out, to carry the arts and sciences up to perfection.—Heaven! thou knowest how I love them;—thou knowest the secrets of my heart, and that I would this moment give my shift—Thou art a fool, Shandy, says Eugenius,—for thou hast but a dozen in the world,—and 'twill break thy set.———
No matter for that, Eugenius; I would give the shirt off my back to be burnt into tinder, were it only to satisfy one feverish enquirer, how many sparks at one good stroke, a good flint and steel could strike into the tail of it.—Think ye not that in striking these in,—he might, peradventure, strike something out? as sure as a gun.———
—But this project, by the bye.
The corporal sat up the best part of the night in bringing his to perfection; ​and having made a sufficient proof of his cannon, with charging them to the top with tobacco,—he went with contentment to bed.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 29

CHAP. XXIX.
I beg the reader will assist me here, to wheel off my uncle Toby's ordnance behind the scenes,—to remove his sentry-box, and clear the theatre, if possible, of horn-works and half moons, and get the rest of his military apparatus out of the way;—that done, ​my dear friend Garrick, we'll snuff the candles bright,—sweep the stage with a new broom,—draw up the curtain, and exhibit my uncle Toby dressed in a new character, throughout which the world can have no idea how he will act: and yet, if pity be akin to love,—and bravery no alien to it, you have seen enough of my uncle Toby in these, to trace these family likenesses, betwixt the two passions (in case there is one) to your heart's content.
Vain science! thou assists us in no case of this kind—and thou puzzlest us in every one.
There was, Madam, in my uncle Toby, a singleness of heart which misled him so far out of the little serpentine tracks in which things of this nature usually go on; you can—you can have no conception of it: with this, there ​was a plainness and simplicity of thinking, with such an unmistrusting ignorance of the plies and foldings of the heart of woman;—and so naked and defenceless did he stand before you, (when a siege was out of his head) that you might have stood behind any one of your serpentine walks, and shot my uncle Toby ten times in a day, through his liver, if nine times in a day, Madam, had not served your purpose.
With all this, Madam,—and what confounded every thing as much on the other hand, my uncle Toby had that unparalleled modesty of nature I once told you of, and which, by the bye, stood eternal sentry upon his feelings, that you might as soon—But where am I going? these reflections croud in upon me ten pages at least too soon, and take up that time, which I ought to bestow upon facts.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 3

CHAP. III.
When the cataplasm was ready, a scruple of decorum had unseasonably rose up in Susannah's conscience, about holding the candle, whilst Slop tied it on; Slop had not treated Susannah's distemper with anodines,—and so a quarrel had ensued betwixt them.
​———Oh! oh!—said Slop, casting a glance of undue freedom in Susannah's face, as she declined the office;—then, I think I know you, madam—You know me, Sir! cried Susannah fastidiously, and with a toss of her head,—levelled evidently, not at his profession, but at the doctor himself,—you know me! cried Susannah again.—Doctor Slop clapped his finger and his thumb instantly upon his nostrils;—Susannah's spleen was ready to burst at it;—'Tis false, said Susannah.—Come, come, Mrs. Modesty, said Slop, not a little elated with the success of his last thrust,—if you won't hold the candle, and look—you may hold it and shut your eyes:—That's one of your popish shifts, cried Susannah:—'Tis better, said Slop, with a nod, than no shift at all, young ​woman;—I defy you, Sir, cried Susannah, pulling her shift sleeve below her elbow.
It was almost impossible for two persons to assist each other in a surgical case with a more splenetic cordiality.
Slop snatched up the cataplasm,—Susannah snatched up the candle;—A little this way, said Slop; Susannah looking one way, and rowing another, instantly set fire to Slop's wig, which being somewhat bushy and unctuous withal, was burnt out before it was well kindled.—You impudent whore! cried Slop,—(for what is passion, but a wild beast)—you impudent whore, cried Slop, getting upright, with the cataplasm in his hand;—I never was the destruction of any body's nose, said Susannah,—which is more than you can say:​———Is it? cried Slop, throwing the cataplasm in her face;—Yes, it is, cried Susannah, returning the compliment with what was left in the pan.———
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 25

CHAP. XXV.
My uncle Toby had scarce turned the corner of his yew hedge, which separated his kitchen garden from his bowling green, when he perceived the corporal had began the attack without him.———
Let me stop and give you a picture of the corporal's apparatus; and of the corporal himself in the height of this attack just as it struck my uncle Toby, as he turned towards the sentry box, where the corporal was at work,—for in nature there is not such another,—nor can any combination of all that this grotesque and whimsical in her works produce its equal.
The corporal———
​—Tread lightly on his ashes, ye men of genius,—for he was your kinsman:
Weed his grave clean, ye men of goodness,—for he was your brother.—Oh corporal! had I thee, but now,—now, that I am able to give thee a dinner and protection,—how would I cherish thee! thou should'st wear they Montero-cap every hour of the day, and every day of the week,—and when it was worn out, I would purchase thee a couple like it:—But alas! alas! alas! now that I can do this, in spight of their reverences—the occasion is lost—for thou art gone;—thy genius fled up to the stars from whence it came;—and that warm heart of thine, with all its generous and open vessels, compressed into a clod of the valley!
​—But what—what is this, to that future and dreaded page, where I look towards the velvet pall, decorated with the military ensigns of thy master—the first—the foremost of created beings;—where, I shall see thee, faithful servant! laying his sword and scabbard with a trembling hand across his coffin, and then returning pale as ashes to the door, to take his mourning horse by the bridle, to follow his hearse, as he directed thee;—where—all my father's systems shall be baffled by his sorrows; and, in spight of his philosophy, I shall behold him, as he inspects the lackered plate, twice taking his spectacles from off his nose, to wipe away the dew which nature has shed upon them—When I see him cast in the rosemary with an air of disconsolation, which cries though my ears,—O Toby! in what corner of the world shall I seek thy fellow?
​—Gracious powers! which erst have opened the lips of the dumb in his distress, and made the tongue of the stammerer speak plain—when I shall arrive at this dreaded page, deal not with me, then, with a stinted hand.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 30

CHAP. XXX.
Of the few legitimate sons of Adam, whose breasts never felt what the sting of love was,—(maintaining first, all mysogynists to be bastards)—the greatest heroes of ancient and modern story have carried off amongst them, nine parts in ten of the honour; and I wish for their sakes I had the key of my study out of my draw-well, only for five minutes, to tell you their names—recollect them I cannot—so be content to accept of these, for the present, in their stead.———
There was the great king Aldrovandus, and Bosphorus, and Capadocius, and Dardanus, and Pontus, and Asius,—to say nothing of the iron-hearted Charles the XIIth, who the Countess of K***** herself could make nothing of.—​There was Babylonicus, and Mediterraneus, and Polixenes, and Persicus, and Prusicus, not one of whom (except Capadocius and Pontus, who were both a little suspected) ever once bowed down his breast to the goddess—The truth is, they had all of them something else to do—and so had my uncle Toby—till Fate till Fate I say, envying his name the glory of being handed down to posterity with Aldrovandus's and the rest,—she basely patched up the peace of Utrecht.
—Believe me, Sirs, 'twas the worst deed she did that year.
# The Hymns of the Rigveda/Book 2

* Hymn 1
* Hymn 2
* Hymn 3
* Hymn 4
* Hymn 5
* Hymn 6
* Hymn 7
* Hymn 8
* Hymn 9
* Hymn 10
* Hymn 11
* Hymn 12
* Hymn 13
* Hymn 14
* Hymn 15
* Hymn 16
* Hymn 17
* Hymn 18
* Hymn 19
* Hymn 20
* Hymn 21
* Hymn 22
* Hymn 23
* Hymn 24
* Hymn 25
* Hymn 26
* Hymn 27
* Hymn 28
* Hymn 29
* Hymn 30
* Hymn 31
* Hymn 32
* Hymn 33
* Hymn 34
* Hymn 35
* Hymn 36
* Hymn 37
* Hymn 38
* Hymn 39
* Hymn 40
* Hymn 41
* Hymn 42
* Hymn 43
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 20

CHAP. XX.
Now I hate to hear a person, especially if he be a traveller, complain that we do not get on so fast in France as we do in England; whereas we get on much faster, consideratis, considerandis; thereby always meaning, that if you weigh their vehicles with the mountains of baggage which you lay both before and behind upon them—and then consider their puny horses, with the very little they ​give them—'tis a wonder they get on at all: their suffering is most unchristian, and 'tis evident thereupon to me, that a French post-horse would not know what in the world to do, was it not for the two words * * * * * * and * * * * * * in which there is as much sustenance, as if you gave him a peck of corn: now as these words cost nothing, I long from my soul to tell the reader what they are; but here is the question—they must be told him plainly, and with the most distinct articulation, or it will answer no end—and yet to do it in that plain way—though their reverences may laugh at it in the bed-chamber—full well I wot, they will abuse it in the parlour: for which cause, I have been volving and revolving in my fancy some time, but to no ​purpose, by what clean device or facete contrivance I might so modulate them, that whilst I satisfy that ear which the reader chuses to lend me—I might not dissatisfy the other which he keeps to himself.
———My ink burns my finger to try———and when I have———'twill have a worse consequence———it will burn (I fear) my paper.
———No;———I dare not———
But if you wish to know how the abbess of Andoüillets, and a novice of her convent got over the difficulty (only first wishing myself all imaginable success)—I'll tell you without the least scruple.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 15

CHAP. XV.
—"So hating, I say, to make mysteries of nothing"—I intrusted it with the post-boy, as soon as ever I got off the stones; he gave a crack with his whip to balance the compliment; and with the thill-horse trotting, and a sort of an up and a down of the other, we danced it along to Ailly au clochers, famed in days of yore for the finest chimes in the world; but we danced through it without music—the chimes being greatly out of order—(as in truth they were through all France).
And so making all possible speed, from
Ailly au clochers, I got to Hixcourt, ​from Hixcourt, I got to Pequignay, and from Pequignay, I got to Amiens,
concerning which town I have nothing to inform you, but what I have informed you once before—and that was—that Janatone went there to school.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 17

CHAP. XVII.
Crack, crack—crack, crack—crack, crack—so this is Paris! quoth I (continuing in the same mood)—and this is Paris!—humph!—Paris! cried I, repeating the name the third time———
The first, the finest, the most brilliant———
—The streets however are nasty;
But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells—crack, crack—crack, crack—What a fuss thou makest!—as is it concern'd the good people to be inform'd, That a man with pale face, ​and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into Paris at nine o'clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yellow jerkin turned up with red calamanco—crack, crack—crack, crack—crack, crack—I wish thy whip———
———But 'tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack—crack on.
Ha!—and no one gives the wall!—but in the School of Urbanity herself, if the walls are besh-t—how can you do otherwise?
And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?—never in the summer months!—Ho! 'tis the time of sallads.—O rare! sallad and soup—soup and sallad—sallad and soup, encore———
​———'Tis too much for sinners.
Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that unconscionable coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse? don't you see, friend, the streets are so villainously narrow, that there is not room in all Paris to turn a wheel-barrow? In the grandest city of the whole world, in would not have been amiss, if they had been left a thought wider; nay were it only so much in every single street, as that a man might know (was it only for satisfaction) on which side of it he was walking.
One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten.—Ten cook's shops! and twice the number of barber's! and all within three minutes driving! ​one would think that all the cooks in the world on some great merry-meeting with the barbers, by joint consent had said—Come, let us all go live at Paris: the French love good eating—they are all gourmands—we shall rank high; if their god is their belly—their cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as the periwig maketh the man, and the periwig-maker maketh the periwig—ergo, would the barbers say, we shall rank higher still—we shall be above you all—we shall beCapitouls at least—pardi! we shall all wear swords———
—And so, one would swear, (that is by candle-light,—but there is no depending upon it) they continue to do, to this day.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 19

CHAP. XIX.
In mentioning the word gay (as in the close of the last chapter) it puts one (i. e. an author) in mind of the word spleen—especially if he has any thing to say upon it: not that by any analysis—or that from any table of interest or genealogy, there appears much more ground of alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light and darkness, or any two of the most unfriendly opposites in nature—only 'tis an undercraft of authors to keep up a good understanding amongst words, as politicians do amongst men—not knowing how near they may ​be under a necessity of placing them to each other—which point being now gain'd, and that I may place mine exactly to my mind, I write it down here—
SPLEEN.
This, upon leaving Chantilly, I declared to be the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as matter of opinion, I still continue in the same sentiments—only I had not then experience enough of its working to add this, that though you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on but uneasily to yourself at the same time; for which reason I here quit it entirely, and for ever, and 'tis heartily at one's service—it has spoiled me the digestion of a good supper, and brought ​on a bilious diarrhæa, which has brought me back again to my first principle on which I set out—and with which I shall now scamper it away to the banks of the Garonne—
———No;———I cannot stop a moment to give you the character of the people—their genius—their manners—their customs—their laws—their religion—their government—their manufactures—their commerce—their finances, with all the resources and hidden springs which sustain them: qualified as I may be, by spending three days and two nights amongst them, and during all that time, making these things the entire subject of my enquiries and reflections———
​Still—still I must away—the roads are paved—the posts are short—the days are long—'tis no more than noon—I shall be at Fontainbleau before the king———
—Was he going there? not that I know———
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 2

CHAP. II.
Now hang it! quoth I, as I look'd towards the French coast—a man should know something of his own country too, before he goes abroad—and I never gave a peep into Rochester church, or took notice of the dock of Chatham, or visited St. Thomas at Canterbury, though they all three laid in my way———
—But mine, indeed, is a particular case———
So without arguing the matter further with Thomas o'Becket, or any one else—I skip'd into the boat, and in five minutes we got under sail and scudded away like the wind.
​Pray captain, quoth I, as I was going down into the cabin, is a man never overtaken by Death in this passage?
Why, there is not time for a man to be sick in it, replied he—What a cursed lyar! for I am sick as a horse, quoth I, already—what a brain!—upside down!—hey dey! the cells are broke loose one into another, and the blood, and the lymph, and the nervous juices, with the fix'd and volatile salts, are all jumbled into one mass—good g—! every thing turns round in it like a thousand whirlpools—I'd give a shilling to know if I shan't write the clearer for it———
Sick! sick! sick! sick!——— ​—When shall we get to land? captain—they have hearts like stones—O I am deadly sick!—reach me that thing, boy—'tis the most discomfiting sickness—I wish I was at the bottom—Madam! how is it with you? Undone! undone! un——— O! undone! sir—What the first time?—No, 'tis the second, third, sixth, tenth time, sir,—hey-day—what a trampling over head!—hollo! cabin boy! what's the matter—
The wind chopp'd about! s'Death!—then I shall meet him full in the face.
What luck!—'tis chopp'd about again, master—O the devil chop it———
Captain, quoth she, for heaven's sake, let us get ashore.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 13

CHAP. XIII.
" Make them like unto a wheel," is a bitter sarcasm, as all the learned know, against the grand tour, and that restless spirit for making it, which David prophetically foresaw would haunt the children of men in the latter days; and therefore, as thinketh the great bishop Hall, 'tis one of the severest imprecations which David ever utter'd against the enemies of the Lord—and, as if he had said, "I wish them no worse luck than always to be rolling about"—So much motion, continues he, (for he was very corpulent)—is so much unquietness; and so much of ​rest, by the same analogy, is so much of heaven.
Now, I (being very thin) think differently; and that so much of motion, is so much of life, and so much of joy—and that to stand still, or get on but slowly, is death and the devil———
Hollo! Ho!—the whole world's asleep!—bring out the horses—grease the wheels—tie on the mail—and drive a nail into that moulding—I'll not lose a moment———
Now the wheel we are talking of, and whereinto (but not whereonto, for that would make an Ixion's wheel of it) he curseth his enemies, according to the ​bishop's habit of body, should certainly be a post-chaise wheel, whether they were set up in Palestine at that time or not—and my wheel, for the contrary reasons, must as certainly be a cart-wheel groaning round its revolution once in an age; and of which sort, were I to turn commentator, I should make no scruple to affirm, they had great store in that hilly country.
I love the Pythagoreans (much more than ever I dare tell my dear Jenny) for their "χωρισμὁν΄ απὸ τοῡ Σώματος, εις΄ το Καλώς Φιλοσοφϵῑν"—[their] "getting out of the body, in order to think well." No man thinks right whilst he is in it; blinded as he must be, with his congenial humours, and drawn dif​ferently aside, as the bishop and myself have been, with too lax or too tense a fibre—Reason, is half of it, Sense; and the measure of heaven itself is but the measure of our present appetites and concoctions———
—But which of the two, in the present case, do you think to be mostly in the wrong?
You, certainly: quoth she, to disturb a whole family so early.
# The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 14

CHAP. XIV.
———But she did not know I was under a vow not to shave my beard till I got to Paris;—yet I hate to make mysteries of nothing;—'tis the cold cautiousness of one of those little souls from which Lessius (lib. 13. de moribus divinis, cap. 24.) hath made his estimate, wherein he setteth forth, That one Dutch mile, cubically multiplied, will allow room enough, and to spare, for eight hundred thousand millions, which he supposes to be as great a number of souls (counting from the fall of Adam) as can possibly be damn'd to the end of the world.
​From what he has made this second estimate—unless from the parental goodness of God—I don't know—I am much more at a loss what could be in Franciscus Ribbera's head, who pretends that no less a space than one of two hundred Italian miles multiplied into itself, will be sufficient to hold the like number—he certainly must have gone upon some of the old Roman souls, of which he had read, without reflecting how much, by a gradual and most tabid decline, in a course of eighteen hundred years, they must unavoidably have shrunk, so as to have come, when he wrote, almost to nothing.
​In Lessius's time, who seems the cooler man, they were as little as can be imagined———
———We find them less now———
And next winter we shall find them less again; so that if we go on from little to less, and from less to nothing, I hesitate not one moment to affirm, that in half a century, at this rate, we shall have no souls at all; which being the period beyond which I doubt likewise of the existence of the Christian faith, 'twill be one advantage that both of 'em will be exactly worn out together———
Blessed Jupiter! and blessed every other heathen god and goddess! for ​now ye will all come into play again, and with Priapus at your tails—what jovial times!—but where am I? and into what a delicious riot of things am I rushing? I—I who must be cut short in the midst of my days, and taste no more of 'em than what I borrow from my imagination—peace to thee, generous fool! and let me go on.
# The Maypole of Merry Mount

published in Twice-Told Tales
# The Mayor v. Lord

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
76 U.S. 409
The Mayor v. Lord
ERROR to the Circuit Court for the District of Iowa; in which court the United States, on the relation or one R. L. Lord, were plaintiffs, and asked and obtained a peremptory mandamus against the mayor and aldermen of the city of Davenport, defendants.
Messrs. Weed and Clark, for the plaintiff in error; Mr. Grant, contra.
Mr. Justice SWAYNE stated the case, and delivered the opinion of the court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
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