OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Louisville St. Company v. Wilson

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
138 U.S. 501
Louisville St. Company v. Wilson
[Statement of Case from pages 501-503 intentionally omitted]
Alex. P. Humphrey, for appellant.
Bluford Wilson and W. S. Opdyke, for appellee.
Mr. Justice BREWER, after stating the facts as above, 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).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Louisville Nashville Railroad Company v. Western Union Telegraph Company (237 U.S. 300)

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
237 U.S. 300
Louisville Nashville Railroad Company v. Western Union Telegraph Company
Argued: March 8 and 9, 1915. --- Decided: April 19, 1915
Messrs. Victor Leovy, John G. Johnson, George Denegre, and Henry L. Stone for plaintiff in error.
Messrs. Rush Taggart, George H. Fearons, and Charles P. Fenner for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice Holmes 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).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Louisville Nashville Railroad Company v. Woodford

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
234 U.S. 46
Louisville Nashville Railroad Company v. Woodford
Argued: March 23, 1914. --- Decided: May 25, 1914
Messrs. Charles H. Moorman, Benjamin D. Warfield, Henry Lane Stone, and Robert A. Thornton for plaintiff in error.
Messrs. Robert B. Franklin and Robert C. Talbott for defendants in error.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 46-48 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Justice Day 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).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Life in the Open Air, and Other Papers/Love and Skates

LOVE AND SKATES.
LOVE AND SKATES.
* Chapter I. A Knot and a Man to Cut It
* Chapter II. Barracks for the Hero
* Chapter III. How to Behead a Hydra!
* Chapter IV. A Christmas Gift
* Chapter V. Skating as a Fine Art
* Chapter VI. "Go Not, Happy Day, Till the Maiden Yields"
* Chapter VII. Wade Down
* Chapter VIII. Tête-à-Tête
* Chapter IX. Love in the First Degree
* Chapter X. Forebodings
* Chapter XI. Cap'n Ambuster's Skiff
* Chapter XII. In the Ice
# Lilith/Chapter XLVII

As yet I have not found Lona, but Mara is much with me. She has taught me many things, and is teaching me more.
Can it be that that last waking also was in the dream? that I am still in the chamber of death, asleep and dreaming, not yet ripe enough to wake? Or can it be that I did not go to sleep outright and heartily, and so have come awake too soon? If that waking was itself but a dream, surely it was a dream of a better waking yet to come, and I have not been the sport of a false vision! Such a dream must have yet lovelier truth at the heart of its dreaming!
In moments of doubt I cry,
"Could God Himself create such lovely things as I dreamed?"
"Whence then came thy dream?" answers Hope.
"Out of my dark self, into the light of my consciousness."
"But whence first into thy dark self?" rejoins Hope.
"My brain was its mother, and the fever in my blood its father."
"Say rather," suggests Hope, "thy brain was the violin whence it issued, and the fever in thy blood the bow that drew it forth.—But who made the violin? and who guided the bow across its strings? Say rather, again—who set the song birds each on its bough in the tree of life, and startled each in its order from its perch? Whence came the fantasia? and whence the life that danced thereto? Didst THOU say, in the dark of thy own unconscious self, 'Let beauty be; let truth seem!' and straightway beauty was, and truth but seemed?"
Man dreams and desires; God broods and wills and quickens.
When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream; when Another gives it him, that Other is able to fulfil it.
I have never again sought the mirror. The hand sent me back: I will not go out again by that door! "All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come."
Now and then, when I look round on my books, they seem to waver as if a wind rippled their solid mass, and another world were about to break through. Sometimes when I am abroad, a like thing takes place; the heavens and the earth, the trees and the grass appear for a moment to shake as if about to pass away; then, lo, they have settled again into the old familiar face! At times I seem to hear whisperings around me, as if some that loved me were talking of me; but when I would distinguish the words, they cease, and all is very still. I know not whether these things rise in my brain, or enter it from without. I do not seek them; they come, and I let them go.
Strange dim memories, which will not abide identification, often, through misty windows of the past, look out upon me in the broad daylight, but I never dream now. It may be, notwithstanding, that, when most awake, I am only dreaming the more! But when I wake at last into that life which, as a mother her child, carries this life in its bosom, I shall know that I wake, and shall doubt no more.
I wait; asleep or awake, I wait.
Novalis says, "Our life is no dream, but it should and will perhaps become one."
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Pliocene Skull

TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL.
A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS.
"Speak, O man, less recent! Fragmentary fossil! Primal pioneer of pliocene formation, Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum Of volcanic tufa!
Older than the beasts, the oldest Palæotherium; Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogamia; Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions Of earth's epidermis!
Eo—Mio—Plio—whatsoe'er the "cene" was That those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder— ​Whether shores Devonian or Silurian beaches— Tell us thy strange story!
Or has the professor slightly antedated By some thousand years thy advent on this planet, Giving thee an air that's somewhat better fitted For cold-blooded creatures?
Wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest When above thy head the stately Sigillaria Reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant Carboniferous epoch?
Tell us of that scene—the dim and watery woodland Songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club-mosses, Lycopodiacea—
When beside thee walked the solemn Plesiosaurus, And around thee crept the festive Ichthyosaurus, While from time to time above thee flew and circled Cheerful Pterodactyls. ​Tell us of thy food—those half marine refections, Crinoids on the shell and Brachipods au naturel— Cuttle-fish to which the pieuvre of Victor Hugo Seems a periwinkle.
Speak, thou awful vestige of the Earth's creation— Solitary fragment of remains organic! Tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence— Speak! thou oldest primate!"
Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla, And a lateral movement of the condyloid process, With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication, Ground the teeth together.
And, from that imperfect dental exhibition, Stained with expressed juices of the weed Nicotian, Came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs Of expectoration;
"Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted Falling down a shaft in Calaveras county, But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces Home to old Missouri!"
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Rabbit of Malvern Hills

THE RABBIT OF MALVERN HILLS.
A STORY FOR CHILDREN.
Bunny, squatting in the grass, Saw the glancing column pass— Saw the stripéd banner fly, And the sabres twinkle by; Saw the chargers fret and fume, And the flapping hat and plume— Saw them with his moist and shy Most unspeculative eye, Thinking only in the dew, That it was a fine review. ​'Till a flash—not all of steel— Where the flying squadrons wheel, Brought a rumble and a roar Rolling down the velvet floor, And like blows of Autumn flail, Sharply beat the iron hail.
Bunny, thrilled by unknown fears, Raised his long and pointed ears, Mumbled his prehensile lip, Quivered his pulsating hip When the sharp vindictive yell Rose above the screaming shell; Thought the world and all the men— All the charging squadrons meant— All were rabbit hunters then, All to capture him intent. Bunny was not much to blame, Wiser folk have thought the same; Wiser folk, because they spy Every ill begins with "I."
Wildly panting here and there, ​Bunny sought the freer air From the columns closing in, From the strange, confusing din; Till he hopped below the hill, And saw lying close and still, Men with muskets in their hands; Never Bunny understands That hypocrisy of sleep In the vigils grim they keep, As recumbent on that spot, They elude the level shot.
One, a grave and wearied man, Thinking of his wife and child Far beyond the Rapidan, By the Androscoggin wild, Felt the little rabbit creep, Nestling by his arm and side. Wakened from strategic sleep To that soft appeal replied; Drew him to his blackened breast, And—but you have guessed the rest. ​Softly o'er that chosen pair Omnipresent Love and Care Drew a mightier hand and arm, Shielding each from every harm— Right and left the bullets waved, Saved the savior for the saved.
Who believes that equal grace God extends in every place, Little difference he scans 'Twixt the rabbit's God, and man's.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Goddess

THE GODDESS.
"Who comes?"—the sentry's warning cry, Rings sharply on the evening air. Who comes? the challenge—no reply? Yet something motions there!
A woman, by those graceful folds; A soldier, by that martial tread. "Advance three paces. Halt! until Thy name and rank be said."
"My name?—her name, in ancient song, Who fearless from Olympus came. Look on me! Mortals know me best In battle and in flame!" ​"Enough! I know that clarion voice; I know that gleaming eye and helm— Those crimson lips—their dew that blends The best blood of the realm.
"The young, the brave, the good and wise, Have fallen in thy curst embrace. The juices of the grapes of wrath Still stain thy guilty face.
"My brother lies in yonder field, Face downward to the quiet grass. Go back! he cannot see thee now; But here thou shalt not pass."
A crack upon the evening air, A wakened echo from the hill; The watch-dog on the distant shore Gives mouth—and all is still.
The sentry with his brother lies Face downward on the quiet grass, And by him, in the pale moonshine, A shadow seems to pass. ​No lance or warlike shield it bears; A helmet in its pitying hands Brings water from the nearest brook, To meet his last demands.
Can this be she of haughty mien— The Goddess of the Sword and Shield? Ah, yes! The Grecian poet's myth Sways still each battle-field.
For not alone that rugged War Some grace or charm from Beauty gains, But when the Goddess' work is done, The Woman's still remains.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Aged Stranger

THE AGED STRANGER.
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR.
"I was with Grant"—the stranger said; Said the farmer: "Say no more, But rest thee here at my cottage porch, For thy feet are weary and sore."
"I was with Grant"—the stranger said; Said the farmer: "Nay, no more— I prithee sit at my frugal board, And eat of my humble store.
"How fares my boy—my soldier boy, Of the old Ninth Army Corps?— I warrant he bore him gallantly In the smoke and the battle's roar!" ​"I know him not," said the aged man, "And, as I remarked before, I was with Grant"—"Nay, nay, I know," Said the farmer, "Say no more;
"He fell in battle—I see, alas! Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er— Nay: speak the truth, whatever it be Though it rend my bosom's core.
"How fell he—with his face to the foe, Upholding the flag he bore? O! say not that my boy disgraced The uniform that he wore!
"I cannot tell," said the aged man, "And should have remarked, before, That I was with Grant—in Illinois— Some three years before the war."
Then the farmer spake him never a word, But beat with his fist full sore That aged man, who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Long, Long Night

This poem bears no title in the original volume, and is not listed among the Contents.
The long, long night of Storm and Strife is past; Alike the grasses spring o'er friend and foe; And thou, brave heart, whose voice outrode the blast— Whose kindling thought made every beacon glow— O friend, who would'st my future work forecast Pointing this idle pen to higher things— In these poor songs to thee I still cling fast; I read, and lo, thy clarion voice still rings And in mine own refrain, it is thy thought that sings.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Lost Tails of Miletus

THE LOST TAILS OF MILETUS.
High on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of clover, Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian streamlet, She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr Scratched his ear with his hoof, and playfully mumbled his chestnuts.
Vainly the Mænid and the Bassarid gamboled about her, The free-eyed Bacchante sang, and Pan—the renowned, the accomplished— Executed his difficult solo. In vain were their gambols and dances : ​High o'er the Thracian hills rose the voice of the shepherdess, wailing.
"Ai! for the fleecy flocks—the meek-nosed, the passionless faces; Ai! for the tallow-scented, the straight-tailed, the high-stepping ; Ai! for the timid glance, which is that which the rustic, sagacious, Applies to him who loves but may not declare his passion!"
Her then Zeus answered slow: "O! daughter of song and sorrow— Hapless tender of sheep—arise from thy long lamentation. Since thou canst not trust fate, nor behave as becomes a Greek maiden, Look and behold thy sheep."—And lo! they returned to her tailless!
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Emeu

THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU.
O say, have you seen at the Willows so green— So charming and rurally true— A singular bird, with a manner absurd, Which they call the Australian Emeu? Have you Ever seen this Australian Emeu?
It trots all around with its head on the ground, Or erects it quite out of your view; And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy, O! what a sweet, pretty Emeu! O! do Just look at that lovely Emeu! ​One day to this spot, when the weather was hot, Came Matilda Hortense Fortescue; And beside her there came a youth of high name— Augustus Florell Montague: The two Both loved that wild, foreign Emeu.
With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead Of the flesh of the white cockatoo, Which once was its food in that wild neighborhood Where ranges the sweet Kangaroo; That too Is game for the famous Emeu!
Old saws and gimlets but its appetite whets Like the world-famous bark of Peru; There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard, And nothing its taste will eschew That you Can give that long-legged Emeu!
The time slipped away, in this innocent play, When up jumped the bold Montague: ​"Where's that specimen pin that I gaily did win In raffle, and gave unto you, Fortescue?" No word spoke the guilty Emeu!
"Quick! tell me his name whom thou gavest that same, Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue!" "Nay, dearest," she cried, as she clung to his side, "I'm innocent as that Emeu!" "Adieu!" He replied, "Miss M. H. Fortescue!"
Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet, As wildly he fled from her view; He thought 't was her sin—for he knew not the pin Had been gobbled up by the Emeu; All through The voracity of that Emeu!
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Reveille

THE REVEILLE.
Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of arméd men the hum; Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum— Saying, "Come, Freemen, come! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.
"Let me of my heart take counsel: War is not of Life the sum; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come?" But the drum Echoed, "Come! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding drum. ​"But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom? What if conquest—subjugation— Even greater ills become?" But the drum Answered, "Come! You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee-answering drum.
"What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb— When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?" But the drum Answered, "Come! Better there in death united, than in life a recreant—Come!"
Thus they answered—hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, 'Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, "My chosen people, come!" Then the drum, Lo! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, " Lord, we come!"
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1646/The Answer of Q. Horatius Flaccus to a Roman "Round-Robin"

* THE ANSWER OF Q. HORATIUS FLACCUS TO A ROMAN "ROUND-ROBIN".
* Good friends, you urge my odes grow trite,
* And that of worthless station,
* Of fleeting youth and joy, I write
* With endless iteration.
* But say, in mortals, base or great,
* Have you a change detected?
* Are they, when victors, less elate.
* When vanquished, less dejected?
* Do they no more in mundane mire
* For golden garbage scramble?
* Or, but companioned with the lyre,
* Up twisting Anio ramble?
* Hath Fortune ceased to prove a jade?
* Hath favour waxed less fickle?
* Hath shamed Bellona dropped her blade,
* Or Death put up his sickle?
* Doth age no longer rime the hair?
* Finds Virtue always supper?
* Or, when cit. rides, a knight, doth Care
* No more bestride the crupper?
* Do not the rosy hours wax pale.
* New loves old loves disherit;
* And sleight of golden showers prevail
* 'Gainst Danae's brazen turret?
* Sooth, verbum sap. But then, Jove knows!
* Men are not wise, but foolish;
* Whether they scan Soracte's snows,
* Or those near Ballachulish.
* Still, still they hug the bestial sty,
* And have not changed one wee bit;
* Unpleasing truth, which "Repeti-
* Ta decies {non) placebit."
* Ask such to share my Sabine meal!
* And twine the parsley classic!
* For such to break the Manlian seal,
* And liberate my Massic!
* A pretty tale! Why, ken you not,
* Good friends, as lately showed I,
* In verse already you've forgot, —
* Profanum vulgus odi?
* Fair maid, or minister, I dine.
* Toast Rome or Alma Venus:
* When Lydia will not kiss my wine,
* Why, then, I ask Mæcenas.
* For such and self the chords I strike
* Of wisdom, love, and scorning;
* And if the world my themes mislike,
* Well, — gentlemen, good-morning!
* Alfred Austin.
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1646/The Stranger's Grave

* THE STRANGER'S GRAVE.
* He sleeps within a nameless grave,
* Where spring's luxuriant blossoms wave,
* For summer's reign is nigh.
* The solitude around his tomb
* Is beautiful as Eden's bloom
* Ere beauty learned to die.
* Her fairest and most fragrant flowers
* Kind May in bright profusion showers
* Upon that lovely spot;
* Where the sick heart and weary head
* Rest in their last dark, narrow bed,
* Forgetting and forgot.
* No drooping mourners kneel beside
* That lonely grave at eventide.
* And bathe them with their tears;
* But oft the balmy dews of night
* Lave it in pity, when the light
* Of kindling stars appears.
* No loved ones breathe the holy prayer,
* But nature's incense fills the air,
* And seeks the distant sky.
* Her artless hymn the song-bird sings.
* The dreamy hum of insect wings,
* Are prayers that never die.
* Chambers' Journal.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1647/Miscellany

​The Russian correspondent of the Kölnische Zeitung states that letters have reached St. Petersburg from members of the exploring expedition which was recently sent to the Attrek territory by the imperial government. They had advanced to Krasnowodsk, in Tschikishlau, without misadventure, and after a week's rest had proceeded along the Attrek to Schot, where it was proposed to take in new supplies. It was expected that the expedition would reach the mouth of the Attrek on their homeward passage about the end of last or the beginning of the present month. In General Lomakin's official report of the expedition, which came to St. Petersburg at the same time, it was announced that, although hitherto the Turkomans had everywhere shown themselves friendly towards the Russians, there was reason to know that the Afghans were endeavouring to incite them to rise against the strangers and prevent their further advance. The Turkomans had on several occasions given information in regard to these attempts, which had enabled the general to seize two of the Afghan emissaries, who had been executed as spies. The Attrek expedition is regarded by the Russian government as especially important, from the information which it is anticipated it may supply in regard to the various degrees of practicability of the different routes leading to Merv, which is interesting as a central point of junction for many lines of way opening upon districts in which the British as well as the Russians are interested.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1647

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1647. — January 1, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXVIII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | France Before the War, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 3 |
| II. | How I Won a Wife. Translated for The Living Age from the Platt-Deutsch of Fritz Reuter, | | 17 |
| III. | German Home Life. By a Lady. Part VIII., | Fraser's Magazine, | 27 |
| IV. | Her Dearest Foe. By the author of "The Wooing O't." Part X., | Temple Bar, | 35 |
| V. | Diversions of a Pedagogue, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 42 |
| VI. | A Monk's Daily Life, | Fraser's Magazine, | 48 |
| VII. | Misquotation, | Spectator, | 57 |
| VIII. | Mr. Story's "Nero", | Examiner, | 60 |
| IX. | Pets, | Saturday Review, | 62 |
POETRY. :
| The Last Wish, | 2 | Elf-King's Youngest Daughter, | 2 |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 64 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1647/Elf-King's Youngest Daughter

* THE ELF-KING'S YOUNGEST DAUGHTER.
* Down the merry streamlet dancing,
* Through the flickering shadows glancing,
* Foam about her white feet creaming,
* All her wayward hair out-streaming,
* Laughing on the laughing water,
* Dances down the elf-king's daughter —
* Youngest daughter fair.
* All the trees bend low toward her,
* All the rocks are strong to guard her,
* All the little grasses whisper,
* And the low-toned breezes lisp her
* Praises everywhere.
* All around the warm air lingers
* Lovingly, the while her fingers,
* With a dainty upward gesture,
* Seem to draw a shade for vesture
* Of her loveliness.
* Yet meseems she moves so purely,
* Gliding on her path demurely,
* Looking with clear eyes serenely,
* She were clad' not half so queenly
* In a royal dress.
* Now she's lightly onward sweeping, —
* Now she stays half-glad, half-fearing,
* O'er the ledge of granite peering,
* Eyes the headlong torrent leaping —
* Eyes far down the sullen boulders,
* While the long locks round her shoulders
* Gather tenderly.
* Now with little laugh a-tremble,
* Glad her shrinking to dissemble,
* Flashing through the diamond shower
* With her white feet launched below her,
* And her hair drawn out above her,
* Swift as lady to her lover
* Down the fall goes she.
* Now when quiet night has clouded
* All the river broad and stately,
* Down the stream she rides sedately,
* By her soft hair warmly shrouded,
* Lulled by melody.
* Down amid the dim trees greeting,
* And the drowsy wheat's repeating,
* Dreaming on the dreaming water
* Floats the elf-king's youngest daughter
* To the dreaming sea.
* J. R. S.
* Blackwood's Magazine.