OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance Company v. Walrath/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
117 U.S. 365
Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance Company v. Walrath
Argued: March 29, 1886. ---
The order remanding this case is affirmed. The right to the removal of a suit under the act of March 3, 1875, (18 St. 470, c. 137,) is lost by a failure to file a petition 'before or at the term at which said cause could be first tried, and before the trial thereof,' and it is not restored by an amendment of the pleadings afterwards so as to present different issues. As was said in Babbitt v. Clark, 103 U.S. 612, 'the act of congress does not provide for the removal of a cause at the first term at which a trial can be had on the issues, as finally settled by leave of the court or otherwise, but at the first term at which the cause, as a cause, could be tried.' This rule has been strictly adhered to. Edrington v. Jefferson, 111 U.S. 775; S.C.. 4 Sup. Ct. Rep. 683; Pullman Palace Car Co. v. Speck, 113 U.S. 87; S.C.. 5 Sup. Ct. Rep. 374; Gregory v. Hartley, 113 U.S. 745; S.C.. 5 Sup. Ct. Rep. 743. Here the suit was begun July 19, issue joined August 26, 1880, and a trial had February 23, 1881, which resulted in a verdict and judgment for the present plaintiff in error. This judgment was reversed by an appellate court, October 19, 1881, and the cause sent back for a new trial. In the trial court an amended answer, which contained a counter-claim, was filed, on leave, May 20, 1882, and the petition for removal was not filed until September 13, 1882. This was clearly too late. Affirmed.

## 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
# Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance v. Doster

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
106 U.S. 30
Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance v. Doster
H. E. Barnard, for plaintiff in error.
Frank Doster and John W. Linn, for defendants in error.
HARLAN, J.

## 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
# Phoenix Railway Company of Arizona v. Geary

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
239 U.S. 277
Phoenix Railway Company of Arizona v. Geary
Argued: October 29, 1915. --- Decided: November 29, 1915
Messrs. Alexander Britton, Evans Browne, F. W. Clements, Floyd M. Stahl, Edward Kent, and Louis H. Chalmers for appellant.
[Argument of Counsel from page 278 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Wiley E. Jones, Attorney General of Arizona, and Messrs. Edward M. Clearly, Leslie C. Hardy, and George W. Harben for appellees.
Mr. Justice Pitney 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
# Phoenix Railway Company v. Landis

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
231 U.S. 578
Phoenix Railway Company v. Landis
Argued: November 12, 1913. --- Decided: December 22, 1913
Messrs. Charles Cowles Tucker, Louis H. Chalmers, Edward Kent, A. B. Browne, Alexander Britton, and Evans Browne for plaintiff in error.
Messrs. J. M. Jamison and John Mason Ross for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice Hughes 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
# Phormio

* related portals: Drama, Latin language and literature.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, quotes, Wikidata item.
Roman comedy adapted by Terence from a now lost play by Apollodorus of Carystus
English-language translations of Phormio include:
* Phormio; or the Scheming Parasite, translated by Henry Thomas Riley, The Comedies of Terence, and the Fables of Phædrus (1853) (transcription project)
* Phormio, trans. John Benson Rose, Comedies of Publius Terentius Afer (1870) (transcription project)
* The Phormio of Terence, translated by Morris Hicky Morgan (1894) (transcription project)
This work is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. Translations of this work may be copyrighted.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems (Hornblower)/Lines (In ancient times, one spot)

LINES.
Of Zeno we have an illustrious testimony from a solemn decree of the Athenians:—"Whereas Zeno, the son of Mnseas, the Cittican, having many years professed philosophy in this city, and, as well in all other things, hath demeaned himself like a good man, as particularly exhorting the young men who went to be instructed by him, hath provoked them to virtue and sobriety, withal exhibiting his own life a pattern of the best things, answerable to the discourses he used to make, it is therefore decreed by the people, that Zeno, the son of Mnaseas, be solemnly praised, and crowned (according to the usage) with a golden crown, and that a monument be erected for him at the public charge in the Ceramicum."—From Barrow's Sermons, vol. 1, p. 342.
# Poems (Hornblower)/Lines (Forth from the Saracen's far land)

LINES.
"Thomas à Becket may have inherited a romantic turn of mind from his mother, whose story is a singular one. His father, Gilbert Becket, had been in his youth a soldier in the Crusades, and being taken prisoner, became a slave to an Emir, or Saracen Prince. By degrees he obtained the confidence of his master, and was admitted to his company, where he met a personage who became more attached to him. This was the Emir's daughter. After some time he contrived to escape. The lady, with her loving heart, followed him. She knew, they say, but two words of his language—London and Gilbert; by repeating the former, she obtained a passage in a vessel, arrived in England, and found her trusting way to the Metropolis. She then took to her other talisman, and went from street to street, pronouncing "Gilbert." Chance brought her at last to the one in which he who had won her heart in slavery was living in good condition. The crowd drew the family to the window, the servant recognized her, and Gilbert Becket took to his arms, and to his bridal bed, his far-come Princess, with her solitary fond word."—See Hunt's Indicator, vol. 1.
# Picture Posters/Chapter 10

Scans
* CHAPTER X.
THE PICTORIAL POSTER IN COUNTRIES NOT ALREADY DISCUSSED.
POSTER DESIGNED TO ADVERTISE AN ENTERTAINMENT AT SEVILLE.
SPANISH POSTER FOR A FAIR.
DESIGN BY JOSEPH SATTLER.
​movement; they are satisfactory in their purely decorative work, but figures in repose are apt to become 'woodeny.' In point of colour, Spain beats France; and as France is so much in advance of England, it scarcely needs a Euclid to demonstrate that English posters cannot be compared to those of Spain. The latter exhibit at times an admirable sense of distance and proportion, which serves to show that their designers learnt to draw before they began to paint." The four examples reproduced here will serve to indicate the type of Spanish poster most frequently met with. Whether Spain, in the matter of the pictorial placard, is in advance of France or not, is a question of taste. However brilliant the colour of the Spanish affiche, the design seems to me to lack boldness. Take, for example, the "Gran Feria de Cordoba, 1895;" in this case the whole thing appears to be a series of elaborate details rather than a bold and impressive design. The poster in Spain, however, is rapidly becoming of interest, dealing as it does with fascinating and essentially picturesque subjects. It is difficult to obtain exact information concerning the artists who design posters in Spain; the examples which I reproduce here, I cannot attribute to anybody with any degree of certainty.
DESIGN BY FRANZ STÜCK.
DESIGN BY EVENEPOEL.
DESIGN BY DUYCK.
DESIGN FOR THE "LIBRE ESTHETIQUE."
DESIGN BY GAUDY.
DESIGN BY X. M.
DESIGN BY A. CRESPIN.
DESIGN BY LEON BARDENNE.
# Picture

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Picture."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* A Picture, a poem by W. P. Blackmore
* "A Picture", a poem by Annie Maria Lawrence Clark
* "A Picture", a poem by Julia Caroline Dorr
* A Picture, a poem by Sophia Courtoulde Hazlett-Bevis
* A Picture, a poem by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
* A Picture, a poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (also known as "A Lady's Beauty")
* A Picture, a poem by Mary Newmarch Prescott
* A Picture, a poem by Carmen Sylva
* "Picture" (1926, "These triumphant hills have stood"), a poem by Genevieve Taggard
* A Picture, a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

## See also

* Picture Show
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/To the Men of Kent

XXIII.
TO THE MEN OF KENT.
October, 1803.
Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance Its haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment! To France be words of invitation sent! They from their Fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance, And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore, Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; Confirmed the charters that were yours before;— No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; We all are with you now from Shore to Shore:— Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Upon a stone on the side of Black Comb

II.
Written with a Slate-pencil, on a Stone, on the Side of the Mountain of Black Comb.
Stay, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs On this commodious Seat! for much remains Of hard ascent before thou reach the top Of this huge Eminence,——from blackness named, And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, A favourite spot of tournament and war! But thee may no such boisterous visitants Molest; may gentle breezes fan thy brow; And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle, From centre to circumference, unveiled! Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy rest, That, on the summit whither thou art bound, A geographic Labourer pitched his tent, With books supplied and instruments of art, To measure height and distance; lonely task, ​Week after week pursued!—To him was given Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed On timid man) of Nature's processes Upon the exalted hills. He made report That once, while there he plied his studious work Within that canvass Dwelling, suddenly The many-coloured map before his eyes Became invisible: for all around Had darkness fallen—unthreatened, unproclaimed— As if the golden day itself had been Extinguished in a moment; total gloom, In which he sate alone with unclosed eyes Upon the blinded mountain's silent top!
Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland: its base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other Mountain in these parts; and, from its situation, the summit commands a more extensive view than any other point in Britain. See page 305, Vol. I.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/To the Poet Dyer

XIV.
TO THE POET, DYER.
Bard of the Fleece, whose skilful Genius made That Work a living landscape fair and bright; Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy Childhood stray'd, Those southern Tracts of Cambria, "deep embayed, By green hills fenced, by Ocean's murmur lulled;" Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced, Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay Long as the Shepherd's bleating flock shall stray O'er naked Snowdon's wide aerial waste; Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Upon an Urn in the same Grounds

V.
Written at the Request of Sir George Beaumont, Bart. and in his Name, for an Urn, placed by him at the Termination of a newly-planted Avenue, in the same Grounds.
Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return; And be not slow a stately growth to rear Of Pillars, branching off from year to year Till they at length have framed a darksome Aisle;— Like a recess within that awful Pile Where Reynolds, mid our Country's noblest Dead, In the last sanctity of Fame is laid. —There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear Self-hidden praise and Friendship's private tear: Hence on my patrimonial Grounds have I Raised this frail tribute to his memory, From youth a zealous follower of the Art That he professed, attached to him in heart; Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Upon the sight of a beautiful Picture

II.
UPON THE SIGHT
OF A
BEAUTIFUL PICTURE.
Praised be the Art whose subtle power could stay Yon Cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape; Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape, Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; Which stopped that Band of Travellers on their way Ere they were lost within the shady wood; And shewed the Bark upon the glassy flood For ever anchored in her sheltering Bay. Soul-soothing Art! which Morning, Noon-tide, Even Do serve with all their changeful pageantry! Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime, Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given To one brief moment caught from fleeting time The appropriate calm of blest eternity.
# Poems (Jackson)/The Story of Boon

* ↑ This story of Boon is strictly true. It is told by Mrs. Leonowens, the English Governess at the Siamese court. She took it down from Choy's own lips.
* ↑ The Siamese believe that, whenever a dead body is not burned, its soul is condemned to begin life again in the lowest animal form.
# Poems (Jackson)/The Song he never wrote

THE END.
# Pictures in Rhyme/In the Night

IN THE NIGHT
Chalk cliffs a thousand feet in height,
Grey ghosts melting into the night.
And on their summit, to and fro, Doomed on his weary beat to go,
Every night from ten till two,
A Coastguard paces to and fro.
If the wind blows high, if the wind blows low,
Through the pelting rain, through the driving snow,
To and fro, to and fro.
On the look-out lest a wrecker's light Over the lower downs should glide,
Swung from a horse, whose motions might Show like a boat on the heaving tide,
Luring rich ships, by its baleful glare,
Into that horrible, hidden snare; ​From whose maw agape, with rock-set teeth,
Every breath seems charged with death.
To guide his feet a line is laid
Of chalk-blocks, whiter with whitewash made, Over the green, elastic turf; And his perch is so high that he cannot hear, Even with his accustomed ear, The monotonous-sounding swish of the surf.
To-night there's a fight 'Twixt the god of the sea and the gods of the air, And there's death and destruction afloat everywhere.
The flaps of his oilskin like whipthongs crack, As the Coastguard seeks his wonted track.
But the line leads over the cliff's pent brow, And he falls a thousand feet below.
His cry, caught up by the rush of the air, Startles the guillemots' nestless lair.
Who was it said, 'A life for a life'?—
# Pictures in Rhyme/Front matter

Illustrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen
Pictures in Rhyme Arthur Clark Kennedy
PICTURES IN RHYME
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
"She was Madame de Pompadour."
# Pictures in Rhyme/How Strange our Lives!

HOW STRANGE OUR LIVES!
How strange our lives! A wayward breath Upon the current of the mind May change its course—an idle wind, Filled full with fate, or life, or death.
It comes upon us unaware, It steals into our very soul, Transmutes our being, and the whole 'What might have been' dissolves in air—
And 'That which must be' takes its place At some strange crisis of our life; A winning or a losing strife— Victor or vanquished in the race.
'Tis pitiful how slight a thing, Unsought, unnoticed at the time, May plunge us in a slough of crime, Or set a bare tree blossoming. ​So mean the cause, the effect so great:— Some single word, some simple deed, Which at the time we scarcely heed, Opens the door, or shuts the gate
On our high hopes. We wander far, Down loveless vistas, or with Love, Dreaming we lie within the grove. How few, alas! who gain that star
Which shines on each one from his birth, Lit with strange meanings, mystical, Pointed with lurid fires which shall Mislead or guide us upon earth;
Until we win that far-off heaven, Across the cold, blue, glacier-steep. How few, alas! their foothold keep, And to how few Faith's wings are given.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Lament of Boabdil

LAMENT OF BOABDIL
Fair city of waters, and thus must I leave thee? Thou once wast the pride of the faithful on earth: From mine arms the mail-grasp of the Christian doth reve thee; Ah! would I had died in thee, land of my birth!
'Twere better by far that in one common downfall, O'erwhelmed, we had perish'd, Granada, than thou Should'st linger in beauty, priest-govern'd, a thrall, A jewel in the crown on King Ferdinand's brow.
Ayesha, my mother, thou need'st not remind me Of all the fair realm I for ever have lost; The Vega smiles mockingly, stretch'd far behind me, Bestrewn with the tents of the Cross-serving host.
O mother, my mother, now cease to upbraid me, Though womanly tears for an instant should flow! Forget and forgive if my weakness betray'd me— My chill heart is failing like sun-melted snow. ​All hopeless my future; how can I sustain it, For ever, Granada, an exile from thee?
If weeping comes o'er me, why should I restrain it? A king's tears fall not for the lands of the free.
As wending my weary way over the mountains, I turn me to take a last look at thy towers;
Farewell to thee ever, thou City of Fountains, The flag of the Christian waves over my bowers!
# Pictures in Rhyme/On a Portrait of Napoleon I by David

ON A PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON I. BY DAVID
A meteor-man of destiny, Who trod, Through others' weakness, up the paths of strength, Uncumbered and unshod Of charity, Till in the sky He flamed, at length, A mid-day sun, A people's god— Napoleon.
His courtiers shone Like bees upon his mantle strewn; And yet his fate Left him with rent robes, desolate. ​How less than little was he on his throne! How little also in his fallen days! Whose harp can praise Napoleon?
# Pictures in Rhyme/On the Stair

Illustrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen
[36] [Img]
ON THE STAIR
PARIS, 1789
In his hand a glittering rapier shone, As he stood on the stairway's topmost stone, And quietly leaned on the balustrade, Whilst the rabble paused, surprised, afraid Of some treacherous ambuscade. But there was none, For he stood alone.
They had slain the guards, and broken in;
The corridors echoed their blasphemous din;
They had thrust their pikes through the panelled walls, Their sabots clattered across the halls. But under the carven balustrade They paused, surprised, afraid.
"In his hand a glittering rapier shone"
A vase of bronze was held in its place, On the stair-angle's marble face, By its Bacchanalian handle; And golden lilies were growing therein, Type of the great who ne'er toil or spin; And each lily held a candle.
Whilst the late Court painter's Nymph-ideal, Devoid of expression or feeling, Balanced upon an impossible heel, Smiled vacantly down from the ceiling.
At last a murmur from low to loud, Rustled and swelled across the crowd, Which stood at bay On the main stairway.
And Jean the butcher lifted his axe To split that brow 'neath its curls of flax, And cure its brains of their rambles; But there was a sudden, steely flash, And Jean the butcher fell with a crash, Like an ox of his own in the shambles, ​Then Bras-de-fer and porter Pierre, And José, the Spanish commissionaire, Pressed up the polished stair.
The smith went down with a ball in his brain; And, sheathed in the swarthy son of Spain, The rapier snapped at its silver hilt; Whilst Pierre dropped dead without a groan, For the vase, with its lilies candled and gilt, Lit on and splintered his frontal bone: And the crowd once more recoiled, dismayed, From that marble balustrade Where he stood unarmed, alone.
He glanced at the clock above the stair:— He had gained her time to fly; His lips moved once with a silent prayer, As he stood there to die.
Three pikes pierced his 'broidered vest, And, clashing, met in his breast.
Little she recked that his life-blood flowed— She had saved her jewel-case from the crowd! ​They tore the buckles out of his shoes, The diamond rings from his finger, Then trampled across him—no time to lose Nor linger. But a ray of sunlight stole up the stair, And dropped an aureole over his hair.
The place where the palace stood you scan In vain, for the palace no longer is there:
Not a stone is left of that marble stair, And the clock is sold to a nobleman For his chateau in Angleterre.
Whilst Boucher's Nymph, so rosy of hue, Twirling her scarf of vaporous blue, Still smiles—in New York's Fifth Avenue.
# Pictures in Rhyme/Flower of the Flowers

FLOWER OF THE FLOWERS
A rose for each year—all white, none red; Only white roses rest with this dead. See how they cluster and cling round her head— Thirty and three. A rose in the coffin, a stroke on the bell, Till thirty and three, three and thirty they tell— Roses and bell.
Pick up yon rose—the one bud that has strayed— Cast down the lid. Our last tribute is paid To the infant, the child, the girl, and the maid, Wife and mother. Let her sleep in the bloom Of the roses' perfume, One flower with another. All white, white, white, Let them sleep through the night, To the light. ​From the earth was their birth; On the earth grew they in beauty, burning With whitest, purest flames, To earth returning. Then on the coffin-lid, Neath which the sweet, still corpse of former happy hours, Till morning lieth hid, Write we her name of names: 'Flower of the flowers!'
# Pictures in Rhyme/Illusions Perdues

ILLUSIONS PERDUES
I thought that I would dwell with love And love with me, till, ah! one day I found that he could faithless prove— He spread his wings and flew away.
I thought that I would sing for fame; I stretched my hands to grasp the wreath, Which in my eager clutch became Sere leaflets, withered by a breath.
I thought that I would gather wealth, To clothe and educate the poor, To reach unto the stricken, health— 'Twas dust that strewed my garner-floor.
I think that when I die, my soul Will melt into another land Of all things perfected—the goal Of what we cannot understand. ​And yet, perchance, I may but go Six feet, no further, merged in clay, To be the food of flowers—and so My last illusion will decay.
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON