OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Koszta Affair

Edition of 1920. See also Koszta Affair on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
KOSZTA (kō′stạ) AFFAIR, a diplomatic incident. A Hungarian refugee to the United States, named Martin Koszta, obtained his “declaration of intentions” or first citizenship papers in 1850. He visited Smyrna in 1853 and was seized by members of the crew of the
Austrian brig Huzar on 21 June. Captain Ingraham, of the American war sloop Saint Louis, under instructions from the American Minister at Constantinople, demanded his release. Hearing that the prisoner was to be transported secretly to Trieste, Captain Ingraham set a time limit to the surrender and made preparations to attack the Huzar on 2 July. The prisoner was surrendered. The Austrian government issued to the European courts a note of protest against the American procedure. Baron Hülsemann, Austrian Chargé d'Affaires at Washington, asked Secretary of State Marcy “to disavow the conduct of its agents . . . hasten to call them to a severe account and tender to Austria a satisfaction proportionate to the magnitude of the outrage,” claiming the arrested man to be an Austrian citizen and the action of Ingraham violative of international law. Marcy's reply, within a month, declared Koszta was not a citizen of Austria but “that Koszta, when seized and imprisoned, was invested with the nationality of the United States, and they therefore had the right, if they chose to exercise it, to extend their protection to him; that from international law — the only law which can rightfully be appealed to for rules in this case — Austria could receive no authority to obstruct or interfere with the United States in the exercise of this right, in effecting the liberation of Koszta; and that Captain Ingraham's interposition for his release was, under the extraordinary circumstances of the case, right and proper.” The Congress passed a joint resolution of thanks to Captain Ingraham and invested him with a medal in commemoration of his services. Consult ‘Correspondence between the Secretary of State and the Chargé d'Affaires of Austria relative to the Case of Martin Koszta’ (Washington 1853); Rhoades, J. F., ‘History of the United States from the Compromise of 1850’ (New York 1910), this contains a bibliography of the controversy. See Ingraham, Duncan Nathaniel.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Kropotkin, Peter Alexeievitch

Edition of 1920. See also Peter Kropotkin on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
KROPOTKIN, krō-pŏt'kĭn, Peter Alexeievitch, Russian geographer and revolutionist: b. Moscow, 9 Dec. 1842. He was educated in the Corps of Pages at Saint Petersburg, and joining a regiment of Cossacks of the Amur went to eastern Siberia as aide-de-camp to the military governor of Transbaikalia, becoming later attaché for Cossacks' affairs to the governor-general of eastern Siberia. He was connected with a prison commission, and strove to get some reforms introduced into Siberian convict prisons, but his efforts proved of no avail. From 1863 he devoted his energies to a scientific investigation of Manchuria and the neighboring parts of Siberia, and his work in this department gained him, in 1864, the gold medal of the Russian Geographical Society. In 1871 he was sent by the Geographical Society to Finland to study glacial phenomena. Arrested in 1874 for promulgating radical ideas of social reform, he was confined in the prison of the military hospital, from which he contrived to escape to England in 1876. In the following year he went to Switzerland, where he founded at Geneva an anarohist journal called Le Révolté, but in 1881 was expelled by the Swiss authorities on the demand of Russia. Returning to England in 1882, he wrote and lectured against the government of Alexander III. Having gone to France, he was arrested by the authorities and condemned (January 1883) to five years' imprisonment for participation in the International, but he was released in January 1886, in consequence of a strong appeal made by leading French and English savants. Since then he has lived in England, and engaged in literary work. He has written much on scientific subjects and has contributed to various encyclopædias. His separate publications include ‘Paroles d'un Révolté’ (1885); ‘In Russian and French Prisons’ (1887); ‘La Conquête du Pain’ (1888); ‘L'Anarchie, sa Philosophie, son Idéal’ (1896; Eng. trans. 1897); ‘The State: its Part in History’ (1898); ‘Fields, Factories and Workshops’ (1899): ‘Memoirs of a Revolutionist,’ first issued serially in The Atlantic Monthly (1899); ‘The Orography of Asia’ (1904); ‘Ideals and Realities in Russian Literature’ (1905); ‘The Great Revolution, 1789-93’ (1908); ‘Terror in Russia’ (1909). Prince Kropotkin is one of the ablest representatives and most eloquent exponents of that theory of society known as anarchist-communism. He is opposed to all societies based on force or restraint, and looks forward to the advent of a purely voluntary society on a communistic basis. He desires to see the division of labor, which is the dominant factor in modern industry, replaced by what he calls the “integration of labor,” and is a stanch believer in the immense possibilities of intensive agriculture. In 1901 he delivered a course of lectures at the Lowell Institute in Boston.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Krout, Mary Hannah

Edition of 1920. See also Mary Hannah Krout on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
KROUT, Mary Hannah, American journalist and author: b. Crawfordsville, Ind., 3 Nov. 1857. She was educated at home, became
associate editor of the Crawfordsville Journal in 1881, and editor on the Terre Haute Express in 1882. She was for 10 years on the staff of the Chicago Inter-Ocean, was its staff correspondent in Hawaii during the revolution in 1893, furnishing special data subsequently for the State Department. She was also staff correspondent in London from 1895 to 1898, then went to China for a syndicate of representative newspapers specially to investigate the commercial relations of China and the United States. In 1907 she visited Australia for the second time, lecturing on American political and economic conditions and writing a series of articles for the Sydney and Auckland press on American topics. In recent years she has engaged in miscellaneous literary work, and lecturing on literary and general topics. She has published ‘Hawaii and a Revolution’ (1888); ‘Alice in the Hawaiian Islands’ (1899); ‘A Looker-on in London’ (1899); ‘Two Girls in China’ (1900); completed the ‘Memoirs’ of Gen. Lew Wallace' (1907); ‘Memoirs of Bernice Pauahi Bishop’ (1909); ‘Reminiscences of Mary S. Rice’ (1908); ‘Platters and Pipkins’ (1908); ‘The Coign of Vantage’ (1909).
# The Farmer's Bride/Sea Love

SEA LOVE
TIDE be runnin' the great world over:
T'was only last June month I mind that we
Was thinkin' the toss and the call in the breast of the lover
So everlastin' as the sea.
Heer's the same little fishes that sputter and swim,
Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand;
An' him no more to me nor me to him
Than the wind goin' over my hand.
# The Farmer's Bride/The Farmer's Bride

THE FARMER'S BRIDE
THREE Summers since I chose a maid,
Too young maybe—but more's to do
At harvest-time than bide and woo.
When us was wed she turned afraid
Of love and me and all things human;
Like the shut of a winter's day.
Her smile went out, and 'twasn't a woman—
More like a little frightened fay.
One night, in the Fall, she runned away.
"Out 'mong the sheep, her be," they said,
'Should properly have been abed;
But sure enough she wasn't there
Lying awake with her wide brown stare.
So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down
We chased her, flying like a hare
Before our lanterns. To Church-Town
All in a shiver and a scare
We caught her, fetched her home at last
And turned the key upon her, fast.
She does the work about the house
As well as most, but like a mouse:
Happy enough to chat and play
With birds and rabbits and such as they,
So long as men-folk keep away.
"Not near, not near!" her eyes beseech
When one of us comes within reach.
The women say that beasts in stall
Look round like children at her call.
I've hardly heard her speak at all.
Shy as a leveret, swift as he,
Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
To her wild self. But what to me?
The short days shorten and the oaks are brown,
The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky,
One leaf in the still air falls slowly down,
A magpie's spotted feathers lie
On the black earth spread white with rime,
The berries redden up to Christmas-time.
What's Christmas-time without there be
Some other in the house than we!
She sleeps up in the attic there
Alone, poor maid. 'Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh! my God! the down,
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her—her eyes, her hair, her hair!
# The Farmer's Bride/The Narrow Door

THE NARROW DOOR
THE narrow door, the narrow door On the three steps of which the café children play Mostly at shop with pebbles from the shore, It is always shut this narrow door But open for a little while to-day.
And round it, each with pebbles in his hand, A silenced crowd the café children stand To see the long box jerking down the bend Of twisted stair; then set on end, Quite filling up the narrow door Till it comes out and does not go in any more.
Along the quay you see it wind, The slow black line. Someone pulls up the blind Of the small window just above the narrow door— "Tiens! que veux-tu acheter?" Rénée cries, "Mais, pour quat'sous, des oignons," Jean replies And one pays down with pebbles from the shore.
# The Farmer's Bride/Pecheresse

PÉCHERESSE
DOWN the long quay the slow boats glide, While here and there a house looms white
Against the gloom of the waterside,
And some high window throws a light
As they sail out into the night.
At dawn they will bring in again
To women knitting on the quay
Who wait for him, their man of men;
I stand with them, and watch the sea
Which may have taken mine from me.
Just so the long days come and go.
The nights, ma Doué! the nights are cold!
Our Lady's heart is as frozen snow,
Since this one sin I have not told;
And I shall die or perhaps grow old
Before he comes. The foreign ships
Bring many a one of face and name
As strange as his, to buy your lips,
A gold piece for a scarlet shame
Like mine. But mine was not the same.
One night was ours, one short grey day
Of sudden sin, unshrived, untold.
He found me, and I lost the way
To Paradise for him. I sold
My soul for love and not for gold.
He bought my soul, but even so,
My face is all that he has seen,
His is the only face I know,
And in the dark church, like a screen,
It shuts God out; it comes between;
While in some narrow foreign street
Or loitering on the crowded quay,
Who knows what others he may meet
To turn his eyes away from me?
Many are fair to such as he!
There is but one for such as I
To love, to hate, to hunger for;
I shall, perhaps, grow old and die,
With one short day to spend and store,
One night, in all my life, no more.
Just so the long days come and go,
Yet this one sin I will not tell
Though Mary's heart is as frozen snow
And all nights are cold for one warmed too well.
But, oh! ma Doué! the nights of Hell!
# The Farmer's Bride/Saturday Market

SATURDAY MARKET
BURY your heart in some deep green hollow Or hide it up in a kind old tree Better still, give it the swallow When she goes over the sea.
In Saturday Market there's eggs a 'plenty And dead-alive ducks with their legs tied down, Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty— Girls and the women of the town— Pitchers and sugar-sticks, ribbons and laces, Posies and whips and dicky-birds' seed, Silver pieces and smiling faces, In Saturday Market they've all they need.
What were you showing in Saturday Market That set it grinning from end to end Girls and gaffers and boys of twenty—? Cover it close with your shawl, my friend— Hasten you home with the laugh behind you, Over the down—, out of sight, Fasten your door, though no one will find you No one will look on a Market night.
See, you, the shawl is wet, take out from under The red dead thing—. In the white of the moon On the flags does it stir again? Well, and no wonder! Best make an end of it; bury it soon. If there is blood on the hearth who'll know it? Or blood on the stairs, When a murder is over and done why show it? In Saturday Market nobody cares.
Then lie you straight on your bed for a short, short weeping And still, for a long, long rest, There's never a one in the town so sure of sleeping As you, in the house on the down with a hole in your breast.
Think no more of the swallow, Forget, you, the sea, Never again remember the deep green hollow Or the top of the kind old tree!
# The Farmer's Bride/The Cenotaph

THE CENOTAPH
NOT yet will those measureless fields be green again
Where only yesterday the wild, sweet, blood of wonderful youth was shed;
There is a grave whose earth must hold too long, too deep a stain,
Though for ever over it we may speak as proudly as we may tread.
But here, where the watchers by lonely hearths from the thrust of an inward sword have more slowly bled,
We shall build the Cenotaph: Victory, winged, with Peace, winged too, at the column's head.
And over the stairway, at the foot—oh! here, leave desolate, passionate hands to spread
Violets, roses, and laurel, with the small, sweet, twinkling country things
Speaking so wistfully of other Springs,
From the little gardens of little places where son or sweetheart was born and bred.
In splendid sleep, with a thousand brothers
To lovers—to mothers
Here, too, lies he:
Under the purple, the green, the red,
It is all young life: it must break some women's hearts to see
Such a brave, gay coverlet to such a bed!
Only, when all is done and said,
God is not mocked and neither are the dead.
For this will stand in our Market-place—
Who'll sell, who'll buy
(Will you or I
Lie each to each with the better grace)?
While looking into every busy whore's and huckster's face
As they drive their bargains, is the Face
Of God: and some young, piteous, murdered face.
# The Farmer's Bride/The Changeling

THE CHANGELING
TOLL no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother,
Waste no sighs;
There are my sisters, there is my little brother
Who plays in the place called Paradise,
Your children all, your children for ever;
But I, so wild,
Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,
Never, I know, but half your child!
In the garden at play, all day, last summer,
Far and away I heard
The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,
The dearest, clearest call of a bird.
It lived down there in the deep green hollow,
My own old home, and the fairies say
The word of a bird is a thing to follow,
So I was away a night and a day.
One evening, too, by the nursery fire,
We snuggled close and sat round so still,
When suddenly as the wind blew higher,
Something scratched on the window-sill.
A pinched brown face peered in—I shivered;
No one listened or seemed to see;
The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,
Whoo—I knew it had come for me;
Some are as bad as bad can be!
All night long they danced in the rain,
Round and round in a dripping chain,
Threw their caps at the window-pane,
Tried to make me scream and shout
And fling the bedclothes all about:
I meant to stay in bed that night,
And if only you had left a light
They would never have got me out.
Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,
Or answer when you spoke to me,
Because in the long, still dusks of Spring
You can hear the whole world whispering;
The shy green grasses making love,
The feathers grow on the dear, grey dove,
The tiny heart of the redstart beat,
The patter of the squirrel's feet,
The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,
The rushes talking in their dreams,
The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,
The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,
Humming and hammering at your ear,
Everything there is to hear
In the heart of hidden things,
But not in the midst of the nursery riot,
That's why I wanted to be quiet,
Couldn't do my sums, or sing,
Or settle down to anything.
And when, for that, I was sent upstairs
I did kneel down to say my prayers;
But the King who sits on your high church steeple
Has nothing to do with us fairy people!
'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,
Learned all my lessons and liked to play,
And dearly I loved the little pale brother
Whom some other bird must have called away.
Why did They bring me here to make me
Not quite bad and not quite good,
Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take me
Back to their wet, wild wood?
Now, every night I shall see the windows shining,
The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,
While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whining
In the hollow by the stream.
Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;
And They live so long and They feel no pain:
I shall grow up, but never grow old,
I shall always, always be very cold,
I shall never come back again!
# The Farmer's Bride/Song

SONG
LOVE, Love to-day, my dear,
Love is not always here;
Wise maids know how soon grows sere
The greenest leaf of Spring;
But no man knoweth
Whither it goeth
When the wind bloweth
So frail a thing.
Love, Love, my dear, to-day,
If the ship's in the bay,
If the bird has come your way
That sings on summer trees;
When his song faileth
And the ship saileth
No voice availeth
To call back these.
# The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

* "The Corn-Stalk Fiddle", published in Lyrics of Lowly Life (1896)
* "The Corn-Stalk Fiddle", published in The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar (1913)
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Cornhill Magazine

    New Series
   * Volume 1
   * Volume 2
   * Volume 3
   * Volume 4
   * Volume 5
   * Volume 6
   * Volume 7
   * Volume 8
   * Volume 9
   * Volume 10 (January to June, 1901)
# The Corner-Man

I dreamt a dream at the midnight deep, When fancies come and go To vex a man in his soothing sleep With thoughts of awful woe -- I dreamed that I was the corner man Of a nigger minstrel show.
I cracked my jokes, and the building rang With laughter loud and long; I hushed the house as I softly sang An old plantation song -- A tale of the wicked slavery days Of cruelty and wrong.
A small boy sat on the foremost seat -- A mirthful youngster he, He beat the time with his restless feet To each new melody, And he picked me out as the brightest star Of the black fraternity.
"Oh, father," he said, "what would we do If the corner man should die? I never saw such a man -- did you? He makes the people cry, And then, when he likes, he makes them laugh." The old man made reply:
"We each of us fill a very small space On the great creation's plan, If a man don't keep his lead in the race There's plenty more that can; The world can very soon fill the place Of even a corner man."
I woke with a jump, rejoiced to find Myself at home in bed, And I framed a moral in my mind From the words the old man said. The world will jog along just the same When the corner men are dead.
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Cornhill Magazine/Volume 10/Issue 58

The Cornhill Magazine.
* Blackstick Papers No. 4
* Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
* Family Budgets
* The Gift of the Mahatma
* Interviews
* Monboddo and the Old Scottish Judges
* A Londoner's Log-book
* The 'Nymphe' and the 'Cleopatre'
* Australian Memories
* Fate the Finger-post
* The Tale of the Great Mutiny
* Count Hannibal
# The Cornhill Magazine/Volume 10

* Issue 55: January IA
* Issue 56: February IA
* Issue 57: March IA
* Issue 58: April (transcription project)
* Issue 59: May IA
* Issue 60: June IA
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (Creasy)

* The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (London, 1851 Vol 1)
* The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (London, 1851 Vol 2)
* The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (New York, 1853)
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Sleeper

Edition of 1920. See also sleeper on Wiktionary, and the disclaimer.
SLEEPER. A heavy timber laid horizontally at the base of a structure, specifically: (1) A cross-beam or tie supporting the rails of a railroad. (2) In shipbuilding, a heavy floor timber in a ship's bottom. (3) In carpentry and building, any heavy horizontal beam on a ground floor.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Slickensides

Edition of 1920. See also Slickenside on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
SLICKENSIDES, a miner's term for the striæ, furrows, or polished surfaces covering the walls of fissures, and sometimes the surfaces of bed rock. They result from the friction of two portions of rock moving one against the other under great pressure. The occurrence is common, being often found on the walls of faults and joints.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Slidell, John

Edition of 1920. See also John Slidell on Wikipedia, and the disclaimer.
SLIDELL, slī-dĕl', John, American politician: b. New York, 1793; d. London, 29 July 1871. He was graduated at Columbia in 1810, studied law, and in 1819 removed to New Orleans. From 1829 to 1833 be served as United States district attorney for Louisiana; was a member of Congress, 1842-45; and in 1845 was appointed Minister to Mexico, but was not received by the Mexican government. In 1853 he entered the United States Senate, but resigned when Louisiana seceded in 1861. In September of that year he was appointed as associate of James M. Mason (q.v.), commissioner of the Confederate States to France. The two commissioners ran the blockade of Charleston, S. C., and sailed from Havana on the English steamer Trent. The Trent was overhauled 8 November by Capt. Charles Wilkes (q.v.) with the San Jacinto of the United States navy. The two commissioners were arrested and held for a while as prisoners at Fort Warren in Boston Harbor. The act of Wilkes was disavowed by the United States upon demand of the British government, and 1 Jan. 1862 the commissioners sailed for England. Slidell's mission which, besides other things, contemplated recognition of the Confederacy by the French government, failed in its object, France refusing to move, either in that matter or in making a commercial convention, without the co-operation of England. He was successful, hawever, in securing a large loan for the Confederate States. After the war Slidell settled in London. See Trent Affair.
# The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Slavonic Enoch

Edition of 1920. See also the disclaimer.
SLAVONIC ENOCH. See Enoch, Books of.