OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Alden, William Livingston

​ALDEN, William Livingston, author, was born in Williamstown, Mass., Oct. 9, 1837, son of Prof. Joseph Alden. He was educated in Lafayette and Jefferson colleges, and was graduated at the latter in 1858. He then studied law, became an editor on the New York Times, and subsequently wrote for young people. He was U.S. consul at Rome in 1885-'89, and received from the king the cross of chevalier of the order of the Crown of Italy. He was leader writer on the Paris Herald in 1890-'3, when he retired to London. He is the author of "Domestic Explosives (1878); "Shooting Stars" (1879); "A New Robinson Crusoe" (1880); "Canoe and Flying Proa" (1880); "The Moral Pirates" (1881); "Life of Christopher Columbus" (1882); "The Cruise of the Ghost" (1882); "The Cruise of the Canoe Club" (1883); "The Adventures of Jimmy Brown" (1885); "The Loss of the Swansea" (1889); "Trying to Find Europe" (1889); "A Lost Love" (1892); "Told by the Colonel" (1893); "Freaks" (1895); "The Mystery of Elias G. Roebuck"; "His Daughter"; "Van Wagener's Way."
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXII Mother

XXXII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
ANNISQUAM
5 September 1894
DEAR MOTHER
The news of the arrival of the phonograph from Khetri has not come yet. But I am not anxious, because I just now got another letter from India wherein there is no mention of the photographs I sent, showing that parcels reach later than letters.
Herewith I send you an autograph letter of H.H. the Maharaja of Mysore, the chief Hindu king in India. You may see on the map [that] his territory occupies a very large portion of southern India.
I am very glad that he is slowly being gained over to my side. If he wills, he can set all my plans to work in five days. He has an income of $150 million dollars; think of that.
May Jagadamba [the Mother of the Universe] turn his mind towards the good work. He says he quite appreciates my good words — they were about my plans for educating the poor. Hope he will soon show it in material shape.
My love to all. Why the babies do not prattle?
Your son,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXVI Mother

XXXVI
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE
BEACON STREET, BOSTON
24 September 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
I have not heard from you a long while. I am still in Boston and will be a few days more.
I am afraid the phonograph has not reached India at all, or something is the matter with it. Kindly ask Mr. —— to inquire. The receipt is with you on which they will enquire.
Ever affectionately yours,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXIX Mother

XXXIX
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
C/O MRS. OLE BULL
RIVERVIEW, 168 BRATTLE STREET
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
[Postmarked: Oct. 10, 1894, 4:30 a.m.]
DEAR MOTHER,
Received two letters from you and a large number from India but none from Khetri.
I am sorry the sisters have got bad colds and more sorry for your getting worried over it. Nothing can make a Christian worry. I hope Narasimha will be a good boy this time forth. Sister Mary is coming to Boston — good. I am going off from here tomorrow to Baltimore. I had enough to pay all my expenses here; and since I am living with Mrs. Bull, there is no expense. She is a rich and highly cultured lady. She has given me $500 for my work or anything I like. As I am not going west very soon, I will have a bank account here in Boston. From Philadelphia I go to Washington, and then I will run between New York and Boston. So I do not think I will be able to see you, except perhaps Sister Mary. I want so very much that Mary will see Mrs. Bull and others of my friends here. I have the fat of the land as usual, and my dinner is cooking very well both here and in India. Do not make it public, Mother — that is between you and me and the babies — and do not worry yourself about anything. All things come to him that waits. I am going to send the greater part of the money I have got to India and then money will come faster. I have always found that the faster I spend, the faster it comes. Nature abhors a vacuum. I am in very good spirits, only you must not stop keeping me informed about yourself, Babies and Father Pope from time to time.
Perhaps you remember the two letters that came from Mysore — I want one of those envelopes with the Mysore King's seal on the outside to be sent to Miss Phillips, 19 West 38th Street, New York.
I cannot go to New York now nor to Chicago, although I had a number of invitations and offers from both the places. I must see now the capital and the other cities. I am in His Hands. If Miss Mary be in Boston, sometime I may hope to see her.
I am glad that Narasimha was never fast — hope he will never be.
From India they always write me to come, come, come. They do not know the secret. I am acting more from here than I will ever do from there.
Kindly send my letters to this address and they will reach me safe wherever I be. This will be one of my homes when I am in Boston.
Lord bless you all, dear Mother.
Yours ever affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXVIII Mother

XXXVIII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
C/O MRS. OLE BULL
168 BRATTLE STREET
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
5 October 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
I have not heard from you for long. Have you received the huge packages I sent over to you? Have you heard anything about the phonograph from the express office?
I will be with Mrs. Ole Bull a few days, and then I go to New York to Mrs. Guernsey's.
Yours ever affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXV Mother

XXXV
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE
BEACON S
TREET , BOSTON
19 September 1894
DEAR MOTHER
The huge packet received. It was a few pamphlets sent over to me from my monastery in Calcutta. No news at all about the phonograph. I think it is high time we make them inquire into it.
The two volumes of Todd's [Tod's] history of Rajasthan have been presented to me by Mrs. Potter Palmer. I have asked her to send it over to your care. The babies will like reading it very much, and after they finish I will send it over with my Sanskrit books to Calcutta.
I did not ask you to send me the typewritten news clippings at all, but a little slip I sent over some time ago from the Indian Mirror. Perhaps it did not reach you at all. You need not send the typewritten thing at all.
I do not require any clothes here; there are plenty of them. I am taking good care of my cuffs and collars, etc.
I have more clothes than are necessary. Very soon I will have to disburse myself of half of them at least.
I will write to you before I go to India. I am not flying off without giving you due intimation.
Yours,
VIVEKANANDA
P.S. — My love to Babies and Father Pope.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXIV Mother

XXXIV
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE
BEACON STREET, BOSTON
13 September 1894
DEAR M
OTHER
Your very kind note came just now. I was suffering for the last few days from cold and fever. I am all right now. I am glad all the papers reached you safe. The newspaper clippings are with Mrs. Bagley; only a copy has been sent over to you. By the by, Mrs. Bagley becomes jealous if I send away everything to you. That is between you and me. The Indian Mirror is with Prof. Wright,[6]* and he will send it over to you. There is yet no news of the phonograph. Wait one week more and then we will enquire. If you see a letter with the Khetri stamp, then surely the news is coming. I do not smoke one third as much as I used to when Father Pope's eternal box was ready and open day and night. Haridasbhai is to be addressed as Shri only. On the envelope, Dewan Bahadoor ought to be written, as that is a title. Perhaps the note from the Maharaja of Mysore has reached you by this time.
I will remain a few days yet in Boston and the vicinity. The bank book is in the bank. We did not take it out, but the cheque book is with me. I am going to write out my thoughts on religion; in that, no missionaries have any place. I am going to lecture in New York in autumn, but I like teaching small circles better, and there will be enough of that in Boston.
The rugs I wanted to be sent from India; and they will come from Punjab, where the best rugs are made.
I had a beautiful letter from Sister Mary. (Mary Hale.)
Narasimha must have got money or passage by this time, and his people have taken care to send him Thomas Cook's passage from place to place. I think he is gone now.
I do not think the Lord will allow his servant to be inflated with vanity at the appreciation of his countrymen. I am glad that they appreciate me — not for my sake, but that I am firmly persuaded that a man is never improved by abuse but by praise, and so with nations. Think how much of abuse has been quite unnecessarily hurled at the head of my devoted, poor country, and for what? They never injured the Christians or their religion or their preachers. They have always been friendly to all. So you see, Mother, every good word a foreign nation says to them has such an amount of power for good in India. The American appreciation of my humble work here has really done a good deal of benefit to them. Send a good word, a good thought — at least to the down-trodden, vilified, poor millions of India instead of abusing them day and night. That is what I beg of every nation. Help them if you can; if you cannot, at least cease from abusing them.
I did not see any impropriety in the bathing places at the seashore, but only vanity in some: in those that went into water with their corsets on, that was all.
I have not got any copy of the Inter-Ocean yet. (A leading Chicago newspaper.)
With my love to Father Pope, babies, and to you, I remain
Your obedient son,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXI Mother

XXXI
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
[GLOUCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS]
4 September 1894
DEAR M
OTHER
The bundle was the report of the meeting. Hope you will succeed in publishing some in the Chicago papers.
Here is a letter from Dewanji[6]* to you which will explain his sending a pamphlet to Mr. Hale.[7]* The rugs are coming. When they come, take them in, even paying the duty if any. I will pay it to you afterwards. I have plenty of money, more than $150 in pocket. Will get more tonight. Here are some newspaper clippings, and an Indian Mirror I will send later on. Some have been sent to Mr. Barrows;[8]* don't hope he will give them publicity. Now for your Mrs. Bartlett.
I am in haste. [Will] write more with the clippings. Write to me always, kind Mother — I become very anxious when I do not hear from you. Write, whether I reply sharp or not.
Your son,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XX Mother

XX
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE EUROPEAN PLAN
BEACON STREET, BOSTON
14 May, 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
Your letter was so, so pleasing instead of being long; I enjoyed every bit of it.
I have received a letter from Mrs. Potter Palmer (Social queen of Chicago who made Swami Vivekananda’s acquaintance at the Parliament of Religions, in which she had been active. Vide [6]Complete Works, VI.) asking me to write to some of my countrywomen about their society etc. I will see her personally when I come to Chicago; in the meanwhile I will write her all I know. Perhaps you have received $125 sent over from New York. Tomorrow I will send another $100 from here. The Bostonians want to grind their own axes!!
Oh, they are so, so dry — even girls talk dry metaphysics. Here is like our Benares where all is dry, dry metaphysics!! Nobody here understands "my Beloved". Religion to these people is reason, and horribly stony at that. I do not care for anybody who cannot love my "Beloved". Do not tell it to Miss Howe — she may be offended.
The pamphlet I did not send over because I do not like the quotations from the Indian newspapers — especially, they give a haul over coal to somebody. Our people so much dislike the Brâhmo Samâj that they only want an opportunity to show it to them. I dislike it. Any amount of enmity to certain persons cannot efface the good works of a life. And then they were only children in Religion. They never were much of religious men — i.e. they only wanted to talk and reason, and did not struggle to see the Beloved; and until one does that I do not say that he has any religion. He may have books, forms, doctrines, words, reasons, etc., etc., but not religion; for that begins when the soul feels the necessity, the want, the yearning after the "Beloved", and never before. And therefore our society has no right to expect from them anything more than from an ordinary "house-holder".
I hope to come to Chicago before the end of this month. Oh, I am so tired.
Yours affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XXXVII Mother

XXXVII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE
BEACON STREET, BOSTON
27 September 1894
DEAR MOTHER
The bundles all came safely. One was newspapers from India. The other was the short sketch of my Master published by Mr. Mazumdar long ago. In the latter bundle there are two sextos or pamphlets. One, my Master's sketch; the other, a short extract to show how what Mr. [Keshab] Chandra Sen and [Pratap Chandra] Mazumdar preached as their "New Dispensation" was stolen from my Master's life. The latter therefore you need not distribute, but I hope you will distribute my Master's life to many good people.
I beg you to send some to Mrs. Guernsey, Fishkill on the Hudson, N.Y.; Mrs. Arthur Smith and Mrs. [Miss Mary A.] Phillips, 19 West 38th Street, New York (both); to Mrs. Bagley, Annisquam, Mass.; and Prof. J. Wright, Professor of Greek, Harvard, Mass.
The newspapers — you may do whatever you like, and I hope you will send any newspaper scrap you get about me to India.
Yours etc.,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Book of Scottish Song/My Heather Land

My Heather Land.
[William Thom of Inverury.—Air, "The Black Watch."]
My heather land, my heather land! My dearest prayer be thine, Although upon thy hapless heath There breathes nae friend of mine. The lanely few that heaven has spared, Fend on a foreign strand; And I maun wait to weep wi' thee, My hameless heather land. ​My heather land, my heather land! Though fairer lands there be— Thy gowanie braes in early days Were gowden ways to me. Maun life's poor boon gae dark'ning doun, Nor die whaur it had dawn'd, But claught a grave ayont the wave,— Alas, my heather land!
My heather land, my heather land! Though chilling winter pours Her freezing breath round fireless hearth, Whaur breadless misery cowers! Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight The godless reivin' hand— Whaun wither'd tyranny shall reel Frae our roused heather land.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Menie

Menie.
[Written by Burns, to the tune of "Johnnie's Grey Breeks." The chorus was the composition of a gentleman in Edinburgh, a friend of the poet's. It has been generally condemned as an absurd chorus—and certainly is not very appropriate to the song—but still we think it is a good natural verse for all that. "Menie" is the abbreviation of the name "Mariamne."]
Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk, And winna let a bodie be.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw; In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
The merry ploughboy cheers his team; Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks.
The wanton coot the water skims; Amang the reeds the ducklings cry; The stately swan majestic swims; And every thing is blest but I.
The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps, And o'er the moorland whistles shrill; Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, I meet him on the dewy hill.
And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on fluttering wings, A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide.
Come, winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk, And winna let a bodie be.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Merry may the keel row

Merry may the keel row.
[From Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, London, 1810.]
As I cam' doun the Cannogate, The Cannogate, the Cannogate, As I cam' doun the Cannogate, I heard a lassie sing, O: Merry may the keel rowe, The keel rowe, the keel rowe, Merry may the keel rowe, The ship that my love's in, O!
My love has breath o' roses, O' roses, o' roses, Wi' arms o' lily posies, To fauld a lassie in, O! Merry may, &c.
My love he wears a bonnet, A bonnet, a bonnet, A snawy rose upon it, A dimple on his chin, O! Merry may, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/My Bessie

My Bessie.
[Alex. Hume.—Air, "The Posie." This song, set to a beautiful air, was published in "The Monthly Repository" for May, 1834.]
My Bessie, O, but look upon these bonnie budding flowers, O, do na they remember thee o' childhood's happy hours, When we upon this very hill sae aft did row an' play, An' thou wert like the morning sun, an' life a nichtless day.
The gowans—they were bonnie—how I'd pu' them from the stem, An' rin in noisy blythesomeness to thee, my Bess, wi' them, An' place them in thy white, white breast; for which thou'dst smile on me.— I saw nae mair the gowans then—then saw I only thee.
Like twa fair roses on a tree, we flourished an' we grew; An' as we grew our loves grew too, for feeling was their dew. How aft thou'dst thraw thy wee bit arms in love about my neck, An' breathe young vows, that after years o' sorrow ha'e na brak. ​We'd raise our lisping voices in auld Coila's melting lays, An' sing that tearfu' tale about Doon's bonnie banks an' braes; But thocht na we o' banks an' braes, except thae at our feet— Like yon wee bird, we sang our sang, yet kent na that 'twas sweet.
O, is na this a joyous day? kind Nature's breathing forth In gladness an' in loveliness owre a' the wide wide earth; The linties, they are lilting love, on ilka bush an' tree— O, may sic joys be ever felt, my Bess, by thee an' me.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Muirland Willie

Muirland Willie.
[This is another song of very considerable antiquity, and is valuable as illustrative of ancient manners. It is marked by Ramsay in his Tea-Table Miscellany with a Z, implying that it was then old.]
Hearken and I will tell you how Young Muirland Willie came to woo, Tho' he cou'd neither say nor do; The truth I tell to you. But aye, he cries, Whate'er betide, Maggy I'se ha'e to be my bride, With a fal, dal, &c.
On his gray yade, as he did ride, Wi' durk and pistol by his side, He prick'd her on wi' meikle pride, Wi' meikle mirth and glee, Out o'er yon moss, out o'er yon muir, Till he came to her daddy's door, With a fal, dal, &c.
​Gudeman, quoth he, be ye within? I'm come your dochter's love to win, I carena for making meikle din; What answer gi'e ye me? Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down, I'll gi'e ye my dochter's love to win, With a fal, dal, &c.
Now, wooer, sin' ye are lighted down, Where do ye won, or in what town? I think my dochter wiana gloom, On sic a lad as ye. The wooer he stepp'd up the house, And wow but he was wond'rous crouse, With a fal, dal, &c.
I have three oxen in a pleugh, Twa good gaun yades, and gear enough, The place the ca' it Cadeneugh; I scorn to tell a lie: Besides, I ha'e frae the great laird, A peat-pat, and a lang kail-yard With a fal, dal, &c.
The maid put on her kirtle brown, She was the brawest in a' the town I wat on him she didna gloom, But blinkit bonnilie. The lover he stended up in haste, And gript her hard about the waist, With a fal, dal, &c.
To win your love, maid, I'm come here, I'm young, and ha'e enough o' gear, And for mysel' ye needna fear, Trowth try me whan ye like, He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chow, He dightit his gab, and he prie'd her mou', With a fal, dal, &c.
The maiden blush'd and bing'd fu' law, She hadna will to say him na, But to her daddy she left it a', As they twa cou'd agree. The lover he gied her the tither kiss, Syne ran to her daddy, and tell'd him this, With a fal, dal, &c.
Your dochter wadna say me na, But to yoursel' she's left it a', As we cou'd agree between us twa, Say, what ye'll gi'e me wi' her? Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e na meikle, But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle, With a fal, dal, &c.
A kilnfu' of corn I'll gi'e to thee, Three soums o sheep, twa good milk kye, Ye's ha'e the wadding-dinner free; Trowth I dow do nae mair. Content, quo' he, a bargain be't, I'm far frae hame, make haste, let's do't, With a fal, dal, &c.
The bridal day it came to pass, Wi' mony a blythsome lad and lass; But sicken a day there never was, Sic mirth was never seen. This winsome couple straked hands, Mess John ty'd up the marriage bands, With a fal, dal, &c.
And our bride's maidens were na few, Wi' tap-notes, lug-knots, a' in blue, Frae tap to tae they were bra' new, And blinkit bonnilie. Their toys and mutches were sa clean, They glanced in our ladses' een, With a fal, dal, &c.
Sic hirdum, dirdum, and sic din, Wi' he o'er her, and she o'er him; The ministrels they did never blin', Wi' meikle mirth and glee. And aye they bobit, and aye they beckt, And aye their loofs thegither met, With a fal, dal, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/My Ain Wife

My Ain Wife.
[From "The Edinburgh Literary Gazette," vol. II. 1830.— Alex. Laing of Brechin.]
I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; A bonnier yet I've never seen, A better canna be— I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see!
O couthie is my ingle-cheek, An' cheerie is my Jean; I never see her angry look, Nor hear her word on ane. She's gude wi' a' the neebours roun', An' aye gude wi' me— I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see!
An' O her looks sae kindlie, They melt my heart outright, When o'er the baby at her breast She hangs wi' fond delight; She looks intill its bonnie face, An' syne looks to me— I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
# The Book of Scottish Song/My Fiddle and me

My Fiddle and me.
[James Ballantine.—From "The Gaberlunzie's Wallet."]
O nature is bonnie and blythsome to see, Wi' the gowd on her brow, an' the light in her e'e; An' sweet is her summer sang rollin' in glee, As it thrills the heart-strings o' my fiddle and me.
When the young morning blinks through amang the black cluds, An' the southland breeze rustles out through the green wuds; The lark in the lift, and the merl on the tree, Baith strike the key-note to my fiddle an' me.
When amang the crisp heather upon the hill-side, Mine e'e fu' o'rapture, my soul fu' o' pride; The wee heather-lintie an' wild hinny-bee A' join in the strain wi' my fiddle an' me.
When daunderin' at e'en doun the dark dowie dells. To cheer the wee gowans, an' charm the wee bells— The sweet purling rill wimples doun to the sea, Dancing light to the notes o' my fiddle an' me.
At kirn or at weddin', at tryst or at fair, There's nae saul-felt music unless we be there; Wi' a spark in my heart, an' a drap in my e'e, The vera floor loups to my fiddle an' me.
E'en now when the cauld drift sweeps ower the bleak hill, An' mony stout hearts sink beneath the fell chill, What keeps my puir callant alive on my knee. But twa-three blythe staves frae my fiddle and me.
My fiddle's my life-spring, my fiddle's my a', She clings to me close when a' else are awa'; Time may force friends to part, he may wyle faes to gree, Death only can part my auld fiddle an' me.