OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1639/In the Lane

* IN THE LANE.
* The daisies star the summer grass;
* And, with the dancing leaves at play,
* Adown this lane the breezes pass,
* In pleasant music, all the day.
* I love the sweet, sequestered place,
* The gracious roof of gold and green.
* Where arching branches interlace,
* With glimpses of the sky between.
* I see the drooping roses trail
* From tangled hedgerows to the ground;
* I hear the chanting swell and fail.
* Of fond love-lyrics, all around.
* And here, adown the shady walk.
* In days divine now passed away.
* Entranced, I listed to the talk.
* That ever held my heart in sway.
* In days when birds began to sing,
* Because they found the earth was fair;
* In halcyon days of happy spring,
* None aught but us our joys to share.
* But pleasure past is present pain;
* The petals of the rose are shed;
* The piercing thorns alone remain;
* I live to sorrow for the dead.
* Chambers' Journal.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1638

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1638. — October 30, 1875. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXVII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Physiological Influence of Alcohol, | Edinburgh Review, | 259 |
| II. | Her Dearest Foe. By the author of "The Wooing O't." Part VI., | Temple Bar, | 274 |
| III. | Robert Herrick, | Cornhill Magazine, | 285 |
| IV. | The Sceptic: a Tale of Married Life, | Cornhill Magazine, | 294 |
| V. | The Dilemma. Part XI., | Blackwood's Magazine, | 305 |
| VI. | The American Heroine, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 313 |
| VII. | Clever People, | Liberal Review, | 319 |
POETRY. :
| My Birthday, | 258 | Literature versus Science, | 258 |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 320 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1639

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1639. — November 6, 1875. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXVII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Cowper and Rousseau, | Cornhill Magazine, | 323 |
| II. | Wrecked off the Riff Coast, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 335 |
| III. | Money, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 353 |
| IV. | A Dead Man, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 365 |
| V. | Torquato Tasso: His Life and Works. Part II., | Macmillan's Magazine, | 367 |
| VI. | Miss Austen's Country, | Spectator, | 376 |
| VII. | Old China, | Fraser's Magazine, | 379 |
| VIII. | A Quaint Epitaph, | Spectator, | 383 |
POETRY. :
| When Roses Blow, | 322 | Snowdrops, | 322 |
| Love and Death, | 322 | The Poet's Last Song, | 322 |
| In the Lane, | 322 | | |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 384 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1637/The Little Church by the Sea

* THE LITTLE CHURCH BY THE SEA.
* Art's "tender strokes" in thee I seek in vain.
* The polished corner, and the gaudy pane;
* The walls are whitewashed, and the altar bare.
* Yet how I love thee, little house of prayer!
* Type truer of the One who stooped so low,
* Than the grand minster with its stately show;
* In whose high soaring pinnacles I trace
* Little which tells us of the lowest place.
* But, lowly house of God, I read in thee
* The winning smile of true humility —
* And I am touched — I long to lift the latch,
* And bow my knees beneath thy roof of thatch.
* The proud may sneer, but God does not disdain
* The want of splendour in this meagre fane.
* Nor does He wish to sweep thy stones away —
* True witnesses for Jesus Christ are they:
* Despised, unseen, such lowly churches preach
* A lowly Christ within a sinner's reach.
* George S. Outram
* Sunday Magazine.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1638/My Birthday

* MY BIRTHDAY.
* Who is this who gently slips
* Through my door, and stands and sighs,
* Hovering in a soft eclipse,
* With a finger on her lips
* And a meaning in her eyes?
* Once she came to visit me
* In white robes with festal airs,
* Glad surprises, songs of glee;
* Now in silence cometh she.
* And a sombre guard she wears.
* Once I waited and was tired.
* Chid her visits as too few;
* Crownless now and undesired,
* She to seek me is inspired
* Oftener than she used to do.
* Grave her coming is and still,
* Sober her appealing mien,
* Tender thoughts her glances fill;
* But I shudder, as one will
* When an open grave is seen.
* Wherefore, friend, for friend thou art.
* Should I wrong thee thus and grieve?
* Wherefore push thee from my heart?
* Of my morning thou wert part;
* Be a part too of my eve.
* See, I hold my hand to meet
* That cool, shadowy hand of thine;
* Hold it firmly, it is sweet
* Thus to clasp, and thus to greet.
* Though no more in full sunshine.
* Come and freely seek my door,
* I will open willingly;
* I will chide the past no more.
* Looking to the things before,
* Led by pathways known to thee.
* Susan Coolidge.
* Transcript.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1658/Transfiguration

* TRANSFIGURATION.
* Poor, troubled heart, if thou would'st find relief,
* And think’st thy woe were eas’d if it were heard,
* Go, 'prentice thee to that sad-colour'd bird,
* And learn to make the world in love with grief.
* Sing as he sings, and tender eyes will weep,
* Sing to the night, as after summer's drouth
* The dew unseals the rose’s silent mouth,
* And all but love and sorrow are asleep.
* Drug day with work, for day is loud and bold,
* Sing to the night, let sorrow make no sign
* Till it can flutter in the sunset gold,
* Or in the silver moonlight softly shine;
* Then let it forth, wild fire, or saving stream,
* To take its way unchalleng'd, — as a dream!
* Emily Pfeiffer
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1659

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1659. — March 25, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXVIII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Two Amperes, | Edinburgh Review, | 771 |
| II. | Bee or Beatrix. Conclusion, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 786 |
| III. | Matthew Prior, | Cornhill Magazine, | 794 |
| IV. | The Dilemma. Part XXII., | Blackwood's Magazine, | 805 |
| V. | Some Traits of Composers, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 810 |
| VI. | Caroline Herschel, | Temple Bar, | 816 |
| VII. | A Winter Morning's Ride, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 820 |
| VIII. | Samuel Pepys and his Poor Relations, | Academy, | 823 |
| | ⁂ Title and Index to Volume CXXVIII. | | |
POETRY. :
| Memories, | 770 | The Shadow, | 770 |
| My Song, | 770 | | |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 824 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1658/The Nymph of Arcadie

* THE NYMPH OF ARCADIE.
* "Young loves to sell!" a voice calls out
* Beneath the trees, "young loves to sell!"
* From porch and garden round about,
* Child, maid, and matron hasten out —
* The voice was like a silver bell,
* Young loves to sell!"
* She took the basket from her head,
* This cunning nymph of Arcadie, —
* "Just see the soft wings, grey and red,
* Fluttering in their pleachen bed,
* Who'll buy? I will not wait, you see,
* Who'll come to me?
* "Young loves to sell!" the children run
* About her, "O take all our toys,
* Take all we have and give us one!"
* Old Laia spinning in the sun
* Cries, "Long since lost I all my joys,
* Give me but one!"
* "Young loves to sell! I will not stay,
* So maidens, maidens, come and buy,
* I cannot give them without pay,
* Nor let them fly, I'll go away,
* If no one quickly comes to try
* If she can buy.
* "See how each little rosy dear
* Smiles through the wicker bars at you.
* Do not let your faint hearts fear,
* My darling loves! They smile and peer,
* And this one with wings azure blue,
* He beckons you.
* "The dainty curls on that one’s brow
* Like Cupid’s own are, come and see,
* His downy cheeks are all aglow,
* Like yours, why should you hide them so?
* Let us barter and agree,
* Make haste to me."
* Silvia, where is Silvia hid? —
* She loosed the pearling from her hair,
* Her golden necklace she undid,
* Her bracelet from her wrist she slid,
* And ran and caught the prize so rare,
* Silvia the fair.
* Then every one and all at once
* Struggling round the wise nymph flew,
* None would rest without a chance,
* Such shining eyes and such a dance!
* But Silvia's was the best I knew,
* Wings azure blue!
* William B. Scott
* Athenæum.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1658/Rondel

* RONDEL.
* "Carpe diem."
* To-day what is there in the air
* That makes December seem sweet May?
* There are no swallows anywhere,
* Nor crocuses to crown your hair
* And hail you down my garden way.
* Last night the full moon’s frozen stare
* Struck me, perhaps; or did you say
* Really, you’d come, sweet friend and fair,
* To-day?
* To-day is here, — come, crown to-day
* With spring’s delight or spring’s despair!
* Love cannot bide old Time’s delay; —
* Down my glad gardens light winds play,
* And my whole soul shall bloom and bear
* To-day.
* Theo Marzials
* Athenæum.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Two Ships

THE TWO SHIPS.
As I stand by the cross on the lone mountain's crest, Looking over the ultimate sea, In the gloom of the mountain a ship lies at rest, And one sails away from the lea; One spreads its white wings on a far-reaching track, With pennant and sheet flowing free; One hides in the shadow with sails laid aback— The ship that is waiting for me!
But lo, in the distance the clouds break away, The Gate's glowing portals I see, And I hear from the outgoing ship in the bay The song of the sailors in glee; ​So I think of the luminous footprints that bore The comfort o'er dark Galilee, And wait for the signal to go to the shore To the ship that is waiting for me.
# Lost Galleon (1867)/The Willows

THE WILLOWS.
AFTER EDGAR A. POE.
The skies they were ashen and sober, The streets they were dirty and drear; It was night in the month of October, Of my most immemorial year; Like the skies I was perfectly sober, As I stopped at the mansion of Shear— At the Nightingale—perfectly sober, And the willowy woodland, down here.
Here, once in an alley Titanic Of Ten-pins—I roamed with my soul— Of Ten-pins—with Mary, my soul; They were days when my heart was volcanic, ​And impelled me to frequently roll, And made me resistlessly roll. Till my ten-strikes created a panic In the realms of the Boreal pole, Till my ten-strikes created a panic, With the monkey a-top of his pole.
I repeat, I was perfectly sober, But my thoughts they were palsied and sere— My thoughts were decidedly queer; For I knew not the month was October, And I marked not the night of the year; I forgot that sweet morceau of Auber, That the band oft performéd down here, And I mixed the sweet music of Auber With the Nightingale's music by Shear.
And now as the night was senescent, And star-dials pointed to morn, And car-drivers hinted of morn, At the end of the path a liquescent And bibulous lustre was born; 'T was made by the bar-keeper present, ​Who mixéd a duplicate horn— His two hands describing a crescent Distinct with a duplicate horn.
And I said: "This looks perfectly regal, For it 's warm, and I know I feel dry— I am confident that I feel dry: We have come past the emeu and eagle, And watched the gay monkey on high: Let us drink to the emeu and eagle— To the swan and the monkey on high— To the eagle and monkey on high; For this bar-keeper will not inveigle— Bully boy with the vitreous eye; He surely would never inveigle— Sweet youth with the crystalline eye."
But Mary, uplifting her finger, Said: "Sadly this bar I mistrust— I fear that this bar does not trust. Oh, hasten, oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly—let us fly—ere we must!" In terror she cried, letting sink her ​Parasol till it trailed in the dust— In agony sobbed, letting sink her Parasol till it trailed in the dust— Till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
Then I pacified Mary and kissed her, And tempted her into the room, And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the warning of doom— By some words that were warning of doom. And I said: "What is written, sweet sister, At the opposite end of the room?" She sobbed, as she answered, "All liquors Must be paid for ere leaving the room."
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober, As the streets were deserted and drear— For my pockets were empty and drear; And I cried, "It was surely October, On this very night of last year, That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— That I brought a fair maiden down here, ​On this night of all nights in the year. Ah! to me that inscription is clear; Well I know now, I 'm perfectly sober, Why no longer they credit me here— Well I know now that music of Auber And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear.
# Lost Island

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
Juvenile adventure story on the Treasure Island template.
Layout 2
"The camel, Tempest! The camel!" Dave shouted
LOST ISLAND
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR AND H. P. HOLT
ILLUSTRATED BY C. M. RELYEA
NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1918
Copyright, 1917, 1918 The Century Co.
Published, September, 1918
dedicated to H. P. H. by R. H. B
TO
R. H. B. by H. P. H.
CONTENTS
* CHAPTERPAGE
* IIn which Dave Hallard Hears the Call of the Sea3
* IIThe Mystery of the Bark Hatteras21
* IIIOff to Sea38
* IVThe Derelict57
* VIn which the Pacific Queen Loses a Prize69
* VIBarnes Advises and Dave Resolves85
* VIIThe Wrecking of the Kingfisher98
* VIIIIn which Dave Finds a Friend117
* IXUnder the Southern Cross131
* XCaptain Grummitt Gets Wet149
* XI"If Ever You Get the Chance—"164
* XIIA Broken Hawser178
* XIIIWherein Tempest Stays Behind195
* XIVMarooned!209
* XVLaunching the Mud Turtle231
* XVIAdventures Ahead249
* XVIIIntroducing Mr. Joe Flagg262
* XVIIIIn which the Firefly Disappears280
* XIXLost Island!294
* XXShots from the Beach308
* XXIThe Parley326
* XXIIA Midnight Venture344
* XXIIIThe Skeleton in the Sand357
* XXIVThe Prize is Won372
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
* "The camel, Tempest! The camel!"Frontispiece
* FACING PAGE
* "Were you ever shipwrecked!" the boy asked6
* "I'm very sorry, sir," the boy stammered62
* "Here it is—Fanning Island," Dave announced172
* Dave, Tempest, and the Kanaka stood watching the boat glide away206
* "Who told you I'd lend it?" he asked, acidly282
* Three forms emerged and moved in the direction of the Nautilus332
* Tempest laughed at the Kanaka's comical expression of disappointment382
LOST ISLAND
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 years or less. 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
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1668/Grapes, Wine, and Vinegar

* GRAPES, WINE, AND VINEGAR.
* Weary and wasted, nigh worn-out,
* You sigh and shake white hairs, and say,
* "Ah, you will find the truth one day
* Of life and nature, do not doubt!"
* Age rhymes to sage, and let us give
* The hoary head its honours due:
* Grant youth its privileges too,
* And notions how to think and live.
* Which has more chance to see aright
* The many-colour'd shows of time,
* Fresh human eyes in healthy prime
* Or custom-dull'd and fading sight?
* Gone from the primrose and the rose
* Their diversely delicious breath,
* Since no fine wafting visiteth
* An old, perhaps a snuffy, nose!
* Youth has its truth: I'd rather trust,
* Of two extremes, the ardent boy,
* Excess of life and hope and joy,
* Than this dejection and disgust.
* Vinegar of experience — "drink!"
* Why so, and set our teeth on edge?
* Nay, even grant what you allege,
* We'll not anticipate, I think.
* Who miss'd, or loses, earlier truth,
* Though old, we shall not count him sage:
* Rare the strong mellow'd wine of age
* From sunshine-ripen'd grapes of youth.
* Fraser's Magazine.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1667/On Hearing The Chiff-Chaff

ON HEARING THE CHIFF-CHAFF. THE EARLIEST AND SMALLEST OF OUR MIGRATORY BIRDS.
Where mighty forest trees uprear Their leafless boughs on high, We listen with attentive ear, And watch with practised eye,
While music from the loosened throat Of many a winter bird, In liquid sweetness, note on note, Through all the wood is heard.
But not the trill of merry thrush, Or blackbird's cadence clear, Or twittering finch, in tree or bush, Can satisfy our ear.
Ah, what is that short simple song Which trembles through the air? That is the voice for which we long - Our favourite hails us there.
Two syllables are all the store. Of music in its breast, But like a fountain running o'er, Its twin notes never rest.
It tells us that the nightingale Will soon be on its way, And that the swallow without fail
Will keep its ordered day.
It heralds the bright-wingèd crowd Which flock from over seas; It harbingers the concert loud Of vernal melodies.
Therefore we love those twin notes plain For more than meets the ear, As pledges of the glorious strain Which crowns the perfect year.
So, in our hearts, a still small voice Comes preluding the song,
With which the glorious saints rejoice In heaven's exultant throng! Leisure Hour.Richard Wilton
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1668

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIV. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1668. — May 27, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXIX. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, | Edinburgh Review, | 515 |
| II. | Justin Vitali's Client: a French "Cause Celebre", | Cornhill Magazine, | 535 |
| III. | Sunday-School and Lending-Library Literature, | Good Words, | 550 |
| IV. | What She Came Through. By Sarah Tytler, author of "Lady Bell," etc. Part VII., | Church Quarterly Review, | 564 |
| V. | Furnishing, | Saturday Review, | 572 |
| VI. | Soul-Traps, | Sunday at Home, | 574 |
| VII. | A Frenchman on French Women, | Standard, | 575 |
POETRY. :
| Twilight Voices, | 514 | A Song of Land at Sea, | 514 |
| Grapes, Wine, and Vinegar, | 514 | April: a Sonnet, | 514 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1668/A Song of Land at Sea

* A SONG OF LAND AT SEA.
* "Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
* acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, anything."
* — Tempest, scene I.
* Soft wind, low piping through the shrouds all day,
* Dost thou not whisper of the woods to me?
* Oh for thy wings, that I might speed away
* Over this trackless waste of weary sea!
* Sing on, sweet wind, a song of summer leaves,
* Lisping, through trembling shadows in the lane,
* Of roses nodding under moss-grown eaves,
* Of raindrops tinkling on the cottage pane.
* Under thy pinions bent the springing wheat,
* The large field-daisies bowed their starry crowns,
* The wild thyme sighed to thee, and faintly sweet
* The scent of gorse was blown across the downs.
* Soft wind, low piping through the shrouds to me,
* What would I give to roam where thou hast been!
* A thousand furlongs of this restless sea
* For one lone mile of moor or woodland green!
* Sarah Doudney
* Leisure Hour.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1668/April: a Sonnet

* APRIL: A SONNET.
* Snow on the ground, and blossoms on the trees!
* A bitter wind sweeps madly 'cross the moor;
* The children shiver at the cottage door,
* And old men crouch beside the fire for ease.
* Yet still the happy lark disdains the breeze;
* The buds swell out, the primrose makes a floor
* Of sylvan beauty, though the frost be hoar,
* And ships are battling with tempestuous seas.
* 'Tis April still, but April wrapt in cloud, —
* Month of sweet promise and of nature's bliss,
* When earth leaps up at heaven's reviving kiss,
* And flouts at winter lingering in her shroud.
* Haste swiftly, spring, to banish drear decay,
* And welcome summer with the smile of May.
* John Dennis
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1669/April Days

* APRIL DAYS.
* "O Primavera — gioventù. dell' anno! O Gioventù — primavera della vita!"
* Metastasio
* It is the spring! prepare the seeds,
* And tender plants, new bloom to show;
* Turn the rich earth; pull up the weeds;
* And clear each cumbered garden row!
* Waste not the wealth of April showers,
* Nor sunshine, which our need befriends;
* Think! on these evanescent hours
* The harvest of the year depends.
* Already, necklaces of buds
* Adorn the sapling's tender stem;
* And firs, bedewed with diamond studs,
* Rear up a greener diadem.
* Already, gleams of colour break
* Where all was black with thorns before;
* And gentle waves sweet murmur make,
* Slow rippling to the silent shore!
* Nor only dumb, quiescent things
* The spell that broods amongst them own;
* The beaten air is full of wings,
* Earth thrills with many an insect tone:
* God's woodland innocents prepare,
* For gladder days and fresher life;
* Close sits the timorous brooding hare,
* With wooing birds the boughs are rife.
* All nature wakes from wintry sleep,
* Throws off her veil of frosty rime,
* And calls from mead and mountain steep,
* "Now is the time; now is the time,
* Now is the hour of golden prime!"
* ____
* Oh, Youth! sweet spring of human birth,
* Shalt thou not claim our equal care?
* Shall all the gladness be for earth —
* Nor sentient souls the guerdon share?
* Shall not a goodlier grain be brought,
* Than ripens 'neath the orb of day,
* Shall we not prune the shoots of thought,
* And bind the passions where they stray?
* Shall we not yearn, with ceaseless watch,
* To win God's blessing on our toil,
* Hoping those beams of grace to catch,
* Which warm a far more priceless soil:
* A soil whose garden is the heart,
* Where flowers of Paradise may bloom,
* If grafting skill true growth impart
* And leave the worthless weeds no room?
* Yea! though at times mysterious blight
* Frustrate the joy we thought to earn,
* Still let us hail the Lord of Light
* And look for harvest in return,
* With the poor labourer's simple trust,
* Who in the book of nature reads
* How glory climbs from mouldering dust,
* And plenty from the smallest seeds.
* And so, through pliant April days,
* Of childhood weak and immature —
* Train, towards the light, the tender sprays,
* And make their heavenward growth secure.
* Nor, in the barren after years,
* Live to lament the vernal hours,
* Which might have kept our eyes from tears
* And crowned our path of life with flowers;
* While, haunted by the past, we mark
* An echo, like a funeral chime,
* Toll through the ever-deepening dark, —
* "Then was the time; then was the time,
* Then was the hour of golden prime!"
* Caroline Norton
* Macmillan's Magazine.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1668/Twilight Voices

* TWILIGHT VOICES.
* What are the whispering voices
* That awake at twilight fall?
* Do they come from the golden sunset
* With their haunting, haunting call?
* They tell me of breezy spring-times,
* And of dreamy summer eves,
* And of snow-wreaths merrily shaken
* From the shining ivy leaves.
* But the far-off treble changeth
* To a tenor tone, and so
* I know that the voices tell me
* Only of long ago.
* ____
* What are the tuneful voices
* That of early dawn are born?
* Do they come from the orient portals
* Of the palace of the morn?
* They tell of a golden city,
* With pearl and jasper bright,
* And of shining forms that beckon
* Out of the dazzling light.
* Then a rush of far-off harpings
* Blends with the vision clear,
* And I know that the night is passing,
* And I know that the day is near!
* F. H.
* Good Words.