OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Shadow of the Gloomy East

THE SHADOW OF THE GLOOMY EAST
BY
FERDINAND OSSENDOWSKI
Author of "Beasts, Men and Gods," "Man and Mystery in Asia," etc.
TRANSLATED BY
F. B. CZARNOMSKI
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 Fifth Avenue
Copyright, 1925 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
First published in 1925
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
page :
| | Introduction | v |
| chapter |||
| I. | The Masks | 1 |
| II. | The Face Laid Bare | 11 |
| III. | The Shadows of the Village | 19 |
| IV. | The Treasure Hunters | 44 |
| V. | The Poisoners | 47 |
| VI. | Heatenism | 51 |
| VII. | Witchcraft | 55 |
| VIII. | The Echo of the Dim Past | 59 |
| IX. | The Bold Industry | 66 |
| X. | The Lords of the Sea | 69 |
| XI. | In the Dusk of the Palaces | 74 |
| XII. | Black Shadows | 83 |
| XIII. | Phantoms of the Apocalypse | 90 |
| XIV. | Ascetics versus Antichrist | 103 |
| XV. | Factories of Immorality | 106 |
| XVI. | Woman and the Child | 116 |
| XVII. | Death of the Romanovs and the Mystical Movement | 123 |
| XVIII. | Black Ravens | 130 |
| XIX. | Old Gods in Christian Worship | 136 |
| XX. | The Simplest of All Gods | 144 |
| XXI. | The Devil's Feast | 148 |
| XXII. | Witte, Stolypin, and Goremykin | 160 |
| XXIII. | The Last of the Mohicans | 178 |
| XXIV. | Fetishism of the Word | 187 |
| XXV. | Chaos | 191 |
| | Conclusion | 195 |
| | Index | 199 |
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Sydney gazette and New South Wales advertiser/Volume 31

* Number 2292 (4 June 1833) (page scan index)
* Number 2312 (20 July 1833) (page scan index)
# The Sydney gazette and New South Wales advertiser/Volume 31/Number 2292/Death and extermination to all whales

Layout 2
DEATH AND EXTERMINATION TO ALL WHALES.
To the Editor of the Sydney Gazette.
SIR,
As we have learned from some of our friends, a Captain of a whaler, now in our port, a very clever gentle man, will try in his next trip a new method to kill whales; there shall be made a cavity in the harpoon, in which shall be lodged certain quantity of Prussic acid, which will influx into the wound of the animal by the opening of a valve. One of the objections which will arise is that, if the blood of the whale thus poisoned will not be injurious to the sailors who handle the animal, if they should happen to be wounded.—The idea has been happily conceived, and now it is to be investigated:-1st. What quantity of th Prussic acid is sufficient to kill a whale by its immediate Immission into the wound; because–2dly. If the quantity of the Prusssic acid required be a small, it is certain, that by the dilution of the acid in the immense mass of blood which these animals contain, the poisonous quality of the acid will be altogether obliterated. We remember to have assisted a whaling party on the offing of Bahia, and we can assure our readers, that the ocean was verbally dirty by the immense mass of blood, mucus, and fat, which these giants lost; and we are proud of every discovery made by persons belonging to our community. We beg your insertion of these lines in your next Sydney Gazette.
Believe me, Sir, truly yours,
J. LHOTSKY.
# The Shepheardes Calender/Epilogue

Merce non mercede.
# The Souvenir of Western Women/Roman Catholic Women of the Northwest

Roman Catholic Women of the Northwest
(Contributed.)
FROM early pioneer days in the Northwest, the women of the Roman Catholic Church have taken an active part in the care of the sick and in assisting the needy. In a particular manner do the religious orders of Catholic women claim the esteem and affection of the people of the far West; for these women of self-sacrificing lives have done more than any others in the unwearied tending of the sick, in the care of the orphan, and the Christian education of youth.
The first nuns to make the perilous journey to the Northwest were the Sisters of Notre Dame, from France. These nuns came to Oregon at a very early date, and remained for some time at St. Paul, where they labored for the civilization of the Indians.
The distinction of being the founders of the first organized body of Christian workers in the "Land of Lewis and Clark" belongs to the Sisters of Charity of Providence, who came to Washington from Montreal in 1856, landing at Vancouver December 8. This order is devoted to charity and education. Thus the work of the women of the Roman Catholic Church began amidst great privations. Very vew whites peopled the territory at that time.
A boarding school and two orphanages, one for girls: the other for boys, were established. In these institutions, with comparatively little aid, the nuns have nurtured and educated hundreds of unfortunate children.
The next order that came to the rugged West was that of the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. They, too, came from Montreal, by the way of Cape Horn in 1859.
These Sisters have the credit of being the first congregation of women to establish a permanent work in the cause of education in Oregon.
Although dedicated to this cause, this band of women hesitated not to do all the work their hands found to do. In the absence of others to do it, they looked after the sick and needy poor, often watching all night by the bedside of some sufferer, cheerfully ministering to her wants, and yet filling their places in the school room without an hour's intervening repose.
Large and efficient societies organized for philanthropic work are conducted by the lay women of the church, through which much suffering is alleviated and the wants of the needy ministered to without regard to creed or nationality.
# The Souvenir of Western Women/Portland Academy

PORTLAND ACADEMY.
Thirteenth Street, Between Montgomery and Hall Streets.
THE SCHOOL is for boys and girls, and includes under the same management an elementary school, comprising primary and grammar grades, and a secondary school, or academy proper, which fits boys and girls for Eastern and Western colleges. The academy has a board hall for girls at 191 Eleventh street, well appointed and under careful supervision. A catalogue of the school, giving full information as to courses of study, rates of tuition, and corps of instructors, is published annually, and may be had on application at the office or by letter.
Portland Academy was founded by the late W. S. Ladd, Esq., in accordance with a cherished plan of his to found a school in Portland which should offer to boys and girls the principles of a thorough classical and scientific education. The school was organized by the present principals in 1889, and in September of the same year opened at 191 Eleventh street, with three teachers and forty-two pupils. In 1892 the school was incorporated, and three years later, having outgrown its first building, was removed to its present braiding, on Thirteenth street. The grounds on which the main building stands were given by the late Hon. H. W. Corbett, and the building was erected by the trustees of the W. S. Ladd estate, who have since purchased lots on the east side of Thirteenth street and erected on them two other buildings for the use of the school.
The present enrollment of the school is about four hundred and fifty in all departments, with a corps of twenty instructors. Working libraries and chemical and physical laboratories have been a part of the appliances of the school from the first, and have been enlarged with the school's growth, and are fully adequate for the work of college preparation in all departments. In the sixteen years of the school's existence more than one hundred and twenty-five boys and girls have been fitted for college; more than one-half of this number have entered Eastern colleges; the rest have been about equally divided between the colleges of Oregon and California.
# The Soft Side (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1900)/The Great Good Place

* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
# The Spirit of the Nation/Portrait from the Peerage

A PORTRAIT FROM THE PEERAGE.
Mentitur, qui te vitiosum, Zoile dixit— Non vitiosus homo es, Zoile, sed vitium.
Martial.
In birth, a wanton mother's worthy child, The offspring of her nuptial faith defil'd; The graceless spawn of lewd intrigue confess'd, When keen remorse her dying hour oppress'd; A jackdaw-noble, glittering in the plumes Of the old race, whose honours he assumes, In youth, a profligate, devour'd by debt, With crowds of starving creditors beset. ​At home, for ever in a savage mood, His temper venom'd as his pois'nous blood. In politics a brazen renegade, With bigots leagu'd, his country to degrade; First, in a foreign senate, to demand The Saxon sword, to crush his native land; Which ev'n their satrap with contempt denied, Spurning the baseness of the parricide. Again behold him impotent as vile, Libelling our chief—the guardian of our isle, A toothless viper mumbling at a file.
Next 'mid his tenants, see the Despot stand, The grinding Shylock of a shuddering land— Still on the watch, with law's deceitful mesh, To extort his bond, and get his pound of flesh— Even at the time that gave his Saviour birth, Quenching the fire upon the poor man's hearth!
Ye, who would know his person and his life, Look at his skin, and listen to his wife!— His hapless wife, by brutal tyranny, Driv'n to the pension-list and infamy— His tainted skin, so loathsome to the eye, That starv'd hyænas from its touch would fly— Disgusting object! yet, does this impart A feeble emblem of his fouler heart!
# The Spirit of the Nation/Paddies Evermore

PADDIES EVERMORE.
I.
The hour is past to fawn or crouch As suppliants for our right; Let word and deed unshrinking vouch The banded millions' might; Let them who scorned the fountain rill, Now dread the torrent's roar, And hear our echoed chorus still, We're Paddies evermore.
II.
What, though they menace, suffering men Their threats and them despise; Or promise justice once again, We know their words are lies; We stand resolved those rights to claim They robbed us of before, Our own dear nation and our name, As Paddies, and no more.
III.
Look round—the Frenchman governs France, The Spaniard rules in Spain, The gallant Pole but waits his chance To break the Russian chain; The strife for freedom here begun We never will give o'er, Nor own a land on earth but one— We're Paddies and no more.
IV.
That strong and single love to crush, The despot ever tried, ​A fount it was whose living gush, His hated arts defied. 'Tis fresh as when his foot accurst, Was planted on our shore, And vow and still as from the first, We're Paddies evermore.
V.
What reck we though six hundred years Have o'er our thraldom rolled, The soul that roused O'Nial's spears Still lives as true and bold; The tide of foreign power to stem Our fathers bled of yore, And we stand here to-day like them, True Paddies evermore.
VI.
Where's our allegiance? With the land For which they nobly died. Our duty? By our cause to stand, Whatever chance betide. Our cherished hope? To heal the woes That rankle at her core. Our scorn and hatred? To her foes, Now, and for evermore.
VII.
The hour is past to fawn or crouch As suppliants for our right; Let word and deed unshrinking vouch The banded millions' might; Let them who scorned the fountain rill, Now dread the torrent's roar, And hear our echoed chorus still, We're Paddies evermore.
# The Spirit of the Nation/Punchification

PUNCHIFICATION.
"On this head we have no apprehension: Mr. O'Connell may be a diverting mob actor, but he is not, after all, half so diverting as Punch."—Morning Herald.
Let England's old womanhood tremble no more, Let the Peelites securely dine, breakfast, and lunch; Though O'Connell makes burning harangues by the score, Still he can't, or he will not, cut capers like Punch!
Though the wrongs of the people in number exceed The potatoes that Irishmen saltlessly munch, Let the cock-a-hoop Tories ne'er stop to take heed, For—O'Connell's not half such a grinner as Punch!
There were mighty strange things done by Merlin of yore, And queer tales are narrated of old Mother Bunch; But a wonder like this was ne'er heard of before, That injustice shall rule, since—O'Connell's not Punch!
And thou, Ireland, who stoodest so straight t'other day, Thou stoopest anew like a man with a hunch, Since the ass of the Herald came out with his bray, That—in short that O'Connell's no puppet, like Punch!
​Oh! there's only one chance that can save us from wreck, And help Dan to get rid of his foes in a bunch— That the puppet may break, by good fortune, his neck, As the showman some night makes a tumbler of Punch!
# The Spirit of the Nation/Ourselves Alone

THE SPIRIT
OF
"THE NATION."
OURSELVES ALONE.
I.
The work that should to-day be wrought Defer not till to-morrow; The help that should within be sought, Scorn from without to borrow. Old maxims these—yet stout and true— They speak in trumpet tone, To do at once what is to do, And trust ourselves alone.
II.
Too long our Irish hearts we schooled, In patient hope to bide; By dreams of English justice fooled, And English tongues that lied. That hour of weak delusion's past, The empty dream has flown: Our hope and strength, we find at last, Is in ourselves alone.
III.
Aye! bitter hate, or cold neglect, Or lukewarm love at best, Is all we've found, or can expect, We aliens of the west. No friend beyond her own green shore, Can Erin truly own; Yet stronger is her trust, therefore, In her brave sons alone.
IV.
Remember when our lot was worse— Sunk, trampled to the dust; 'Twas long our weakness and our curse, In stranger aid to trust. And if, at length, we proudly trod On bigot laws o'erthrown, Who won that struggle? Under God, Ourselves—ourselves alone.
V.
Oh, let its memory be enshrined In Ireland's heart for ever: It proves a banded people's mind Must win in just endeavour; It shows how wicked to despair, How weak to idly groan— If ills at others' hands ye bear, The cure is in your own.
VI.
The "foolish word impossible" At once, for aye disdain; No power can bar a people's will A people's right to gain. Be bold, united, firmly set, Nor flinch in word or tone— We'll be a glorious nation yet, Redeemed—erect—alone.
# The Spirit of the Nation/Song for Irishmen

A SONG FOR IRISHMEN.
Look down on Erin's verdant vales—so rich, so gay, so green— And tell me, can a bosom throb, not loving Ocean's queen? Look round on Erin's mossy moors, her meads and mountains high, And tell me, does a dastard live, who'd not for Erin die?
No, no; in Erin lives not now a traitor to her cause— The thundering voice A Nation speaks, each traitor overawes— A beaming light is burning bright, on mountain, rock, and sea, And by the mighty march of mind our land will soon be free.
Then strike the harp, old Erin's harp, with fearless force and bold— It breathes not for a tim'rous hand—nor for a heart that's cold; It loves the open gen'rous soul—the bold—the brave—the free; But for the craven, crouching slave it has no melody.
You're men—as such should know your rights, and knowing should defend; Who would be free, themselves must dare the tyrant's chain to rend; Oh, fruitless is the grief that springs above a nation's fears— One firm resolve of mighty men is worth a tide of tears.
Then brace your buckler round your breast—for Erin be resigned— The murky morn is gone that pall'd your energies of mind; And now o'er Erin's misty hills A Nation's banner waves— Then, up—arise—be men and free, or be for ever slaves.
# The Spirit of the Nation/Song of the Penal Days. (Translated)

SONG OF THE PENAL DAYS.
Air—"Chreevin evin."
(Translated from the Irish.)
I.
Youthful men and elders hoary, List ye to the harper's song! My clarseach weeps my true-love's story In my true-love's native tongue; She's bound and bleeding 'neath th' oppressor— Few her friends and fierce her foe; And brave hearts cold who would redress her; Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
II.
My love had riches once and beauty— Want and wo have pal'd her cheek! And stalwart hearts for honour's duty— Now they crouch like craven's sleek! O Heaven! that e'er this day of rigour Saw sons of heroes abject low, And blood and tears thy face disfigure— Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
III.
I see young virgins on the mountain, Graceful as the bounding fawn, With cheeks like heath-flower by the fountain, Breasts like downy canavàn. Shall bondsmen share these beauties ample? Shall their pure bosoms' current flow To nurse new slaves for them that trample Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
IV.
Around my clarseach's speaking measures Men like their fathers tall arise— Their heart the same deep hatred treasures, I read it in their kindling eyes! The same proud brow to frown at danger— The same dark coolin's graceful flow— The same dear tongue to curse the stranger— Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
V.
I'd sing ye more but age is stealing O'er my pulse and tuneful fires; Far bolder woke my chord appealing For craven Shemus to your sires. Arouse to vengeance men of bravery, For broken oaths—for altars low— For bonds that bind in bitter slavery— Ma chreevin evin, alga O!
* ↑ The cotton plant of the bogs.
* ↑ The flowing locks of the ancient Irish.
# The Spirit of the Nation/O'Sullivan's Return

O'SULLIVAN'S RETURN.
[The following ballad is founded on an ill-remembered story of an Irish chief returning after long absence on the Continent, and being wrecked and drowned close to his own castle.]
Air—"Cruiskeen Lawn."—Slow time.
I.
O'Sullivan has come Within sight of his home, He had left it long years ago; The tears are in his eyes, And he prays the wind to rise As he looks tow'rds his castle from the prow, from the prow, As he looks tow'rds his castle from the prow.
II.
For the day had been calm, And slow the good ship swam, And the evening gun had been fir'd; He knows the hearts beat wild Of mother, wife, and child, And of clans who to see him long desir'd, long desir'd, And of clans who to see him long desir'd.
III.
Of the tender ones the clasp— Of the gallant ones the grasp— He thinks until his tears fall warm: And full seems his wide hall, With friends from wall to wall, Where their welcome shakes the banners, like a storm, like a storm, Where their welcome shakes the banners, like a storm.
IV.
Then he sees another scene— Norman churls on the green— "O'Sullivan aboo!" is the cry; For filled is his ship's hold With arms and Spanish gold, And he sees the snake-twin'd spear wave on high, wave on high, And he sees the snake-twin'd spear wave on high.
V.
"Finghin's race shall be freed From the Norman's cruel breed— My sires freed Bearra once before, When the Barnwells were strewn On the fields, like hay in June, And but one of them escaped from our shore, from our shore, And but one of them escaped from our shore."
VI.
And, warming in his dream, He floats on victory's stream, Till Desmond—till all Erin is free, Then, how calmly he'd go down, Full of years and of renown, To his grave near that castle by the sea, by the sea, To his grave near that castle by the sea!
VII.
But the wind heard his word, As though he were its lord, And the ship is dash'd up the Bay. Alas! for that proud barque, The night has fallen dark, 'Tis too late to Adragool to bear away, bear away, 'Tis too late to Adragool to bear away.
VIII.
Black and rough was the rock, And terrible the shock, As the good ship crashed asunder; And bitter was the cry, And the sea ran mountains high, And the wind was as loud as the thunder, the thunder, And the wind was as loud as the thunder.
IX.
There's woe in Bearra, There's woe in Glengarragh, And from Bantry unto Dunkerron, All Desmond hears their grief, And wails alone their chief— "Is it thus, is it thus that you return, you return— Is it thus, is it thus that you return?"
* ↑ The Standard bearings of O'Sullivan. See O'Donovan's edition of the Banquet of Donna U-Gedh and the Battle of Mag Rath, for the Archægological Society, App., p. 349—"Bearings of O'Sullivan at the Battle of Caisglinn." "I see, mightily advancing on the plain, The banner of the race of noble Finghin; His sear with a venomous adder (entwined), His host all fiery champions." Finghin was one of their most famous progenitors.
* ↑ The Barnwells were Normans who seized Bear in the reign of Henry II., but were all cut off by the O'Sullivans, save one—the ancestor of the Lords Kingsland, Trimblestone, &c.
# The Spirit of the Nation/Song of Sorrow

A SONG OF SORROW.
Dead are my hopes, and my desponding soul An ardid soil, that bears nor fruits nor flowers; And, blindly tottering to an unknown goal, Joyless and goodless pass my futile hours.
There is no sunshine in my spring of life— There is no rest-place in my pilgrimage; All outward ill and endless inward strife, My youth have fettered with the chains of age.
Haunted with gloomy thoughts for evermore, Like sheeted ghosts, peopling my solitude, I sigh for hopes that time may not restore, And weep my endless exile from the good.
The dark and goalless voyage of my fate Is lighted by the charnel lamp alone; And shore or shipwreck callous I await Nor that with smile would see, nor this with groan.
And one sole, simple, solitary joy, Dear as the light that cheers the wand'rer's way, Is left my languid senses to employ, And fill my mind throughout the weary day.
And thou, sage Philosoph, wouldst thou discover The talisman that sways me—soul and body? List—on my lips the solemn words now hover: "'Tis oysters barbecued and whiskey toddy."
# The Spirit of the Nation/Song of the Irish Army, 1689

SONG OF THE IRISH ARMY, A.D. 1689.
We come, with drum and fife, And the banner of the green, And our arms for the strife, They are glorious in their sheen; No cause have we to tremble, I trow— Outnumb'ring the waves O'er which the tempest raves, Let the Dutchman's hireling slaves Tremble now.
Then onward while you may Like an ocean in its might— Let the Saxon war-trumps bray, For God defends the right, And on our efforts looks with a smile. For the land of saints arise, Spread the green flag to the skies, And the hated Tyrant flies From our isle.
By the margin of the shore Let our serried thousands stand, As our fathers stood of yore, 'Gainst the light-haired Danish band. Let us meet them as they come from the deep— And the sea-bird soon will shriek, And the wild wave soon will break O'er the spot where tyrants take Their last sleep.
# The Spirit of the Nation/Song for July 12th

SONG FOR JULY 12TH, 1843.
Come—pledge again thy heart and hand— One grasp that ne'er shall sever; Our watchword be—"Our native land"— Our motto—"Love for ever."
And let the Orange lily be Thy badge, my patriot brother— The everlasting Green for me; And—we for one another.
Behold how green the gallant stem, On which the flower is blowing; How in one heav'nly breeze and beam Both flower and stem are glowing.
The same good soil sustaining both, Makes both united flourish: But cannot give the Orange growth, And cease the Green to nourish.
Yea, more—the hand that plucks the flower Will vainly strive to cherish: The stem blooms on—but in that hour The flower begins to perish.
Regard them, then, of equal worth While lasts their genial weather; The time's at hand when into earth The two shall sink together.
Ev'n thus be, in our country's cause, Our party feelings blended; Till lasting peace, from equal laws, On both shall have descended.
Till then the Orange lily be Thy badge, my patriot brother— The everlasting Green for me; And—we for one another.
# The Stimulus, beyond the Grave

The Stimulus, beyond the Grave His Countenance to see Supports me like imperial Drams Afforded Day by Day.