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diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@ Contributions, corrections, and proofed new editions are very welcome; please is
 The current collection:
 * [Three Hundred Years Hence](books/300-years-hence/) by Mary Griffith (1836)
 * [Arqtiq](books/arqtiq/) by Anna Adolph (1899)
-* [Mizora: A Prophecy](books/mizora-a-prophecy/) by Mary E. Bradley (1889)
+* [Mizora: A Prophecy](books/mizora-a-prophecy/) by Mary E. Bradley Lane (1889)
 * [Moving the Mountain](books/moving-the-mountain/) by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1911)
 * [The Republic of the Future](books/republic-of-the-future/) by Anna Bowman Dodd (1887)
 * [Unveiling a Parallel](books/unveiling-a-parallel/) by Alice Ilgenfritz Jones and Ella Merchant (1893)
diff --git a/books/300-years-hence/300-years-hence.epub b/books/300-years-hence/300-years-hence.epub
diff --git a/books/300-years-hence/300-years-hence.html b/books/300-years-hence/300-years-hence.html
@@ -348,10 +348,9 @@ <h1 id="chapter-ii.">Chapter II.</h1>
         <p>“How? why as Christians—to their praise be it said, they never retaliated. The few excesses they committed whilst they were degraded by slavery, was entirely owing to a misdirection of their energies; but the moment the white man gave up his right over them, that moment all malignant and hostile feelings disappeared. The name of negro is no longer a term of reproach, he is proud of it; and he smiles when he reads in the history of their servitude, how indignant the blacks were at being called by that title. They are a prosperous and happy people, respected by all nations, for their trade extends over the whole world. They would never have arrived at their present happy condition if they had sought to obtain their freedom by force; but by waiting a few years — for the best men of their colour saw that the spirit of the times indicated that their day of freedom was near—they were released from bondage with the aid and good wishes of the whole country. It showed their strong good sense in waiting for the turn of the tide in their favour; it proved that they had forethought, and deserved our sympathies.”</p>
         <p>“I am glad of all this,” said Hastings—“and the Indians—what has become of them, are they still a distinct people?”</p>
         <p>“I am sorry you ask that question,—for it is one on which I do not like to converse—but</p>
-        <p>{.stanza} ‘The Indians have departed—gone is their hunting ground,</p>
-        <p>And the twanging of their bow-string is a forgotten sound.</p>
-        <p>Where dwelleth yesterday—and where is echo’s cell?</p>
-        <p>Where hath the rainbow vanished—there doth the Indian dwell!’</p>
+        <blockquote>
+        <p>‘The Indians have departed—gone is their hunting ground, And the twanging of their bow-string is a forgotten sound. Where dwelleth yesterday—and where is echo’s cell? Where hath the rainbow vanished—there doth the Indian dwell!’</p>
+        </blockquote>
         <p>“When our own minds were sufficiently enlightened, when our hearts were sufficiently inspired by the humane principles of the Christian religion, we emancipated the blacks. What demon closed up the springs of tender mercy when Indian rights were in question I know not?—but I must not speak of it!”</p>
         <p>They now proceeded homewards, and in three hours—for they travelled slowly, that they might the better converse,—they came in sight of the low, stone farm-house, in which poor Hastings had taken his nap of three hundred years. They alighted from the car, and as he wished to indulge himself in taking one more look at the interior—for the building was soon to be removed—his young relative left him to apprize his family of their arrival. After casting a glance at Edgar, he entered the house, and seating himself mechanically in the old arm chair, he leaned his head back in mournful reverie. Thoughts innumerable, and of every variety chased each other through his troubled brain; his early youth, his political career, his wife and child, all that they had ever been to him, his excellent father, Valentine Harley, and all their tender relationship, mingled confusedly with the events that had occurred since his long sleep—copy-rights—mad dogs — bursting of steam boilers—the two great fires in New-York—direct tax—no duties—post-offices—the improved condition of clergymen — no more wars—no bruising of children’s flesh—women’s rights — Astor’s hotel—New-York Mart in State-street—Negro emancipation — all passed in rapid review, whilst his perplexities to know what became of the Indians were mixed with the rest, and ran through the whole scene. At the same time that all this was galloping through his feverish brain, he caught a glance of his young relative, and in his troubled imagination, it appeared that it was not the Edgar Hastings who had of late been his kind companion, but his own son. He was conscious that this was only a trick of the fancy, and arose from his looking so earnestly at the young man as he left him at the door of the house; but it was a pleasant fancy, and he indulged in it, till a sudden crash or noise of some kind jarred the windows and aroused him. He was sensible that footsteps approached, and he concluded it was his young friend who had returned to conduct him home.</p>
         <p>“Edgar—Edgar Hastings—my son is it thou—didst thou not hear the cannon of the Black Hawk—hast thou been sleeping?”</p>

diff --git a/books/300-years-hence/book.md b/books/300-years-hence/book.md
@@ -2518,16 +2518,11 @@ become of them, are they still a distinct people?”
 “I am sorry you ask that question,—for it is one on which I do not
 like to converse—but
 
- {.stanza}
-‘The Indians have departed—gone is their hunting ground,
-
+>‘The Indians have departed—gone is their hunting ground,
 And the twanging of their bow-string is a forgotten sound.
-
 Where dwelleth yesterday—and where is echo’s cell?
-
 Where hath the rainbow vanished—there doth the Indian dwell!’
 
-
 “When our own minds were sufficiently enlightened, when our hearts were
 sufficiently inspired by the humane principles of the Christian
 religion, we emancipated the blacks. What demon closed up the springs of

diff --git a/books/arqtiq/arqtiq.epub b/books/arqtiq/arqtiq.epub
diff --git a/books/mizora-a-prophecy/README.md b/books/mizora-a-prophecy/README.md
@@ -1,5 +1,5 @@
 # Mizora: A Prophecy
-## By Mary E. Bradley
+## By Mary E. Bradley Lane
 ### Published (1889)
 
   The full title is: *Mizora: A Prophecy: A Mss. Found Among the Private

diff --git a/books/mizora-a-prophecy/book.md b/books/mizora-a-prophecy/book.md
@@ -1,5 +1,5 @@
 % Mizora: A Prophecy
-% Mary E. Bradley
+% Mary E. Bradley Lane
 % 1889
 
 ---
@@ -4773,34 +4773,12 @@ owe eternal gratitude and homage?”
 in that mellow, musical voice that was sweeter than the chanting of
 birds, she exclaimed:
 
-::: {.poem}
-::: {.stanza}
-<div>
-
-“This vast cathedral, boundless as our wonder;
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
-Whose shining lamps yon brilliant
-mists# [\[A\]](#Footnote_A_1){.fnanchor} supply;
-:::
-
-<div>
-
+> “This vast cathedral, boundless as our wonder;
+Whose shining lamps yon brilliant mists supply;
 Its choir the winds, and waves; its organ thunder;
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
 Its dome the sky.”
-:::
-:::
-:::
 
-::: {.footnote}
-# ](#FNanchor_A_1) Aurora Borealis
-:::
+# Aurora Borealis
 
 “Do you worship Nature?” I asked.
 
@@ -5048,132 +5026,28 @@ beautiful that compels the Mizora mind to mingle it with every incident
 of life. The melody sounded like a chorus of birds chanting, in perfect
 unison, a weird requiem over some dead companion.
 
-::: {.poem}
-::: {.stanza}
-::: {.i10}
-DIRGE
-:::
-:::
-
-::: {.stanza}
-<div>
-
+> DIRGE
 She came like the Spring in its gladness
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 We received her with joy—we rejoiced in her promise
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Sweet was her song as the bird’s,
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Her smile was as dew to the thirsty rose.
-
-</div>
-
-
-
-<div>
-
 But the end came ere morning awakened,
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 While Dawn yet blushed in its bridal veil,
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 The leafy music of the woods was hushed in snowy shrouds.
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Spring withered with the perfume in her hands;
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 A winter sleet has fallen upon the buds of June;
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 The ice-winds blow where yesterday zephyrs disported:
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Life is not consummated
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 The rose has not blossomed, the fruit has perished in the flower,
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 The bird lies frozen under its mother’s breast
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Youth sleeps in round loveliness when age should lie withered and weary,
 and full of honor.
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Then the grave would be welcome, and our tears would fall not.
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 The grave is not for the roses of youth;
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 We mourn the early departed.
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Youth sleeps without dreams---
-
-</div>
-
-<div>
-
 Without an awakening.
 
-</div>
-:::
-:::
 
 At the close of the chant, the mother first and then each sister took
 from her bosom the white rosebud and dropped it into the grave. Then
@@ -5302,52 +5176,15 @@ death.”
 “Repeat what you remember of it,” urged Wauna.
 
 
-
-::: {.poem}
-::: {.stanza}
-<div>
-
-“That face and form, have long since gone
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
+> “That face and form, have long since gone
 Beyond where the day was lifted:
-:::
-
-<div>
-
 But the beckoning song still lingers on,
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
 An angels earthward drifted.
-:::
-:::
-
-::: {.stanza}
-<div>
-
 And when death’s waters, around me roar
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
 And cares, like the birds, are winging:
-:::
-
-<div>
-
 If I steer my bark to Heaven’s shore
-
-</div>
-
-::: {.i1}
 ‘Twill be by an angel’s singing.”
-:::
-:::
-:::
+
 
 “Poor child of superstition,” said Wauna, sadly. “Your belief has
 something pretty in it, but for your own welfare, and that of your

diff --git a/books/mizora-a-prophecy/mizora-a-prophecy.epub b/books/mizora-a-prophecy/mizora-a-prophecy.epub