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Adapted from Titus Andronicus by William Shakespeare, III.i.1126-1185 (1623)
Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading
Titus Andronicus:Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed;
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
And for these bitter tears, which now you see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty sons I never wept,
Because they died in honor's lofty bed.
\[Lieth down; the Judges, &c., pass by him, and Exeunt\]
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears:
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distill from these two ancient urns,
Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
\[Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn\]
O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men!
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.
Lucius: O noble father, you lament in vain:
The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
Titus Andronicus: Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,—
Lucius: My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
Titus Andronicus: Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me, or if they did mark,
They would not pity me, yet plead I must;
And bootless unto them \[—\]
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax,—tribunes more hard than stones;
A stone is silent, and offendeth not,
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
\[Rises\]
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
Lucius:To rescue my two brothers from their death:
For which attempt the judges have pronounced
My everlasting doom of banishment.
Titus Andronicus:O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine: how happy art thou, then,
From these devourers to be banished!
The bolded and underlined excerpt accomplishes which of the following?
After Titus lies down and the tribunes exit the stage, Titus' speech shifts from being a desperate plea being delivered to those with the power to save his children to a resigned monologue directed at off-stage characters. No longer pleading directly, Titus becomes resigned that his sons' "sweet blood will shame" the earth by "staining" it.
The focus of Titus' speech is always more personal than political. His initial plea to the tribunes was not a bold, impassioned call to arms, and did, in fact, draw upon his own age and frailty. A soliloquy is a speech in which a character speaks to themselves, not an offstage other.
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Adapted from Titus Andronicus by William Shakespeare, III.i.1126-1185 (1623)
Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading
Titus Andronicus:Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed;
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
And for these bitter tears, which now you see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
For two and twenty sons I never wept,
Because they died in honor's lofty bed.
\[Lieth down; the Judges, &c., pass by him, and Exeunt\]
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears:
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distill from these two ancient urns,
Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
\[Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn\]
O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men!
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.
Lucius: O noble father, you lament in vain:
The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
Titus Andronicus: Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,—
Lucius: My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
Titus Andronicus: Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
They would not mark me, or if they did mark,
They would not pity me, yet plead I must;
And bootless unto them \[—\]
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax,—tribunes more hard than stones;
A stone is silent, and offendeth not,
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
\[Rises\]
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
Lucius:To rescue my two brothers from their death:
For which attempt the judges have pronounced
My everlasting doom of banishment.
Titus Andronicus:O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine: how happy art thou, then,
From these devourers to be banished!
In context, the choice of the word "befriended" near the end of the excerpt has what effect?
In this context, the choice of "befriended" creates irony by implying that banishing Lucius from city is actually the friendliest thing the tribunes could do for him. Titus' characterization in the next lines of Rome as a "wilderness of tigers" whose only prey is his family carries forward this assertion.
The tribunes' act of banishing Lucius is not intended as a friendly act, and is, in fact, evidence that Lucius has taken up arms against them, not allied with them. Titus' tone remains angry and bereft, even as he ironically celebrates Lucius' banishment. There is no mention of an impending battle to defend Rome, like the ones Titus' previous twenty-two sons died in.
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A Late Walk
1 When I go up through the mowing field,
2 The headless aftermath,
3 Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
4 Half closes the garden path.
5 And when I come to the garden ground,
6 The whir of sober birds
7 Up from the tangle of withered weeds
8 Is sadder than any words
9 A tree beside the wall stands bare,
10 But a leaf that lingered brown,
11 Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
12 Comes softly rattling down.
13 I end not far from my going forth
14 By picking the faded blue
15 Of the last remaining aster flower
16 To carry again to you.
The following connotes the imagery of warfare:
An aftermath is the consequence of a disaster, like a war. The imagery of "headless aftermath" implies a farmer who has, in some way, defeated the fields.
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A Late Walk
1 When I go up through the mowing field,
2 The headless aftermath,
3 Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
4 Half closes the garden path.
5 And when I come to the garden ground,
6 The whir of sober birds
7 Up from the tangle of withered weeds
8 Is sadder than any words
9 A tree beside the wall stands bare,
10 But a leaf that lingered brown,
11 Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
12 Comes softly rattling down.
13 I end not far from my going forth
14 By picking the faded blue
15 Of the last remaining aster flower
16 To carry again to you.
The phrase "sober birds" (line 6) implies that even the birds are .
The "sober birds" (line 6) are serious and sad. The poet, Robert Frost, even calls their busy "whir" (line 6) "sadder than any words" (line 8). Their sobriety indicates a clarity of vision and purpose in the face of winter.
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A Late Walk
1 When I go up through the mowing field,
2 The headless aftermath,
3 Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
4 Half closes the garden path.
5 And when I come to the garden ground,
6 The whir of sober birds
7 Up from the tangle of withered weeds
8 Is sadder than any words
9 A tree beside the wall stands bare,
10 But a leaf that lingered brown,
11 Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
12 Comes softly rattling down.
13 I end not far from my going forth
14 By picking the faded blue
15 Of the last remaining aster flower
16 To carry again to you.
In line 14, the adjective "faded" contributes to what?
The "faded blue" of line 14 contributes to the poems overall elegiac style (that is, its mournful design). For the speaker, even the blue of the aster flower has been dulled.
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Adapted from Walt Whitman's "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" in Leaves of Grass (1855)
1
Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the day,
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
The similitudes of the past and those of the future,
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on the walk in the street and the passage over the river,
The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to shore,
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high,
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
3
It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence,
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh’d,
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood yet was hurried,
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the thick-stemm’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
I too many and many a time cross’d the river of old,
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left the rest in strong shadow,
Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the south,
Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams . . .
The use of the underlined phrase "usual costumes" in line 3 serves to highlight which of the following?
I. The normality of the scene
II. The contingent, nonessential nature of how people dress
III. The many notable clothing styles present
IV. How strange the scene seems to the speaker
"Usual" highlights how common the scene is, and "costumes" suggests fashion is historically, culturally, and socially contingent. The juxtaposition of the two creates a sense of uncanniness. No emphasis is placed on the particulars of how people are dressed.
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My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
Based on context, to what does “Essence of winter sleep” likely refer?
Based on the context, some of these choices are too specific for the poem: snow, the coldest days of winter, hypothermia, and wood smoke are all more particular than the surrounding lines. Given the use of scent in the following line, the best answer to encapsulate the “essence” of winter nights is the smell of those nights.
Passage adapted from Robert Frost’s “After Apple-Picking.” North of Boston. (1915)
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1 In silent night when rest I took,
2 For sorrow near I did not look,
3 I wakened was with thund’ring noise
4 And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
5 That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
6 Let no man know is my Desire.
7 I, starting up, the light did spy,
8 And to my God my heart did cry
9 To straighten me in my Distress
10 And not to leave me succourless.
11 Then, coming out, behold a space
12 The flame consume my dwelling place.
13 And when I could no longer look,
14 I blest His name that gave and took,
15 That laid my goods now in the dust.
16 Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
17 It was his own, it was not mine,
18 Far be it that I should repine;
19 He might of all justly bereft
20 But yet sufficient for us left.
21 When by the ruins oft I past
22 My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
23 And here and there the places spy
24 Where oft I sate and long did lie.
25 Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
26 There lay that store I counted best.
27 My pleasant things in ashes lie
28 And them behold no more shall I.
29 Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
30 Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
31 No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
32 Nor things recounted done of old.
33 No Candle e'er shall shine in Thee,
34 Nor bridegroom’s voice e'er heard shall be.
35 In silence ever shalt thou lie,
36 Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.
37 Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
38 And did thy wealth on earth abide?
39 Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?
40 The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
41 Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
42 That dunghill mists away may fly.
43 Thou hast a house on high erect
44 Framed by that mighty Architect,
45 With glory richly furnished,
46 Stands permanent though this be fled.
47 It’s purchased and paid for too
48 By Him who hath enough to do.
49 A price so vast as is unknown,
50 Yet by His gift is made thine own;
51 There’s wealth enough, I need no more,
52 Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
53 The world no longer let me love,
54 My hope and treasure lies above.
(1666)
Lines 30-34 all begin with "No" or "Nor." What is the effect of this repetition?
The content of these lines is essentially a list of the things she has lost; by beginning each line with a negation, the author is able to show the reader how much the speaker has lost in the fire.
Passage adapted from Anne Bradstreet's "Upon the Burning of our House" (1666)
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1 Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting Heaven
2 That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
3 And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
4 So wild that every casual thought of that and this
5 Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
6 With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
7 And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
8 Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
9 Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
10 Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
11 Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
12 By the injustice of the skies for punishment?
(1916)
What is the "ghost" in line 9 referring to?
Context reveals that the "ghost" mentioned in line 9 refers to the soul of someone who has died. This is particularly clear from the mention of the "confusion of the death-bed" (line 10). The speaker is so impressed by the size and brightness of the sky that it makes him reflect on death and his uncertainty concerning the afterlife.
Passage adapted from William Butler Yeats' "The Cold Heaven" (1916)
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To the Dead in the Grave-Yard Under My Window
by Adelaide Crapsey (1878 - 1915)
The diction of the poem is most distinctly characterized by _________________.
The speaker's diction is characterized by impassioned castigation of the dead to whom she's speaking. She does not speak metaphorically; her syntax is not especially arcane; she does not make romantic allusions to anything. You could argue that she is drawing a humorous contrast between the "acquiescent" stillness of the dead and her own enforced immobility. But it's not clear that this is intended to be funny. Also, the question is asking about her diction overall. The answer that best applies to the poem as a whole is clearly "impassioned castigation."
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When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;
And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
(1789)
William Blake's diction shifts halfway through the poem. Which pair of words best describe the type of connotative diction in the beginning and in the end of the poem?
This is the correct answer because Blake's diction is very dark and melancholy in the first part of the poem, using words such as "cried," "spoil," "locked," "coffins," and "black." He then goes on to use words with positive connotations reminiscent of purity and holiness, such as "Angel," "bright," "wash," "sun," "happy," and "warm."
Passage adapted from William Blake's Songs of Innocence (1789).
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Adapted from Frankenstein by Mary Shelly (1818)
Shutting the door, \[the monster\] approached me and said in a smothered voice, "You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my hopes?"
"Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness."
"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master; obey!"
"The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness, but they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a daemon whose delight is in death and wretchedness? Begone! I am firm, and your words will only exasperate my rage."
The monster saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in the impotence of anger. "Shall each man," cried he, "find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge remains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict."
"Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable."
"It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding night."
I started forward and exclaimed, "Villain! Before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe."
I would have seized him, but he eluded me and quit the house with precipitation. In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the waves.
All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage to pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the mainland. I shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words—"I WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING NIGHT." That, then, was the period fixed for the fulfillment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and at once satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endless sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her, tears, the first I had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy without a bitter struggle.
Why does the monster use the word “slave” in the underlined sentence?
Even if you do not know that story of Frankenstein, the overall context of this selection makes it clear that the monster has become more powerful than Dr. Frankenstein in some ways. He has become the master, as he says at the end of the paragraph in which the indicated sentence appears. Certainly, he does wish to insult Dr. Frankenstein with his remark—and this insult may well include an insult regarding Frankenstein's intelligence. However, the primary motive for this title is to make clear the role reversal that has taken place—he now is the master, and Frankenstein is the slave.
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From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1895)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
What do the underlined words describe?
The general discussion in this paragraph is about different kinds of soldiers and their descriptions / activities. These particular soldiers are "gray" (i.e. likely gray-haired) and "bewiskered" (i.e. having beards). They are described as being brave and quite hardy. Though they are called "hordes," they are so called in order to evoke an image of their "gritty" valor.
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From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1875)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
Which of the following words, taken from the underlined selection, best explains the author's choice of the word "hordes" used in that selection?
For this question, you need to have a slight amount of historical knowledge in order to pick up on the allusion being made. The Huns were a people who migrated over Europe thousands of years ago, traveling as a large horde over the lands. The soldiers described as being a "horde" also are described as fighting like Huns. Both of these words "work together" to create the single image of these fighting people, roving over the landscape in their war-related exploits.
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Adapted from A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift (1729)
The number of souls in this kingdom being usually reckoned one million and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two hundred thousand couple whose wives are breeders; from which number I subtract thirty thousand couples who are able to maintain their own children, although I apprehend there cannot be so many, under the present distresses of the kingdom; but this being granted, there will remain an hundred and seventy thousand breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand for those women who miscarry, or whose children die by accident or disease within the year. There only remains one hundred and twenty thousand children of poor parents annually born. The question therefore is, how this number shall be reared and provided for, which, as I have already said, under the present situation of affairs, is utterly impossible by all the methods hitherto proposed. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing, till they arrive at six years old, except where they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier, during which time, they can however be properly looked upon only as probationers, as I have been informed by a principal gentleman in the county of Cavan, who protested to me that he never knew above one or two instances under the age of six, even in a part of the kingdom so renowned for the quickest proficiency in that art.
I am assured by our merchants, that a boy or a girl before twelve years old is no salable commodity; and even when they come to this age they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half-a-crown at most on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriment and rags having been at least four times that value.
I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.
I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout.
I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration that of the hundred and twenty thousand children already computed, twenty thousand may be reserved for breed, whereof only one-fourth part to be males; which is more than we allow to sheep, black cattle or swine; and my reason is, that these children are seldom the fruits of marriage, a circumstance not much regarded by our savages, therefore one male will be sufficient to serve four females. That the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in the sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter.
I have reckoned upon a medium that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, increaseth to 28 pounds.
I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children.
What is the effect of the use of "proper" in the last sentence?
The use of the "proper" in the last sentence further supports the idea that it is best and most logical idea to consume the children of the poor, and further emphasizes the irony of the proposal. The use of "proper" creates irony when used in the discussion of eating young children.
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Adapted from A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift (1729)
The number of souls in this kingdom being usually reckoned one million and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two hundred thousand couple whose wives are breeders; from which number I subtract thirty thousand couples who are able to maintain their own children, although I apprehend there cannot be so many, under the present distresses of the kingdom; but this being granted, there will remain an hundred and seventy thousand breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand for those women who miscarry, or whose children die by accident or disease within the year. There only remains one hundred and twenty thousand children of poor parents annually born. The question therefore is, how this number shall be reared and provided for, which, as I have already said, under the present situation of affairs, is utterly impossible by all the methods hitherto proposed. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing, till they arrive at six years old, except where they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier, during which time, they can however be properly looked upon only as probationers, as I have been informed by a principal gentleman in the county of Cavan, who protested to me that he never knew above one or two instances under the age of six, even in a part of the kingdom so renowned for the quickest proficiency in that art.
I am assured by our merchants, that a boy or a girl before twelve years old is no salable commodity; and even when they come to this age they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half-a-crown at most on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriment and rags having been at least four times that value.
I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.
I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout.
I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration that of the hundred and twenty thousand children already computed, twenty thousand may be reserved for breed, whereof only one-fourth part to be males; which is more than we allow to sheep, black cattle or swine; and my reason is, that these children are seldom the fruits of marriage, a circumstance not much regarded by our savages, therefore one male will be sufficient to serve four females. That the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in the sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter.
I have reckoned upon a medium that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, increaseth to 28 pounds.
I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children.
"Soul" as used in the first sentence of this passage means ___________.
The speaker uses "soul" to mean person in the first sentence. He does not particularly refer to the soul in the spiritual, intellectual, or emotional way. This is clear since he continues to talk about people as resources, rather than spiritual beings, throughout the passage. The use of "soul" here also creates irony, given the author's later ironic treatment of people, particularly children, as potential food stuffs.
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. . . Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain. The paralysing immobility of a life every circumstance of which is regulated after an unchangeable pattern, so that we eat and drink and lie down and pray, or kneel at least for prayer, according to the inflexible laws of an iron formula: this immobile quality, that makes each dreadful day in the very minutest detail like its brother, seems to communicate itself to those external forces the very essence of whose existence is ceaseless change. Of seed-time or harvest, of the reapers bending over the corn, or the grape gatherers threading through the vines, of the grass in the orchard made white with broken blossoms or strewn with fallen fruit: of these we know nothing and can know nothing.
For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one’s cell, as it is always twilight in one’s heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again to-morrow. Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing, and in this manner writing. . . .
(1897)
What is the connotation of the word "iron" in the first paragraph ("...according to the inflexible laws of an iron formula...")?
Connotation is the implied meaning of a word, often derived from context, which operates on the reader's mind in addition to the literal definition of the word.
The connotation of "iron" in the first paragraph of this passage is decidedly negative. The speaker is describing his repetitive, unchanging schedule as something that makes him miserable. "Iron," in this context, calls to mind iron manacles, chains, and bars--things that we would like to bend and break, but cannot, because iron is so strong. Rather than just a "formula," the speaker's repetitive daily life is described as an "iron formula," and this is a bad, a negative, thing.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's De Profundis (1897).
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The fundamental source of all your errors, sophisms, and false reasonings, is a total ignorance of the natural rights of mankind. Were you once to become acquainted with these, you could never entertain a thought, that all men are not, by nature, entitled to a parity of privileges. You would be convinced that natural liberty is a gift of the beneficent Creator to the whole human race, and that civil liberty is founded in that, and cannot be wrested from any people without the most manifest violation of justice. Civil liberty is only natural liberty, modified and secured by the sanctions of civil society. It is not a thing, in its own nature, precarious and dependent on human will and caprice, but it is conformable to the constitution of man, as well as necessary to the well-being of society.
....
Thus Sir, I have taken a pretty general survey of the American Charters; and proved to the satisfaction of every unbiassed person, that they are intirely, discordant with that sovereignty of parliament, for which you are an advocate. The disingenuity of your extracts (to give it no harsher name) merits the severest censure; and will no doubt serve to discredit all your former, as well as future labours, in your favourite cause of despotism.
It is true, that New-York has no Charter. But, if it could support it’s claim to liberty in no other way, it might, with justice, plead the common principles of colonization: for, it would be unreasonable, to seclude one colony, from the enjoyment of the most important privileges of the rest. There is no need, however, of this plea: The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for, among old parchments, or musty records. They are written, as with a sun beam, in the whole volume of human nature, by the hand of the divinity itself; and can never be erased or obscured by mortal power.
(1775)
What is the connotation of the word "musty" in the last paragraph?
The word "musty" calls to mind the idea that the "records" in question have been left somewhere for a long time, even long enough to get moldy or mildewed--that is, musty. Because of this, the word carries a connotation that they have not been actually used very much, and also the idea that records have a tendency to exist for a longer time than they are actually relevant to a situation. One way to describe this connotation could be that the records are suggested to be "out-of-date."
Passage adapted from Alexander Hamilton's The Farmer Refuted (1775).
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Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
.....
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood, he has imposed on you; but his success is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
(1813)
The connotation of "ignorant" in the second paragraph is ___________________.
When used as a descriptor for another person, as it is here, the word "ignorant" can often have a negative or even demeaning connotation. That is, it can be a way of insulting another person. The speaker in this passage, however, is extremely courteous and polite throughout, and does not seem to at all be accusing the addressee of being stupid or inattentive. Rather, the speaker is simply stating that there was something the addressee, quite innocently, did not know. It is still not a positive connotation or complimentary, however. For this reason, one can safely say that the connotation of "ignorant" is neutral here--neither negative nor positive, neither a demeaning insult nor a compliment.
Passage adapted from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (1813).
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The word ‘ivory’ rang in the air, was whispered, was sighed. You would think they were praying to it. A taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like a whiff from some corpse. By Jove! I’ve never seen anything so unreal in my life. And outside, the silent wilderness surrounding this cleared speck on the earth struck me as something great and invincible, like evil or truth, waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion.
The phrase "cleared speck" was most likely used for which of the following purposes?
The phrase "cleared speck" is used to describe the area dominated by human activity when compared with the wilderness surrounding it. The word choice of "speck" (usually used to describe small objects like crumbs) indicates that Conrad wishes to emphasize the smallness and unimportance of this human activity. He also writes that the wilderness is "waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion," further emphasizing that nature is a larger force than man in this passage.
Passage adapted from Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness (1899).
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