American Lit.

An occurrence at owl creek bridge

"An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" is divided into three sections. In section I, Peyton Farquhar is standing on a railroad bridge, twenty feet above the water. His wrists are bound behind his back, and around his neck is a noose that is tied to a beam overhead. He is positioned on loose planks that have been laid over the crossties of the train tracks to create a makeshift platform. Two soldiers from the Northern army, a sergeant, and a captain immediately surround him, awaiting the execution. Beyond them, armed sentinels stand at attention. The bridge is bordered on one side by forest and, across the stream, open ground that gives way to a small hillock on which a small fort has been erected. A motionless company of infantrymen, led by their lieutenant, stands assembled before the fort. As the two soldiers finalize the preparations, they step back and remove the individual planks on which they had been standing. The sergeant salutes the captain then positions himself on the opposite end of the board supporting Farquhar, as the captain, like the soldiers, steps off and away from the crossties. Awaiting the captain's signal, the sergeant is about to likewise step away, sending Farquhar to dangle from the bridge's edge. Farquhar stares into the swirling water below. He watches a piece of driftwood being carried downstream and notes how sluggish the stream seems to be. He shuts his eyes to push away the distractions of his present situation and focus more intently on thoughts of his wife and children. He suddenly hears a sharp, metallic ringing, which sounds both distant and close by. The sound turns out to be the ticking of his watch. Opening his eyes and peering again into the water, Farquhar imagines freeing his hands, removing the noose, and plunging into the stream, swimming to freedom and his home, safely located outside enemy lines. These thoughts have barely registered in Farquhar's mind when the captain nods to the sergeant and the sergeant steps away from the board. In section II, we learn that Farquhar was a successful planter, ardently devoted to the Southern cause. Unable to join the Confederate army, he yearned to help the South's war effort in some significant way. One evening in the past, Farquhar and his wife were sitting on the edge of their property when a gray-clad soldier rode up, seeking a drink of water. The soldier appeared to be from the Confederate army. While his wife was fetching the water, Farquhar asked for news of the front and was informed that Northern forces had repaired the railroads in anticipation of launching another advance, having already reached the Owl Creek bridge. Any civilian caught interfering with the North's efforts in the area, the soldier went on to reveal, would be hanged. Farquhar asked how a civilian could attempt some form of sabotage. The soldier told him that one could easily set fire to the driftwood that had piled up near the bridge after the past winter's flood. The man, who was actually a Northern scout in disguise, finished his drink and rode off, only to pass by an hour later heading in the opposite direction. Section III brings us back to the present, at the hanging. Farquhar loses consciousness as he plummets down from the side of the bridge. He is awakened by currents of pain running through his body. A loud splash wakes him up even more abruptly, and he realizes that the noose has broken—sending him falling into the stream below. Farquhar sees a light flicker and fade before it strengthens and brightens as he rises, with some trepidation, to the surface. He is afraid he will be shot by Northern soldiers as soon as he is spotted in the water. Freeing his bound hands, then lifting the noose from his neck, he fights extreme pain to break through the surface and take a large gasp of air, which he exhales with a shriek. Farquhar looks back to see his executioners standing on the bridge, in silhouette against the sky. One of the sentinels fires his rifle at him twice. Farquhar can see the gray eye of the marksman through the gun's sights. Farquhar then hears the lieutenant instructing his men to fire, so he dives down to avoid the shots. He quickly removes a piece of metal that sticks in his neck. Farquhar comes back up for air as the soldiers reload, and the sentinels fire again from the bridge. Swimming with the current, Farquhar realizes that a barrage of gunfire is about to come his way. A cannonball lands two yards away, sending a sheet of spray crashing over him. The deflected shot goes smashing into the trees beyond. Farquhar believes they will next fire a spray of grapeshot from the cannon, instead of a single ball, and he will have to anticipate the firing. Suddenly he is spun into a disorienting whirl, then ejected from the river onto a gravelly bank out of sight and range of his would-be executioners and their gunfire. He weeps with joy and marvels at the landscape, having no desire to put any more distance between him and his pursuers, when a volley of grapeshot overhead rouses him. He heads into the forest, setting his path by the sun and traveling the entire day. The thought of his family urges him on. Taking a remote road, he finds himself in the early morning standing at the gate of his home. As he walks toward the house, his wife steps down from the verandah to meet him. He moves to embrace her but feels a sharp blow on the back of his neck and sees a blinding white light all about him. Then silence and darkness engulf him. Farquhar is dead, his broken body actually swinging from the side of the Owl Creek bridge.

Hands

"Hands" is the story of a fat, old, little man named Wing Biddlebaum who lives mainly isolated from the town life of Winesburg, Ohio. He remained a mystery to the majority of the town after moving there twenty years before. Often frightened, he would hear ghostly voices personifying his doubts. He would sit on the outskirts of the town in his little house and watch the youth. He spoke closely only with George Willard, the boy reporter of the Winesburg Eagle. George would occasionally walk to his house in the evenings and Wing looked forward to these times. Only with George would Wing become alive, walking into town or talking loudly and feverishly above the whisper he normally used. He spoke mainly with his hands which flew in excitement. Their movement was fidgety and restless, compared by a poet to the wings of a bird, giving him his name. Normally, Wing attempted to keep his hands hidden. He looked at others' calm hands in amazement. When he spoke with George, he would harness their energy by making fists and beating them against walls or fences. The town was proud of Wing's hands like one is of any novelty. George wished to know why Wing restrained his hands and why he seemed almost frightened by their power. He nearly asked one day when Wing was very excitedly talking to him about George's propensity for being too easily influenced by the townspeople. Wing wanted him to think and act for himself, and not to be afraid to dream. Wing's involvement with his lecture led him to reveal his hands without noticing. While talking in earnest, they touched George's shoulders and caressed him. Fear suddenly crossed Wing's face and he ran quickly back home. Wing had previously lived in Pennsylvania as a school teacher named Adolf Myers who was loved by the boys he taught because of his gentle power. He spoke dreamily and with his hands and voice tried to convey that dream into the hearts of the young boys. He caressed their shoulders and tousled their hair. Through his hands, he expressed himself and the boys began to dream instead of doubt. One boy came along who yearned for the teacher and dreamt of unspeakable things at night, spreading his dreams through the town as truth. Fears of Adolph were substantiated. The boys confirmed that he had played with their hair and touched their shoulders. One father beat Adolph and at night, the town came forth to drive him from it, nearly hanging him. He gathered a new last name from a box of goods and lived in Winesburg with an aunt until she died. Wing was only forty-five but looked much older. He felt ashamed for his hands, though unsure of what he had done wrong. He paced on his veranda after leaving George until the sun set and then ate and prepared for bed. George acted as his medium of expression and Wing missed his presence. Crumbs of white bread littered the floor. He picked them up nimbly and rapidly, appearing in the low light like a priest with his rosary beads.

To build a fire

A man travels in the Yukon (near the border of current day Alaska) on an extremely cold morning with a husky wolf-dog. The cold does not faze the man, a newcomer to the Yukon, who plans to meet his friends by six o'clock at an old claim. As it grows colder, he realizes his unprotected cheekbones will freeze, but he does not pay it much attention. He walks along a creek trail, mindful of the dangerous, concealed springs; even getting wet feet on such a cold day is extremely dangerous. He stops for lunch and builds a fire. The man continues on and, in a seemingly safe spot, falls through the snow and wets himself up to his shins. He curses his luck; starting a fire and drying his foot-gear will delay him at least an hour. His feet and fingers are numb, but he starts the fire. He remembers the old-timer from Sulphur Creek who had warned him that no man should travel in the Klondike alone when the temperature was fifty degrees below zero. The man unties his icy moccasins, but before he can cut the frozen strings on them, clumps of snow from the spruce tree above fall down and snuff out the fire. Though building a fire in the open would have been wiser, it had been easier for the man to take twigs from the spruce tree and drop them directly below on to the fire. Each time he pulled a twig, he had slightly agitated the tree until, at this point, a bough high up had capsized its load of snow. It capsized lower boughs in turn until a small avalanche had blotted out the fire. The man is scared, and sets himself to building a new fire, aware that he is already going to lose a few toes from frostbite. He gathers twigs and grasses. His fingers numb and nearly lifeless, he unsuccessfully attempts to light a match. He grabs all his matches--seventy--and lights them simultaneously, then sets fire to a piece of bark. He starts the fire, but in trying to protect it from pieces of moss, it soon goes out. The man decides to kill the dog and puts his hands inside its warm body to restore his circulation. He calls out to the dog, but something fearful and strange in his voice frightens the dog. The dog finally comes forward and the man grabs it in his arms. But he cannot kill the dog, since he is unable to pull out his knife or even throttle the animal. He lets it go. The man realizes that frostbite is now a less worrisome prospect than death. He panics and runs along the creek trail, trying to restore circulation, the dog at his heels. But his endurance gives out, and finally he falls and cannot rise. He fights against the thought of his body freezing, but it is too powerful a vision, and he runs again. He falls again, and makes one last panicked run and falls once more. He decides he should meet death in a more dignified manner. He imagines his friends finding his body tomorrow. The man falls off into a comfortable sleep. The dog does not understand why the man is sitting in the snow like that without making a fire. As the night comes, it comes closer and detects death in the man's scent. It runs away in the direction of the camp, "where were the other food-providers and fire-providers."

Narrative of the life of Fredrick Douglass, An american slave, written by himself

Frederick Douglass was born into slavery sometime in 1817 or 1818. Like many slaves, he is unsure of his exact date of birth. Douglass is separated from his mother, Harriet Bailey, soon after he is born. His father is most likely their white master, Captain Anthony. Captain Anthony is the clerk of a rich man named Colonel Lloyd. Lloyd owns hundreds of slaves, who call his large, central plantation the "Great House Farm." Life on any of Lloyd's plantations, like that on many Southern plantations, is brutal. Slaves are overworked and exhausted, receive little food, few articles of clothing, and no beds. Those who break rules—and even those who do not—are beaten or whipped, and sometimes even shot by the plantation overseers, the cruelest of which are Mr. Severe and Mr. Austin Gore. Douglass's life on this plantation is not as hard as that of most of the other slaves. Being a child, he serves in the household instead of in the fields. At the age of seven, he is given to Captain Anthony's son‑in‑law's brother, Hugh Auld, who lives in Baltimore. In Baltimore, Douglass enjoys a relatively freer life. In general, city slave-owners are more conscious of appearing cruel or neglectful toward their slaves in front of their non‑slaveowning neighbors. Sophia Auld, Hugh's wife, has never had slaves before, and therefore she is surprisingly kind to Douglass at first. She even begins to teach Douglass to read, until her husband orders her to stop, saying that education makes slaves unmanageable. Eventually, Sophia succumbs to the mentality of slaveowning and loses her natural kindliness. Though Sophia and Hugh Auld become crueler toward him, Douglass still likes Baltimore and is able to teach himself to read with the help of local boys. As he learns to read and write, Douglass becomes conscious of the evils of slavery and of the existence of the abolitionist, or antisla-very, movement. He resolves to escape to the North eventually. Sophia Auld, Hugh's wife, has never had slaves before, and therefore she is surprisingly kind to Douglass at first. She even begins to teach Douglass to read, until her husband orders her to stop, saying that education makes slaves unmanageable. Eventually, Sophia succumbs to the mentality of slaveowning and loses her natural kindliness. Though Sophia and Hugh Auld become crueler toward him, Douglass still likes Baltimore and is able to teach himself to read with the help of local boys. As he learns to read and write, Douglass becomes conscious of the evils of slavery and of the existence of the abolitionist, or antisla-very, movement. He resolves to escape to the North eventually. After the deaths of Captain Anthony and his remaining heirs, Douglass is taken back to serve Thomas Auld, Captain Anthony's son‑in‑law. Auld is a mean man made harsher by his false religious piety. Auld considers Douglass unmanageable, so Auld rents him for one year to Edward Covey, a man known for "breaking" slaves. Covey manages, in the first six months, to work and whip all the spirit out of Douglass. Douglass becomes a brutish man, no longer interested in reading or freedom, capable only of resting from his injuries and exhaustion. The turning point comes when Douglass resolves to fight back against Covey. The two men have a two‑hour fight, after which Covey never touches Douglass again. His year with Covey over, Douglass is next rented to William Freeland for two years. Though Freeland is a milder, fairer man, Douglass's will to escape is nonetheless renewed. At Freeland's, Douglass begins edu-cating his fellow slaves in a Sabbath school at the homes of free blacks. Despite the threat of punishment and violence they face, many slaves from neighboring farms come to Douglass and work diligently to learn. At Freeland's, Douglass also forms a plan of escape with three fellow slaves with whom he is close. Someone betrays their plan to Freeland, however, and Douglass and the others are taken to jail. Thomas Auld then sends Douglass back to Baltimore with Hugh Auld, to learn the trade of ship caulking. In Baltimore's trade industry, Douglass runs up against strained race relations. White workers have been working alongside free black workers, but the whites have begun to fear that the increasing numbers of free blacks will take their jobs. Though only an apprentice and still a slave, Douglass encounters violent tactics of intimidation from his white coworkers and is forced to switch shipyards. In his new apprenticeship, Douglass quickly learns the trade of caulking and soon earns the highest wages possible, always turning them over to Hugh Auld. Eventually, Douglass receives permission from Hugh Auld to hire out his extra time. He saves money bit by bit and eventually makes his escape to New York. Douglass refrains from describing the details of his escape in order to protect the safety of future slaves who may attempt the journey. In New York, Douglass fears recapture and changes his name from Bailey to Douglass. Soon after, he marries Anna Murray, a free woman he met while in Baltimore. They move north to Massachusetts, where Douglass becomes deeply engaged with the abolitionist movement as both a writer and an orator.

Winter dreams

In winter, Dexter Green, son of the owner of the second-best grocery store in Black Bear, Minnesota, skis across the snowed-in golf course where he caddies in the warmer months to earn his pocket money. In April, the spring thaw begins and the first golfers brave the course. Unlike the dismal spring, the autumn and winter empower Dexter and stimulate his imagination. Dexter imagines beating the golf club's most esteemed members. At work, he crosses paths with Judy Jones, who, attended by her nurse, asks Dexter to carry her clubs. Dexter can't leave his post, and Judy throws a tantrum and tries to strike her nurse with her clubs. When the caddy-master promptly returns and Dexter is free to be Judy's caddy, he quits. Hastily ending his employment as a caddie is the first in a lifelong series of impetuous acts that would be dictated to Dexter by his so-called winter dreams, which drive him to desire material success. Dexter foregoes state school for a more esteemed eastern university, where his financial resources are stretched. He still longs for luxury, but his desires are often denied. After college, Dexter, articulate and confident, borrows $1,000 off the strength of his degree and buys a partnership in a laundry. By age twenty-seven, he owns the largest chain of laundries in the upper Midwest. He sells the business and moves to New York. We learn more about a period of time during Dexter's rise to success. At age twenty-three, Dexter is given a weekend pass to the Sherry Island Golf Club by Mr. Hart, for whom Dexter used to caddy. Dexter feels superior to the other competitors but also that he does not belong in this world. At the fifteenth green, while the group searches for a lost ball, Mr. Hedrick is struck in the stomach by Miss Jones, who wishes to play through and doesn't realize that she has struck another player. She hits her ball and continues on, as the men alternately praise or criticize her beauty and forward behavior. Later that evening, Dexter swims out to the raft in the club's lake, stretching out on the springboard and listening to a distant piano. The sound of the tune fills him with delight at his present situation. The peaceful scene is disturbed by the roar of Judy's motorboat. She has abandoned a date who believes that she is his ideal, and she asks Dexter to drive the boat so that she can water-ski. Waiting for Judy to arrive for their date the next evening, Dexter imagines all the successful men from esteemed backgrounds who had once loved her. He has acquired polish and sophistication despite his humble origins. Judy arrives in modest clothes, tells the maid that dinner can be served, and informs Dexter that her parents will not be in attendance, which is a relief for Dexter. After dinner, on the sun porch, Judy asks Dexter whether it is all right if she cries. A man she was dating has confessed he is poor. When she asks Dexter what his financial standing is, he tells her that he is most likely the richest young man in the entire region. They kiss, and Dexter's passion for her increases. Dexter continues his pursuit of Judy, but during a picnic she leaves with another man. She claims that nothing has happened between her and the other man, which Dexter doesn't believe. Judy toys with the various men who seek her affections. The summer ends, and Dexter takes up residence at a club in town, showing up at the dances when Judy is in attendance. He still desires her and dreams of taking her to New York to live. He eventually forces himself to accept the fact that he will never possess her in the way he wants. He throws himself into work and becomes engaged to Irene. One night, just before the engagement is to be announced, Irene's headache forces her to cancel her plans with Dexter. He return to the University Club, where Judy, back from her travels, approaches him. They go for a drive. Judy flirts with him, telling him he should marry her, and they discuss their former passion. She asks to be taken home and begins to cry quietly. She repeats her desire to marry him. She asks him in, and he relents. Later, he does not regret that Judy's ardor cools after a month, that Irene and her family were deeply hurt by his betrayal, or that his reputation in the city has been compromised. He loves Judy above all. Leaving for the East with the intention of selling his laundries and settling in New York, the outbreak of World War I calls him back west, where he transfers management of his business to a partner. He enters basic training, welcoming the distraction of combat. In New York seven years later, when Dexter is thirty-two, he is more successful than ever. Devlin, a business associate, informs Dexter that Judy married a friend of his, a man who cheats on her and drinks heavily while Judy stays at home with the children. She has also, according to Devlin, lost her looks. Dexter feels the loss of her beauty and spark personally, because his illusions of Judy are finally and irreparably shattered. He cries, mourning the past and his lost youth, which he will never be able to reclaim.

From Incidents in the life of a slave girl

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl opens with an introduction in which the author, Harriet Jacobs, states her reasons for writing an autobiography. Her story is painful, and she would rather have kept it private, but she feels that making it public may help the antislavery movement. A preface by abolitionist Lydia Maria Child makes a similar case for the book and states that the events it records are true. Jacobs uses the pseudonym Linda Brent to narrate her first-person account. Born into slavery, Linda spends her early years in a happy home with her mother and father, who are relatively well-off slaves. When her mother dies, six-year-old Linda is sent to live with her mother's mistress, who treats her well and teaches her to read. After a few years, this mistress dies and bequeaths Linda to a relative. Her new masters are cruel and neglectful, and Dr. Flint, the father, soon begins pressuring Linda to have a sexual relationship with him. Linda struggles against Flint's overtures for several years. He pressures and threatens her, and she defies and outwits him. Knowing that Flint will eventually get his way, Linda consents to a love affair with a white neighbor, Mr. Sands, saying that she is ashamed of this illicit relationship but finds it preferable to being raped by the loathsome Dr. Flint. With Mr. Sands, she has two children, Benny and Ellen. Linda argues that a powerless slave girl cannot be held to the same standards of morality as a free woman. She also has practical reasons for agreeing to the affair: she hopes that when Flint finds out about it, he will sell her to Sands in disgust. Instead, the vengeful Flint sends Linda to his plantation to be broken in as a field hand. When she discovers that Benny and Ellen are to receive similar treatment, Linda hatches a desperate plan. Escaping to the North with two small children would be impossible. Unwilling to submit to Dr. Flint's abuse, but equally unwilling to abandon her family, she hides in the attic crawl space in the house of her grandmother, Aunt Martha. She hopes that Dr. Flint, under the false impression that she has gone North, will sell her children rather than risk having them disappear as well. Linda is overjoyed when Dr. Flint sells Benny and Ellen to a slave trader who is secretly representing Mr. Sands. Mr. Sands promises to free the children one day and sends them to live with Aunt Martha. But Linda's triumph comes at a high price. The longer she stays in her tiny garret, where she can neither sit nor stand, the more physically debilitated she becomes. Her only pleasure is to watch her children through a tiny peephole, as she cannot risk letting them know where she is. Mr. Sands marries and becomes a congressman. He brings Ellen to Washington, D.C., to look after his newborn daughter, and Linda realizes that Mr. Sands may never free her children. Worried that he will eventually sell them to slave traders, she determines that she must somehow flee with them to the North. However, Dr. Flint continues to hunt for her, and escape remains too risky. After seven years in the attic, Linda finally escapes to the North by boat. Benny remains with Aunt Martha, and Linda is reunited with Ellen, who is now nine years old and living in Brooklyn, New York. Linda is dismayed to find that her daughter is still held in virtual slavery by Mr. Sands's cousin, Mrs. Hobbs. She fears that Mrs. Hobbs will take Ellen back to the South, putting her beyond Linda's reach forever. She finds work as a nursemaid for a New York City family, the Bruces, who treat her very kindly. Dr. Flint continues to pursue Linda, and she flees to Boston. There, she is reunited with Benny. Dr. Flint now claims that the sale of Benny and Ellen was illegitimate, and Linda is terrified that he will re-enslave all of them. After a few years, Mrs. Bruce dies, and Linda spends some time living with her children in Boston. She spends a year in England caring for Mr. Bruce's daughter, and for the first time in her life she enjoys freedom from racial prejudice. When Linda returns to Boston, Ellen goes to boarding school and Benny moves to California with Linda's brother William. Mr. Bruce remarries, and Linda takes a position caring for their new baby. Dr. Flint dies, but his daughter, Emily, writes to Linda to claim ownership of her. The Fugitive Slave Act is passed by Congress, making Linda extremely vulnerable to kidnapping and re-enslavement. Emily Flint and her husband, Mr. Dodge, arrive in New York to capture Linda. Linda goes into hiding, and the new Mrs. Bruce offers to purchase her freedom. Linda refuses, unwilling to be bought and sold yet again, and makes plans to follow Benny to California. Mrs. Bruce buys Linda anyway. Linda is devastated at being sold and furious with Emily Flint and the whole slave system. However, she says she remains grateful to Mrs. Bruce, who is still her employer when she writes the book. She notes that she still has not yet realized her dream of making a home for herself and her children to share. The book closes with two testimonials to its accuracy, one from Amy Post, a white abolitionist, and the other from George W. Lowther, a black antislavery writer.

Annabel Lee

Long ago, "in a kingdom by the sea," lived Annabel Lee, who loved the narrator. Both she and the narrator were children but knew love more powerful than that of the angels, who envied them. A wind chilled and killed Annabel, but their love was too strong to be defeated by angels or demons. The narrator is reminded of Annabel Lee by everything, including the moon and the stars, and at night, he lies by her tomb by the sea.

Continuation of the account of my life. Begun at Passy, 1784

Part Two opens with the letters to Franklin The first is from a Mr. Abel James, and it comments on Part One of the Autobiography and the outline of the rest of the work, both of which Franklin had shown him asking for his opinion. Written in 1782, the letter encourages Franklin to complete the work. The second letter is from Benjamin Vaughn, and it is dated January, 1783. Having seen the outline and parts of the book itself, Vaughn encourages Franklin to continue with the book because, when published, the book may be of great use to others who are looking for a model by which they can better their lives. Perhaps more importantly, Vaughn argues that the publication of the Autobiography will prove to the English that the Americans are a great people of virtue and industry, and America is a country which has great economic mobility. Franklin, who is writing from France immediately after the Revolution ended, returns to some of his old accomplishments. He mentioned that the library he started in 1730 was a big success. He had bought books from England because there were no good bookstores in Philadelphia. His library, he writes, helped "reading become fashionable...[and] people become better acquainted with books." Nevertheless, fearing resentment from others because of his increasing success and fame, Franklin writes that he did not take too much credit for the library when it first started. As the library is started, Franklin himself is just starting a new family with Miss Read, his new wife. He uses the library for his own mental development, and meanwhile he manages to support his family based on "industry and frugality." He saves money wherever possible. He remains a firm Deist, but he mentions that he respects all religions and dislikes religious strife. He does not ever attend "public worship," and he finds fault in some Christian theological interpretations of morality. Continually obsessed with self-betterment, Franklin consents "to the bold and arduous project of arriving at Moral Perfection." He creates a list of 13 virtues that are, in order: Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity, and Humility. He sets about creating a weekly plan by which he will develop one virtue per week, eventually perfecting them all. He focuses on one virtue per week, keeping track of his successes and failures in a small book he keeps with him at all times. He also develops a daily planner to help him acquire Order. Franklin finds many faults at first, but over time he manages to correct most of them. He finds that Order is the most difficult for him to acquire, partly because Franklin's good memory makes Order not as necessary. However, Franklin ends up being pleased with his inability to perfect all his virtues, deciding, "a speckled axe is best....A benevolent man should allow a few faults in himself, to keep his friends in countenance." Franklin writes that although he never became perfect, he did become happier. He writes about his hope that all his descendants who read his Autobiography will derive the same enjoyment and benefits from acquiring these virtues. Franklin adds that the list of virtues are likely to appeal to people of all religions. They are not geared specifically at any one particular faith because Franklin stresses their utilitarian benefits rather than their moral benefits. He mentions that Humility was added last when his friends started to complain that he was too arrogant. To make himself seem more humble, he used such phrases as "I conceive" or "I apprehend" rather than "certainly, undoubtedly," etc. Franklin writes that he afterwards started enjoying conversations more. However, he found his pride impossible to vanquish. In fact, he sardonically mentions that he became so humble so as to be proud of his own humility.

A white heron

So there's this girl named Sylvia, who lives with her grandmother and her surly cow in the New England countryside. One day, Sylvia meets a hunter, who promptly asks her for a place to stay for the night. He tells Sylvia and her grandmother that he's looking for a rare white heron and is willing to give ten dollars to anyone who could lead him to it. That's big money way back in the day. And guess what? Sylvia has seen the heron before. So the following night, she sneaks to the tallest tree in the forest to get a good vantage point on the bird. She sees the bird, and then hurries home to tell the hunter what she saw. When she gets there, however, she can't speak and the hunter leaves disappointed. Although Sylvia holds her tongue for the sake of the bird, she never is sure that she made the right decision.

Adventures of Hulckleberry Finn

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn opens by familiarizing us with the events of the novel that preceded it, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Both novels are set in the town of St. Petersburg, Missouri, which lies on the banks of the Mississippi River. At the end of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, a poor boy with a drunken bum for a father, and his friend Tom Sawyer, a middle-class boy with an imagination too active for his own good, found a robber's stash of gold. As a result of his adventure, Huck gained quite a bit of money, which the bank held for him in trust. Huck was adopted by the Widow Douglas, a kind but stifling woman who lives with her sister, the self-righteous Miss Watson. As Huckleberry Finn opens, Huck is none too thrilled with his new life of cleanliness, manners, church, and school. However, he sticks it out at the bequest of Tom Sawyer, who tells him that in order to take part in Tom's new "robbers' gang," Huck must stay "respectable." All is well and good until Huck's brutish, drunken father, Pap, reappears in town and demands Huck's money. The local judge, Judge Thatcher, and the Widow try to get legal custody of Huck, but another well-intentioned new judge in town believes in the rights of Huck's natural father and even takes the old drunk into his own home in an attempt to reform him. This effort fails miserably, and Pap soon returns to his old ways. He hangs around town for several months, harassing his son, who in the meantime has learned to read and to tolerate the Widow's attempts to improve him. Finally, outraged when the Widow Douglas warns him to stay away from her house, Pap kidnaps Huck and holds him in a cabin across the river from St. Petersburg. Whenever Pap goes out, he locks Huck in the cabin, and when he returns home drunk, he beats the boy. Tired of his confinement and fearing the beatings will worsen, Huck escapes from Pap by faking his own death, killing a pig and spreading its blood all over the cabin. Hiding on Jackson's Island in the middle of the Mississippi River, Huck watches the townspeople search the river for his body. After a few days on the island, he encounters Jim, one of Miss Watson's slaves. Jim has run away from Miss Watson after hearing her talk about selling him to a plantation down the river, where he would be treated horribly and separated from his wife and children. Huck and Jim team up, despite Huck's uncertainty about the legality or morality of helping a runaway slave. While they camp out on the island, a great storm causes the Mississippi to flood. Huck and Jim spy a log raft and a house floating past the island. They capture the raft and loot the house, finding in it the body of a man who has been shot. Jim refuses to let Huck see the dead man's face. Although the island is blissful, Huck and Jim are forced to leave after Huck learns from a woman onshore that her husband has seen smoke coming from the island and believes that Jim is hiding out there. Huck also learns that a reward has been offered for Jim's capture. Huck and Jim start downriver on the raft, intending to leave it at the mouth of the Ohio River and proceed up that river by steamboat to the free states, where slavery is prohibited. Several days' travel takes them past St. Louis, and they have a close encounter with a gang of robbers on a wrecked steamboat. They manage to escape with the robbers' loot. During a night of thick fog, Huck and Jim miss the mouth of the Ohio and encounter a group of men looking for escaped slaves. Huck has a brief moral crisis about concealing stolen "property"—Jim, after all, belongs to Miss Watson—but then lies to the men and tells them that his father is on the raft suffering from smallpox. Terrified of the disease, the men give Huck money and hurry away. Unable to backtrack to the mouth of the Ohio, Huck and Jim continue downriver. The next night, a steamboat slams into their raft, and Huck and Jim are separated. Huck ends up in the home of the kindly Grangerfords, a family of Southern aristocrats locked in a bitter and silly feud with a neighboring clan, the Shepherdsons. The elopement of a Grangerford daughter with a Shepherdson son leads to a gun battle in which many in the families are killed. While Huck is caught up in the feud, Jim shows up with the repaired raft. Huck hurries to Jim's hiding place, and they take off down the river. A few days later, Huck and Jim rescue a pair of men who are being pursued by armed bandits. The men, clearly con artists, claim to be a displaced English duke (the duke) and the long-lost heir to the French throne (the dauphin). Powerless to tell two white adults to leave, Huck and Jim continue down the river with the pair of "aristocrats." The duke and the dauphin pull several scams in the small towns along the river. Coming into one town, they hear the story of a man, Peter Wilks, who has recently died and left much of his inheritance to his two brothers, who should be arriving from England any day. The duke and the dauphin enter the town pretending to be Wilks's brothers. Wilks's three nieces welcome the con men and quickly set about liquidating the estate. A few townspeople become skeptical, and Huck, who grows to admire the Wilks sisters, decides to thwart the scam. He steals the dead Peter Wilks's gold from the duke and the dauphin but is forced to stash it in Wilks's coffin. Huck then reveals all to the eldest Wilks sister, Mary Jane. Huck's plan for exposing the duke and the dauphin is about to unfold when Wilks's real brothers arrive from England. The angry townspeople hold both sets of Wilks claimants, and the duke and the dauphin just barely escape in the ensuing confusion. Fortunately for the sisters, the gold is found. Unfortunately for Huck and Jim, the duke and the dauphin make it back to the raft just as Huck and Jim are pushing off. After a few more small scams, the duke and dauphin commit their worst crime yet: they sell Jim to a local farmer, telling him Jim is a runaway for whom a large reward is being offered. Huck finds out where Jim is being held and resolves to free him. At the house where Jim is a prisoner, a woman greets Huck excitedly and calls him "Tom." As Huck quickly discovers, the people holding Jim are none other than Tom Sawyer's aunt and uncle, Silas and Sally Phelps. The Phelpses mistake Huck for Tom, who is due to arrive for a visit, and Huck goes along with their mistake. He intercepts Tom between the Phelps house and the steamboat dock, and Tom pretends to be his own younger brother, Sid. Tom hatches a wild plan to free Jim, adding all sorts of unnecessary obstacles even though Jim is only lightly secured. Huck is sure Tom's plan will get them all killed, but he complies nonetheless. After a seeming eternity of pointless preparation, during which the boys ransack the Phelps's house and make Aunt Sally miserable, they put the plan into action. Jim is freed, but a pursuer shoots Tom in the leg. Huck is forced to get a doctor, and Jim sacrifices his freedom to nurse Tom. All are returned to the Phelps's house, where Jim ends up back in chains. When Tom wakes the next morning, he reveals that Jim has actually been a free man all along, as Miss Watson, who made a provision in her will to free Jim, died two months earlier. Tom had planned the entire escape idea all as a game and had intended to pay Jim for his troubles. Tom's Aunt Polly then shows up, identifying "Tom" and "Sid" as Huck and Tom. Jim tells Huck, who fears for his future—particularly that his father might reappear—that the body they found on the floating house off Jackson's Island had been Pap's. Aunt Sally then steps in and offers to adopt Huck, but Huck, who has had enough "sivilizing," announces his plan to set out for the West.

Of Plymouth Plantation- Chapter nine summary

The Pilgrims sail from Plymouth on September 6th, 1620, aboard a ship called the Mayflower. Soon, many of the Pilgrims are seasick. One of the ship's sailors harasses the Pilgrims and curses around children; however, he eventually dies from a horrible disease, and is "the first to be thrown overboard," reflecting "the just hand of God upon him." Later, a young man is thrown off the ship in a storm, but manages to hang on and climb aboard again. Ultimately, only one passenger dies on the voyage to America. The Mayflower anchors in a part of America called Cape Cod, near Hudson's River. Cape Cod was first discovered by a group of English explorers in 1602. The Pilgrims thank God for having reached land, but they know that they have many challenges ahead of them. They're about to encounter "savages" in America, who are ready to "fill their sides full of arrows." Furthermore, it's winter when the Pilgrims arrive. They have nothing to sustain them but God's mercy, Bradford says.

chapters 11-12 of the last mohicans

The party is on a steep, pyramidal hill. The tribe catches a fawn and begins to eat it. Magua sits apart and watches. Heyward joins him and says that Munro will be most gratified to see his daughters before another night passes. Magua coldly asks if he will love them less in the morning than at night. He tells Duncan to get Cora because he wishes to speak to her. When Cora arrives, Magua makes Heyward leave, albeit against his will. Magua tells Cora that he was happy before white men appeared, before his Canadian fathers made him a "rascal." He recalls the whipping punishment made to him by Munro for being a member of a rival tribe. Cora begins to feel nervous that Magua intends some great danger to them. She asks that he purchase wealth by Alice's safety and pour out his malice upon her. Magua's price: that Cora herself consent to be his wife and live in his wigwam. Cora is revolted. She tells Magua that he well deserves his evil name. Magua leaves her to talk to his tribe. Heyward demands to know what was said, but Cora, reluctant to upset Alice, evades a direct reply. In the meantime, Magua is rallying his tribe to fight and find Hawkeye. The warriors turn upon the travelers and bind them, preparing to kill. Magua repeats his offer to Cora, and sneering as he points out Alice's weeping. Cora looks upon her and tells both Duncan and herself of the offer. They are astounded, and refuse to let it be; Alice says it is better to die as they have lived: together. Magua pronounces their death. Some of Alice's ringlets are cut by a tomahawk. Infuriated, Heyward jumps upon him. Before he can meet his death by means of the long knife carried by the Indian, a rifle shot is heard and the savage falls dead. The tribe are stunned, and they begin to shout "La Longue Carabine!" as the foresters approach. The savages look to Magua for instructions. The Huron chief unsheathes his knife and aims it at Chingachgook. Hand to hand combat begins. Heyward grabs a knife and joins the fray. Cora's ropes are accidentally cut. She manages to find Alice and tear her binding ropes asunder. A savage forces Cora to her knees and cuts off some of her hair. While he laughs exultantly, Uncas descends upon him. The tomahawk of Heyward and the rifle of Hawkeye kill him quickly. Chingachgook and Magua still fight. The other men stand around them, watching. For a moment it looks as if Magua is dead, so they are triumphant. But as Hawkeye lowers his gun, Magua rolls off the precipice and is seen leaping through bushes. The scout urges them to let him go for now. He makes the round of the dead while Uncas and Heyward attend to the sisters. David is released, and he apologizes for not being helpful during the fight as he expresses heartfelt gratitude. Hawkeye, softened towards him, tells him that his words are unnecessary. David says he has the true spirit of Christianity. The scout scoffs and says he has little use for that doctrine. The musician demands a song to express thanks for their deliverance. After the song is finished, Hawkeye says it is time to move. After some time, the group stops to build a fire and prepare dinner. The scout shares that they were hiding nearby most of the time, watching the movements of the Huron. They heard the capture and made their way along the trail. Had it not been for Uncas, they might not have found them: the young Mohican had the sense to recognize the gait of the sisters' horses in the footprints. Hawkeye then assumed they would have to be somewhat near the body of water by which the group now sat. Dinner is finished, so they eat and drink from the water until Hawkeye decides it is time to resume travel.

To my dear and loving husband

The poet speaks to her husband, celebrating their unity and saying that there is no man in the world whose wife loves him more. If there was ever a wife more happy with her husband, the poet asks those women to compare themselves to her. She prizes her husband's love more than gold or the riches of the East. Rivers cannot quench her love and no love but his can ever satisfy her. There is no way she can ever repay him for his love. She believes they should love each other so much that when they die, their love will live on.

Rip Van Winkle

The story opens with a parenthetical note written by an omniscient third person narrator, who tells us that the following tale was written by the late historian Diedrich Knickerbocker. Knickerbocker was keenly interested in a province in New York at the base of the Catskill mountains, and which was founded by Dutch settlers long ago.He researched the history of this province by listening to first person accounts of Dutch families who lived there. Many agree that Knickerbocker's talents would have been better spent on more important subjects. However, even those who doubt the literary merit of his writings must acknowledge his accuracy. Knickerbocker died shortly after composing the history we are about to read, and, though he is not remembered well by critics, commoners in New York remain fond of him. Some bakers have even printed his face on cakes, which the narrator maintains gives Knickerbocker "a chance for immortality almost equal to being stamped on the waterloo medal or a Queen Anne's Farthing." Knickerbocker remained devoted to his hobby until the end, despite the fact that it offered so little prestige. This opening, despite being bracketed in parentheses, is of crucial importance in framing the story. The strange insistence on Knickerbocker's historical accuracy introduces questions about the difference between history and storytelling or folklore. The author admits that Knickerbocker did not use books or impartial sources, and that critics were at first very skeptical of the truth of Rip Van Winkle's story, and remain skeptical of its literary merit. The comical suggestion that cakes immortalize Knickerbocker reveals that he isn't well-respected, but also suggests that other forms of immortalization - like getting your face on a penny - are also sort of silly and not all that permanent either. That Knickerbocker enjoyed his research mirrors Rip's own philosophy of work: that it's less important for it to be profitable than for it to be done freely and happily. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Truth, History and Storytelling Theme Icon Labor vs. Productivity Theme Icon Knickerbocker's story opens with a poem by Cartwright about truth. He then proceeds to describe the "magical" beauty of the Catskills. He zeroes in on a small village at the foot of these mountains, where a good-natured man named Rip Van Winkle lives. Rip's greatest trouble is his wife, Dame Van Winkle, who is shrewish and constantly nagging Rip about hisbiggest weakness: that he can find no motivation to engage in profitable labor of any kind.Though he is happy to help on properties that are not his own, he avoids work on his own farm and his land is severely run down. His children are unruly, and his son, Rip Van Winkle Jr. is determined to grow up to be just like his father. His wife's lecturing is incessant, but Rip's response is always resigned: he shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head, and looks up to the sky. The initial juxtaposition of Cartwright's words about truth and Knickerbocker's description of the "magic" of the Catskills again complicates the notion of historical "accuracy." Can "history" incorporate folklore or mythology? What's more, we discover that much like Knickerbocker himself, Rip Van Winkle prefers and enjoys labor that is not profitable or held in high esteem. Though Rip cherishes his freedom, he does not actively rebel against his wife's control. He still lives as he wishes, however, and it is suggested that his habits (along with his name) are being passed down to his son. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Active vs. Passive Resistance Theme Icon Truth, History and Storytelling Theme Icon Labor vs. Productivity Theme Icon Change vs. Stasis Theme Icon The only way Rip can avoid his angry wife is to escape his home. Rip used to enjoy going to the inn and participating in idle talk with his neighbors. Much of the conversation is simple town gossip. But the schoolmaster Derrick Van Bummel is said to have facilitated many a meaningful discussion of politics and current events. He is a well-spoken and well-educated man who, when he happens to find an old newspaper, debates earnestly about the eventsdescribed within, months after they've taken place. The landlord of the inn is an old patriarch named Nicholas Vedder, who spends every day pursuing the shade of a large tree outside the inn: when the sun moves enough that the shady spot changes, Vedder moves with it. However, even this pleasant environment fails to protect Rip. Eventually his wife discovers him there and hounds him. The inn is a hotspot of unproductive labor. Lazy Nicholas Vedder spends his whole day pursuing, rather than profit or personal gain, the shade of the big tree. Even more notable is Derrick Van Bummel, who uses his considerable intelligence to debate about events that happened many months ago. Though the narrator notes how articulately and passionately Derrick spoke about the papers, the reader can understand that the exercise is ultimately useless. The inn is a place to avoid duty and productivity, where labor is enjoyable, not profitable. Dame Van Winkle's discovery of the inn therefore drives Rip to seek escape elsewhere. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Active vs. Passive Resistance Theme Icon Labor vs. Productivity Theme Icon Rip must now find a new sanctuary from his wife's berating. He takes to roaming the woods with his gun and his dog, Wolf. One day in autumn, he absently wanders high up in to the mountains while hunting squirrels. He is fatigued from the climb and sits down to rest in a scenic glen. He falls asleep. When he wakes, he seems to hear a voice calling his name and soon perceives a stranger standing on the trail, carrying a stout keg on his back. Rip is compelled to follow this stranger, though he can't say why. He helps the stranger carry the keg up to the top of a peak, where a group of men is playing a ghostly game of ninepins (a game similar to bowling). Rip notices their clothing is antiquated, traditionally Dutch garb, and that they seem to take no enjoyment out of their game. When they see Rip they stop playing, and silently direct Rip to pour the drink from the keg into flagons to serve the men. Rip is scared at first, but eventually calms down and even goes so far as to sneak a sip of the drink. He finds it so irresistible that he consumes a great deal of it and falls asleep. When Rip wakes up it is bright and sunny outside. The strangers on the mountain are gone, and there is no sign that they had ever been there. He fears that he has spent the entire night asleep on the mountain and dreads the inevitable fury of his wife. When he looks for his gun, all he can find is a rusty old one, and he believes someone swiped his gun and replaced it. Wolf is nowhere to be found. Strangest of all is that Rip's beard is now a foot long. Rip spends some time searching for his lost dog, but the terrain is strange to him and hunger eventually drives him down the mountain. Rip's disorientation in this scene begins to build a sense of strangeness and dread that contrasts with the bright and pretty natural surroundings. Rip's worries (about his wife) are quickly made to seem inconsequential in the face of these mysterious circumstances. While Rip is worrying about the same things he has always worried about (evading his wife's anger), the clues in his environment tell us—the readers—that something has changed even if Rip doesn't quite yet realize it. Active Themes Change vs. Stasis Theme Icon When Rip reaches his village at the base of the mountain, he notices that it seems more populous and the buildings more numerous. A group of children, none of whom are familiar to him, begin following him and pointing at his beard. He goes to his home, expecting at any moment to hear the shrill reprimand of Dame Van Winkle, but when he arrives, his usually tidy home has fallen into a state of utter disrepair. An old, emaciated dog resembling Wolf lurks around the yard, but does not recognize Rip and growls at him. The tension continues to climb as Rip slowly begins to register the dramatic changes that have taken place since his time on the mountain. His wife is gone, his dog is old and does not recognize him, and his house and property look as though they've been abandoned. The clash between expectations of sameness and evidence of dramatic change is coming to a head. Active Themes Change vs. Stasis Theme Icon Increasingly unsettled, Rip hurries to the old inn, but finds in its place an establishment called The Union Hotel. The portrait of King George III on the sign has been changed to a portrait of someone called General George Washington. Rip's panicked demeanor, ratty clothes and unkempt face draw attention from tavern politicians and townsfolk. They inquire about his intentions and wonder if he has come to interrupt the election. Utterly bewildered, Rip introduces himself as a native of the village and a loyal subject of the King. The response is an uproar from the villagers who accuse Rip of being a spy. The transformation of the inn is even more significant: it has changed from a place of idle unproductivity where lazy men talk over long-past news to a bustling political hub contemplating a coming election. Future elected President George Washington (unknown to Rip) now oversees the industrious activity of free citizens. Before, the face of Tyrant King George presided over the unproductiveactivities of the village men enjoying their leisure. The rage Rip incites when he declares himself a subject of the king definitively confirms his status as a strangeoutsider. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Active vs. Passive Resistance Theme Icon Labor vs. Productivity Theme Icon Change vs. Stasis Theme Icon The crowd is finally calmed enough to hear Rip's version of events. He offers to give the names of the neighbors he was searching for, and in doing so hears that Nicholas Vedder has been dead 18 years, that Brom Dutcher has died in the American Revolutionary War, that Derrick Van Bummel is now working in the American congress, and that he, Rip Van Winkle, has been missing for 20 years. His son is now grown, and a perfect likeness of himself. His wife has died after she burst a blood vessel in a fit of rage at a New England peddler. Rip cries in confusion but is comforted when a woman carrying a baby comes forward to get a look at him soon identifies herself as his daughter, Judith Gardenier. She is now grown and has an infant son, Rip Van Winkle III. Rip now accepts that he has been asleep for 20 years, and tells his incredible story to his remaining family and the village. The implications of Rip's sleep become increasingly clear. He has dozed peacefully through the American Revolution, while all of his friends are either dead or permanently changed by the war (such as Derrick Van Bummel who now works, productively, in Congress. Rip slept while his world utterly changed. Yet the comical death of Rip's wife means that Rip Van Winkle is freed (though through no action of his own) from more than one tyrant. And, even in the face of all this change, certain elements of stasis stand out: Rip's son is identical to his father, and the introduction of a third Rip Van Winkle suggests a kind of comforting indefinite continuity.Thus the hero's ultimate accomplishment is his ability to resist the drive to progress and change. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Active vs. Passive Resistance Theme Icon Labor vs. Productivity Theme Icon Change vs. Stasis Theme Icon The villagers wonder at his story, and are unsure whether or not to believe him. Eventually Rip's story is corroborated by the most ancient man in the village, Peter Vanderdonk. Vanderdonk recalls Rip Van Winkle from before his disappearance, and explains that the Catskill Mountains have long been haunted by Hendrick Hudson and the Half Moon crew. (Hudson was a Dutch explorer in the early 17th century who sailed up the river in New York that now bears his name. Later, he was mutinied by his crew and set adrift along with those loyal to him and never seen again.) Having been completely convinced of Rip's story's veracity, the villagers turn their attention back to the more important matter of the first presidential election in the newly minted United States of America. Once again, the issue of credibility is raised—the villagers question Rip's story in much the same way Knickerbocker's critics did. The corroboration offered by Vanderdonk, while meant to relieve doubts, raises even more questions for the reader, as his story involves the haunting of the Catskill mountains by a mutinied ship captain. (It should be noted that the mutiny of Hudson by his crew echoes the violent overthrow of King George III's rule by his citizens who then created the United States.) That it turns out that the villagers are happy to believe Rip and return to their work on the election, reminds us that this "history" is not merely factual—perhaps a nation's "history" must include more than factual details. Active Themes Tyranny vs. Freedom Theme Icon Active vs. Passive Resistance Theme Icon Truth, History and Storytelling Theme Icon Rip moves in with his daughter and lives out his days in leisure (as he did before, but without his wife's haranguing). Because of his advanced age, no one has any expectation that will perform any duties or chores. He tells his story daily at The Union Hotel, and though he initially varies on some details, he eventually becomes completely consistent. In a final note, Knickerbocker suggests those who doubt Rip's credibility are only pretending to doubt him, and assures the reader that the Dutch inhabitants of the Catskills are almost universally agreed on the story's truth.

Neighbour Rosicky

The story's main character is Anton Rosicky, a sixty-five-year-old immigrant from Bohemia who learns from Dr. Ed Burleigh that he has a bad heart. Burleigh recommends that Rosicky give up heavy chores. In this beginning segment, the reader learns through the doctor's own recollections that Rosicky is a husband with six children and an American daughter-in-law. Burleigh remembers dining at Rosicky's place once, and how kindhearted the man was, and still is. He muses about the fate of people like Rosicky, how though it seems like they never get ahead in life, they may actually lead more fulfilled lives than those who do "get ahead." The narrative then follows Rosicky's thoughts and actions as he reflects on the meaning of life itself, from his old home in Bohemia to the new one he has made on the Nebraska prairie. In the second section, Rosicky visits a graveyard while it is snowing outside, and muses on how the winter weather means that the animals, fields and farmers can all rest. He finally returns home and admits to his wife that he has received a dire prognosis. His wife then recalls that Rosicky has always been kind to her, and that the two get along so well because they believe in the same values. An anecdotal story, about how the couple refused to give their cream to a creamery because they wanted the cream to feed their own children instead of someone else's, rounds out the section. Rosicky takes the doctor's advice and relinquishes his heavier chores to his sons. In the third section, the reader finds him remembering earlier days when he arrived in New York City at the age of twenty. Rosicky managed to secure a job at a tailor's shop, but was not able to save money because he either gave it away or spent it on others. He also felt extremely restless, and it was not until the Fourth of July that he realized he was restless on account of the city itself. In the city, he had no connection to the earth. Rosicky determines to head West, and leaves New York for Nebraska when he turns thirty-five. In the next section, the reader learns that one of Rosicky's sons, Rudolph, rents a farm nearby. Rosicky is worried about Rudolph because he recently married Polly, an American woman who is used to living in the city and who now finds it difficult living on a farm. Rosicky is worried that, due to Polly's unhappiness, his son will move to the city with Polly and secure a job, thereby abandoning his farm life in favor of the city. Rosicky decides to give his son the family car so that he can take Polly into town that very evening. The next section finds the family together on Christmas Eve. Rosicky recounts how he was always hungry back in London, while Rudolph worries that if the winter is too harsh, the crops will not survive. It is then revealed that, one summer, the weather was indeed so bad that the family lost its crop. Instead of getting depressed, Rosicky had a picnic in the orchard. Rosicky then recalls a particularly harrowing time while in London, when he devoured half of a cooked goose that his landlady had hidden on his side of the room. When he finally realized what he had done, he ran out into the streets intent on replacing the goose. He finally met some well-to-do Czechs who gave him the money to replace the goose. It was a little after this event that Rosicky left for New York. Polly, who is genuinely moved by the stories she has heard, invites the family to their farm for New Year's dinner. In the last section, Rosicky muses about his children's happiness. When spring arrives, he goes to work in Rudolph's alfalfa fields, but the hard work is too much for him. He has another heart attack, and Polly, who calls him father for the first time in the story, rushes to his side. Rosicky then asks Polly if she is pregnant. Polly, who feels that no one has loved her as genuinely as Rosicky, assists Rudolph in taking Rosicky home, where he dies the next day. The story ends when Dr. Burleigh is driving by the graveyard where Rosicky is buried and thinks about the kindness of his neighbor, how fitting his life in the country had been and how he is right where he always wanted to be, in the open country. Cather's story addresses the pain of loss. Yet the story digs deeper to reveal the inevitability of death. As such, Rosicky's life of kindness and appreciation for the land is symbolic of how one should approach life and the inevitability of endings. Like Rosicky losing his crops one summer, loss is a part of life. Instead of sinking into despair, Rosicky has a picnic. This single act symbolizes how one's actions are important in determining how one views life. Some view it as a journey to amass unnecessary items, and Cather's story critiques this materialism as well, so rampant as it was in the 1920s. Others, like Rosicky and those "neighbors" he touched, are able to see how kindness and an appreciation for the earth holds just as many rewards as any city or shimmering trinket.

The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock

This poem, the earliest of Eliot's major works, was completed in 1910 or 1911 but not published until 1915. It is an examination of the tortured psyche of the prototypical modern man—overeducated, eloquent, neurotic, and emotionally stilted. Prufrock, the poem's speaker, seems to be addressing a potential lover, with whom he would like to "force the moment to its crisis" by somehow consummating their relationship. But Prufrock knows too much of life to "dare" an approach to the woman: In his mind he hears the comments others make about his inadequacies, and he chides himself for "presuming" emotional interaction could be possible at all. The poem moves from a series of fairly concrete (for Eliot) physical settings—a cityscape (the famous "patient etherised upon a table") and several interiors (women's arms in the lamplight, coffee spoons, fireplaces)—to a series of vague ocean images conveying Prufrock's emotional distance from the world as he comes to recognize his second-rate status ("I am not Prince Hamlet'). "Prufrock" is powerful for its range of intellectual reference and also for the vividness of character achieved. Form "Prufrock" is a variation on the dramatic monologue, a type of poem popular with Eliot's predecessors. Dramatic monologues are similar to soliloquies in plays. Three things characterize the dramatic monologue, according to M.H. Abrams. First, they are the utterances of a specific individual (not the poet) at a specific moment in time. Secondly, the monologue is specifically directed at a listener or listeners whose presence is not directly referenced but is merely suggested in the speaker's words. Third, the primary focus is the development and revelation of the speaker's character. Eliot modernizes the form by removing the implied listeners and focusing on Prufrock's interiority and isolation. The epigraph to this poem, from Dante's Inferno, describes Prufrock's ideal listener: one who is as lost as the speaker and will never betray to the world the content of Prufrock's present confessions. In the world Prufrock describes, though, no such sympathetic figure exists, and he must, therefore, be content with silent reflection. In its focus on character and its dramatic sensibility, "Prufrock" anticipates Eliot's later, dramatic works. Trending Articles Powered By The rhyme scheme of this poem is irregular but not random. While sections of the poem may resemble free verse, in reality, "Prufrock" is a carefully structured amalgamation of poetic forms. The bits and pieces of rhyme become much more apparent when the poem is read aloud. One of the most prominent formal characteristics of this work is the use of refrains. Prufrock's continual return to the "women [who] come and go / Talking of Michelangelo" and his recurrent questionings ("how should I presume?") and pessimistic appraisals ("That is not it, at all.") both reference an earlier poetic tradition and help Eliot describe the consciousness of a modern, neurotic individual. Prufrock's obsessiveness is aesthetic, but it is also a sign of compulsiveness and isolation. Another important formal feature is the use of fragments of sonnet form, particularly at the poem's conclusion. The three three-line stanzas are rhymed as the conclusion of a Petrarchan sonnet would be, but their pessimistic, anti-romantic content, coupled with the despairing interjection, "I do not think they (the mermaids) would sing to me," creates a contrast that comments bitterly on the bleakness of modernity.

Where I lived, and what I lived for

Thoreau recalls the several places where he nearly settled before selecting Walden Pond, all of them estates on a rather large scale. He quotes the Roman philosopher Cato's warning that it is best to consider buying a farm very carefully before signing the papers. He had been interested in the nearby Hollowell farm, despite the many improvements that needed to be made there, but, before a deed could be drawn, the owner's wife unexpectedly decided she wanted to keep the farm. Consequently, Thoreau gave up his claim on the property. Even though he had been prepared to farm a large tract, Thoreau realizes that this outcome may have been for the best. Forced to simplify his life, he concludes that it is best "as long as possible" to "live free and uncommitted." Thoreau takes to the woods, dreaming of an existence free of obligations and full of leisure. He proudly announces that he resides far from the post office and all the constraining social relationships the mail system represents. Ironically, this renunciation of legal deeds provides him with true ownership, paraphrasing a poet to the effect that "I am monarch of all I survey." Thoreau's delight in his new building project at Walden is more than merely the pride of a first-time homeowner; it is a grandly philosophic achievement in his mind, a symbol of his conquest of being. When Thoreau first moves into his dwelling on Independence Day, it gives him a proud sense of being a god on Olympus, even though the house still lacks a chimney and plastering. He claims that a paradise fit for gods is available everywhere, if one can perceive it: "Olympus is but the outside of the earth every where." Taking an optimistic view, he declares that his poorly insulated walls give his interior the benefit of fresh air on summer nights. He justifies its lack of carved ornament by declaring that it is better to carve "the very atmosphere" one thinks and feels in, in an artistry of the soul. It is for him an almost immaterial, heavenly house, "as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers." He prefers to reside here, sitting on his own humble wooden chair, than in some distant corner of the universe, "behind the constellation of Cassiopeia's Chair." He is free from time as well as from matter, announcing grandiosely that time is a river in which he goes fishing. He does not view himself as the slave of time; rather he makes it seem as though he is choosing to participate in the flow of time whenever and however he chooses, like a god living in eternity. He concludes on a sermonizing note, urging all of us to sludge through our existence until we hit rock bottom and can gauge truth on what he terms our "Realometer," our means of measuring the reality of things

From Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, life among the lowly

Uncle Tom's Cabin opens as Mr. Shelby and a slave trader, Mr. Haley, discuss how many slaves Mr. Shelby will need to sell in order to clear up his debt. Despite his misgivings, Mr. Shelby decides to sell Tom, a faithful and honest man, and Harry, the son of his wife's favorite slave, Eliza. Eliza overhears that her son has been sold and makes a split-second decision to take him and run away to Canada that very night. Earlier that day, her husband, George Harris, had let her know that he planned to leave his own master, and she hopes they will both be able to escape and reunite in Canada. As Eliza takes off, the slave trader Mr. Hadley follows her and almost catches her. She escapes into Ohio by crossing a river on a piece of floating ice. Mr. Haley sends slave catchers after her, and returns to collect his remaining property, Tom. Tom chooses not to run because he knows his master (at this point, Mr. Shelby) relies on his honesty. Tom and Mr. Haley leave for the South. En route, Tom saves a little girl from drowning. The girl's father decides to buy Tom to be his daughter's personal servant. Tom has lucked out (insofar as being sold can be called lucky) because the girl's father, Augustine St. Clare, treats his slaves relatively well. The little girl, Eva, is also a sweet child, devoted to her servants and family. Unfortunately, the mother, Marie St. Clare, is a more typical slave owner and runs her slaves ragged as they try to satisfy her endless demands. Tom grows fond of little Eva. They discuss their mutual Christian faith on a daily basis. Eva even transforms the life of a hardened young slave girl named Topsy, and begins to teach another slave, Mammy, to read. When it is clear that Eva is ill and going to die, she calls all the slaves together to give them a speech about God's love (and her love) for them. She gives each slave one of her blonde curls so they will remember her. Then she dies of consumption (known now as tuberculosis). Meanwhile, Eliza and her husband George are reunited in a Quaker camp. From there, they escape to Canada successfully, though not without a couple of run-ins with slave catchers on the way. Back at St. Clare household, Augustine St. Clare is heartbroken at his daughter Eva's death, as are all the slaves. St. Clare promises Tom his freedom but, before he finishes making out the papers, he is killed in a barroom brawl. Tom is sold at auction, along with many of the other St. Clare slaves. Tom's new master is Simon Legree, an evil and violent man who works his slaves until they die, then buys new ones cheaply in a never-ending cycle. Despite Legree's treatment, Tom maintains his honest, kind behavior. Legree does his worst to "harden" Tom so that he can use Tom as an overseer on the plantation, but Tom refuses to change no matter how hard or how often Legree beats him. When Tom encourages two female slaves, whom Legree uses as prostitutes, to escape, Legree beats Tom to death. It takes a few days for him to die, however, and in the meantime, his old master's son, George Shelby, arrives to emancipate (or free) Tom - too late. Instead, "Master" George buries Tom then leaves. The two female slaves who escaped Legree's house, Cassy and Emmeline, end up on the same ship as George Shelby. Cassy confesses her story to him, realizing that George's heart is soft towards the plight of escaping slaves. Another woman on the ship soon confesses her story to George as well, and it turns out that she is George Harris's sister, sold south into slavery many years earlier. George Shelby relates that George Harris married Eliza and they both escaped to Canada. Cassy, overhearing the story, puts two and two together and realizes that Eliza is her own daughter, who was taken from her many years before. The two women travel to Canada together and are reunited with their families. Although Tom's life ended in tragedy, there is much happiness among these slaves who survived and escaped the trials and tribulations of slavery, either through emancipation or by fleeing to Canada.

Walden, or Life in the woods

Walden opens with a simple announcement that Thoreau spent two years in Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts, living a simple life supported by no one. He says that he now resides among the civilized again; the episode was clearly both experimental and temporary. The first chapter, "Economy," is a manifesto of social thought and meditations on domestic management, and in it Thoreau sketches out his ideals as he describes his pond project. He devotes attention to the skepticism and wonderment with which townspeople had greeted news of his project, and he defends himself from their views that society is the only place to live. He recounts the circumstances of his move to Walden Pond, along with a detailed account of the steps he took to construct his rustic habitation and the methods by which he supported himself in the course of his wilderness experiment. It is a chapter full of facts, figures, and practical advice, but also offers big ideas about the claims of individualism versus social existence, all interspersed with evidence of scholarship and a propensity for humor. Thoreau tells us that he completed his cabin in the spring of 1845 and moved in on July 4 of that year. Most of the materials and tools he used to build his home he borrowed or scrounged from previous sites. The land he squats on belongs to his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson; he details a cost-analysis of the entire construction project. In order to make a little money, Thoreau cultivates a modest bean-field, a job that tends to occupy his mornings. He reserves his afternoons and evenings for contemplation, reading, and walking about the countryside. Endorsing the values of austerity, simplicity, and solitude, Thoreau consistently emphasizes the minimalism of his lifestyle and the contentment to be derived from it. He repeatedly contrasts his own freedom with the imprisonment of others who devote their lives to material prosperity. Despite his isolation, Thoreau feels the presence of society surrounding him. The Fitchburg Railroad rushes past Walden Pond, interrupting his reveries and forcing him to contemplate the power of technology. Thoreau also finds occasion to converse with a wide range of other people, such as the occasional peasant farmer, railroad worker, or the odd visitor to Walden. He describes in some detail his association with a Canadian-born woodcutter, Alex Therien, who is grand and sincere in his character, though modest in intellectual attainments. Thoreau makes frequent trips into Concord to seek the society of his longtime friends and to conduct what scattered business the season demands. On one such trip, Thoreau spends a night in jail for refusing to pay a poll tax because, he says, the government supports slavery. Released the next day, Thoreau returns to Walden. Thoreau devotes great attention to nature, the passing of the seasons, and the creatures with which he shares the woods. He recounts the habits of a panoply of animals, from woodchucks to partridges. Some he endows with a larger meaning, often spiritual or psychological. The hooting loon that plays hide and seek with Thoreau, for instance, becomes a symbol of the playfulness of nature and its divine laughter at human endeavors. Another example of animal symbolism is the full-fledged ant war that Thoreau stumbles upon, prompting him to meditate on human warfare. Thoreau's interest in animals is not exactly like the naturalist's or zoologist's. He does not observe and describe them neutrally and scientifically, but gives them a moral and philosophical significance, as if each has a distinctive lesson to teach him. As autumn turns to winter, Thoreau begins preparations for the arrival of the cold. He listens to the squirrel, the rabbit, and the fox as they scuttle about gathering food. He watches the migrating birds, and welcomes the pests that infest his cabin as they escape the coming frosts. He prepares his walls with plaster to shut out the wind. By day he makes a study of the snow and ice, giving special attention to the mystic blue ice of Walden Pond, and by night he sits and listens to the wind as it whips and whistles outside his door. Thoreau occasionally sees ice-fishermen come to cut out huge blocks that are shipped off to cities, and contemplates how most of the ice will melt and flow back to Walden Pond. Occasionally Thoreau receives a visit from a friend like William Ellery Channing or Amos Bronson Alcott, but for the most part he is alone. In one chapter, he conjures up visions of earlier residents of Walden Pond long dead and largely forgotten, including poor tradesmen and former slaves. Thoreau prefers to see himself in their company, rather than amid the cultivated and wealthy classes. As he becomes acquainted with Walden Pond and neighboring ponds, Thoreau wants to map their layout and measure their depths. Thoreau finds that Walden Pond is no more than a hundred feet deep, thereby refuting common folk wisdom that it is bottomless. He meditates on the pond as a symbol of infinity that people need in their lives. Eventually winter gives way to spring, and with a huge crash and roar the ice of Walden Pond begins to melt and hit the shore. In lyric imagery echoing the onset of Judgment Day, Thoreau describes the coming of spring as a vast transformation of the face of the world, a time when all sins are forgiven. Thoreau announces that his project at the pond is over, and that he returned to civilized life on September 6, 1847. The revitalization of the landscape suggests the restoration of the full powers of the human soul, and Thoreau's narrative observations give way, in the last chapter of Walden, to a more direct sermonizing about the untapped potential within humanity. In visionary language, Thoreau exhorts us to "meet" our lives and live fully.

Barn burning

Young Colonel Sartoris Snopes crouches on a keg in the back of the store that doubles for the town court. He cannot see the table where his father and his father's opponent, Mr. Harris, are seated. The justice of the peace asks Mr. Harris for proof that Mr. Snopes burned his barn. Mr. Harris describes the numerous times Snopes's hog broke through the fence and got into his cornfields. The final time, when Mr. Harris demanded a dollar for the animal's return, the black man who was sent to fetch the hog gave Mr. Harris an ominous warning that wood and hay are combustible. Later that night, fire claimed Mr. Harris's barn. While the judge claims that that by itself isn't proof, Mr. Harris has Sartoris called to testify before the court. The boy knows his father is expecting him to lie on his behalf. After doing so, the judge asks Mr. Harris whether he wants the child cross-examined, but Mr. Harris snarls to have the boy removed. The judge dismisses the charges against Snopes but warns him to leave the county for good, and Snopes agrees to comply. Snopes and his two sons then leave the store and head to their wagon. A child in the crowd accuses them of being barn burners and strikes Sartoris, knocking him down. Snopes orders Sartoris into the wagon, which is laden with their possessions and where his two sisters, mother, and aunt are waiting. Snopes prevents his crying wife from cleaning Sartoris's bloodied face. That night, the family camps around the father's typically small fire. Snopes wakes Sartoris and takes him onto the dark road, where he accuses him of planning to inform the judge of his guilt in the arson case. Snopes strikes Sartoris on the head and tells him he must always remain loyal to his family. The next day, the family arrives at its new home and begins unloading the wagon. Snopes takes Sartoris to the house of Major de Spain, the owner on whose land the family will work. Despite the servant's protests, Snopes tracks horse manure into the opulent house, leaving only when Miss Lula asks him to. He resentfully remarks that the home was built by slave labor. Two hours later, the servant drops off the rug that Snopes had soiled and instructs him to clean and return it. Snopes supervises as the two sisters reluctantly clean the carpet with lye, and he uses a jagged stone to work the surface of the expensive rug. After dinner, the family retires to their sleeping areas. Snopes forces Sartoris to fetch the mule and ride along with him to return the cleaned rug. At the house, Snopes flings the rug onto the floor after loudly kicking at the door several times. The next morning, as Sartoris and Snopes prepare the mules for plowing, de Spain arrives on horseback to inform them that the rug was ruined from improper cleaning. In lieu of the hundred-dollar replacement fee, the major says Snopes will be charged twenty additional bushels of corn. Sartoris defends Snopes's actions, telling him that he did the best he could with the soiled carpet and that they will refuse to supply the extra crops. Snopes puts Sartoris back to work, and the following days are consumed with the constant labor of working their acreage. Sartoris hopes that Snopes will turn once and for all from his destructive impulses. The next weekend, Snopes and his two sons head once again to a court appearance at the country store, where the well-dressed de Spain is in attendance. Sartoris attempts to defend Snopes, saying that he never burned the barn, but Snopes orders him back to the wagon. The judge mistakenly thinks the rug was burned in addition to being soiled and destroyed. He rules that Snopes must pay ten extra bushels of corn when the crop comes due, and court is adjourned. After a trip to the blacksmith's shop for wagon repairs, a light meal in front of the general store, and a trip to a corral where horses are displayed and sold, Snopes and his sons return home after sundown. Despite his wife's protests, Snopes empties the kerosene from the lamp back into its five-gallon container and secures a lit candle stub in the neck of a bottle. Snopes orders Sartoris to fetch the oil. He obeys but fantasizes about running away. He tries to dissuade Snopes, but Snopes grabs Sartoris by the collar and orders his wife to restrain him. Sartoris escapes his mother's clutches and runs to the de Spain house, bursting in on the startled servant. Breathlessly, he blurts out the word Barn! Sartoris runs desperately down the road, moving aside as the major's horse comes thundering by him. Three shots ring out and Snope is killed, his plan to burn de Spain's barn thwarted. At midnight, Sartoris sits on a hill. Stiff and cold, he hears the whippoorwills and heads down the hill to the dark woods, not pausing to look back.

The leader of the people

Billy Buck is gathering the last of the year's hay. Jody suggests that he and the dogs ought to chase out the mice that are no doubt inhabiting it. Carl Tiflin appears on the ridge, a letter in hand. It is from Jody's grandfather, on his mother's side. His mother reads it; Jody's grandfather is traveling from Monterey to stay for a while. Jody's father is angry, and complains that all the grandfather does is talk. He and Jody's mother are about to quarrel, and Jody is sent out from the house, although he continues to listen from the window. Carl complains that the grandfather does nothing but complain about how when he was leading a wagon train across the Great Plains, Indians chased off their horses. Jody's mother retorts that crossing the plains was the one big thing in her father's life. Jody's father is frustrated and walks out of the house. Jody quickly sets about his chores. Jody walks up the road to meet his grandfather, who is coming that day—the letter was late in arriving. Eventually, he sees a cart. He waits for a while then runs toward it once it's close, slowing to a more dignified walk at the last moment. His grandfather is walking, leading the horse, stepping with gravity, and wearing old fashion clothes. Jody immediately asks him to help with the mouse hunt he's planning for the haystack. The family comes out to meet the grandfather. Billy in particular respects the grandfather, as the grandfather respects him for being one of the few of the "younger generation" that has not gone soft. The family sits down to dinner. Jody's grandfather immediately makes reference to his wagon train days, mentioning how hungry he would get on the trail. He repeats things he has already said about Billy Buck's father, Mule-Tail Buck. He talks on and on. When the rest of the family finishes the meal and is ready for dinner, grandfather's plate is still full. Carl Tiflin interrupts him to suggest he finish his meat. After dinner, when the grandfather begins to tell the story about how the Indians stole the wagon train's horses, Carl remarks that they've heard the story, but he feels his wife's anger and asks the grandfather to tell the story anyway. Jody senses how the grandfather must feel, knowing himself what it feels like to be deflated by Carl Tiflin. Soon the family breaks up to go to bed, and Jody lays awake thinking about buffalo on the Great Plains. The next morning, Jody wakes early to get a stick to use to beat the mice out of the haystack. Seeing Billy, Jody remarks that the mice have no idea what is going to happen to them. Billy replies that no one knows what is coming. The two go in to breakfast; the grandfather is not there yet, as he takes a long time to get dressed and brush his whiskers. Jody's father begins to openly complain about the grandfather, saying that he needs to realize that westward expansion is over. Suddenly, the grandfather appears in the doorway. He has heard everything. Carl immediately apologizes, and Jody looks in shame at his mother. It is not every day that Carl Tiflin takes back something he has said. Jody imagines that it is tearing him apart. The grandfather urges him not to apologize, saying that he might be right. Trending Articles Powered By After his father leaves, Jody nervously asks his grandfather to tell more stories, but his grandfather replies that he is not sure whether anyone wants to hear them. Jody wants to go hunt the mice with his grandfather, but his grandfather would rather sit on the porch. Jody goes to beat out the mice, but loses interest and returns to the porch. He sits for a long time, until suddenly his grandfather begins to talk. He says that he's no longer sure whether crossing the plains was worth it, and that what really mattered was not getting anywhere in particular, but simply moving, in a snake-like line of humans. It was important to him to be the leader of the people. Jody says maybe someday he too can be a leader of the people, but his grandfather replies that there's no territory left to explore. His father is right; every place that could be explored has already been explored. This saddens Jody, and he offers to make his grandfather lemonade. At first his grandfather is going to refuse, but he sees that Jody wants to comfort him and accepts.

From Up from slavery

Chapter 14 begins at the Atlanta Exposition shortly before Booker's address, which opened with a short introduction from Governor Bullock, who after several others spoke, introduced Booker with these words: "We have with us today a representative of Negro enterprise and Negro civilization." When Booker stood up to speak, there was a large amount of cheering, especially from the black people. Booker remembered only that when he stood up the uppermost thing on his mind was to say something that would cement the friendship of the races, and inspire friendly cooperation between them. Booker began his address by commenting on how one third of the population of the South was black, and how none seeking their material, civil or moral welfare, can disregard that element of their population and be successful. Booker's speech was about how a "new heaven and a new earth" could be brought to the South, by "blotting out sectional differences, racial animosities and suspicions, in a determination to administer absolute justice,in a wiling obedience among all classes to the mandates of law". Booker told the reader the first thing he remembered after finishing his address was that Governor Bullock raced across the stage to grab him by the hand, as did many others. The newspapers across the States published the address in its entirety. Clark Howell, editor of the Atlanta Constitution wrote a glowing review which he telegraphed to a New York newspaper. The Boston Telegraph said his speech "dwarfed all the other proceedings and the Exposition itself." Very soon Booker started to receive invitations from lecture bureaus, and magazine and newspaper editors to take the lecture platform and to write articles for them. Several days after he spoke he sent a transcript to President Grover Cleveland. Later during the Exposition, Booker met Grover Cleveland, during the one hour Cleveland spent at the black section, and Booker was very impressed by him. Overall, his speech gave him fame, and recognition. However, some black people thought Booker didn't speak enough about the rights of his race, but eventually they were "won over" to Booker's way of thinking. While Booker was writing of public sentiment, he recalled when Dr. Lyman Abbot,then pastor of Plymouth Church and publisher of the Christian Union, asked him to write a letter for his newsletter giving his opinion of the exact moral and mental condition of the black ministers of the South. Booker's letter painted a rather dark one, although he defended it by saying that a race a few years out of slavery had no time to produce a competent ministry. Many black ministers began to condemn Booker, and warned parents against sending their children to Tuskegee. Eventually people realized Booker was right, and one Methodist bishop even said his statements were too mild. Booker tells the reader, without being arrogant, that his letter started a demand for a higher type of man in the pulpit. Booker goes on to tell the reader of the advancement of the black man, and one very important step voting is, and concludes the chapter by saying he believes in universal, free suffrage, and that any test one must pass to vote should apply with "equal and exact justice to both races".

The Gilded six-bits

"The Gilded Six-Bits" begins with a snapshot of Eatonville and the house where Missie May and Joe live. When we're first introduced to Missie May, she's bathing herself in the tub. She realizes it's getting late and that her husband, Joe will be home soon: "Joe gointer be heah 'fore Ah git mah clothes on if Ah don't make haste." (6) Before she can get her slippers on Joe comes home and they play fight, a ritual that takes place every Saturday. After some cute roughhousing, Joe cleans up and they sit down for a spread of southern goodies. Joe announces he wants to take Missie out for ice cream, a new place run by a rich, northern African-American man, "Mister Otis D. Slemmons, of spots and places." (35) Like a school kid with a crush, Joe can't stop talking about Slemmons. Joe and Missie go to the ice cream parlor several times and Missie happily plays trophy wife. Unfortunately, the story takes a disastrous turn when Slemmons starts chasing after her, promising money in exchange for sex. One night after getting off work early, Joe discovers his wife in bed with Slemmons and his happy home turns sour. Joe becomes cold and distant, until he realizes Missie is pregnant. Of course, the question is, who's the daddy? Not until the end do we find out and when we do, we're able to breathe a huge sigh of relief—and so can Joe.

From letters from an American Farmer

1. Part one: The author imagines himself an Englishman who has come to settle in America (in 1783). Through the eyes of this English settler, the author describes what he would see upon coming to America and how different it would be from Europe. Unlike in Europe, America has a far smaller gap between rich and poor and titles, based on class and honor, (such as prince, duke or lord) are non-existent. For the most part the people living in America are farmers and live in comfortable but modest houses. It is clear from the author's words that he thinks America is great place to live. 2. Part two: Describes the mixture of people who have settled in America. As immigrants from England, Scotland, France, Holland, Germany and Sweden pour into America, the country has become a melting pot of many different cultures. Struggling to make ends meet, people have come to America from their respective countries in Europe in search of a better opportunity and a new life where they might be able to be treated fairly and regarded as citizens under the law (unlike in their old countries). Since many of these immigrants left their countries due to poverty or persecution, they have no attachment to their previous homes and consider themselves to be truly American. 3. Part three: The author defines exactly what it means to be an American. According to his definition an American is a European or a descendent of an European. Therefore, America is the only place in the world where a person may have parents and grandparents all from different cultural backgrounds. The author then goes on to say that an American is one who has given up the old for the new and is motivated by hard work and opportunity to improve his life.

Editha

An impressionable young woman, Editha bases her sentimental views about war on the yellow journalism that she reads in the current newspapers. She insists that her fiancé, George Gearson, a conscientious objector, fight in the Spanish-American War. She is ecstatic that war is being declared and cannot understand his dislike for war and his unwillingness to fight in a war. She believes that a man who wants to win her must do something to deserve her. Now is his chance, because the Spanish-American War has been declared. Editha joyfully repeats jingoistic newspaper phrases to George, but he remains ironic, thoughtful, and rational. When George leaves Editha's presence after war has been declared, Editha's mother says that she hopes that George will not enlist, but Editha hopes that he will. Editha puts her engagement ring and various mementos into a package with a letter to George telling him to keep them until he enlists. She decides to keep the package for a while in case George does the right thing. George returns to the Balcom household that evening with the news that he has led the prowar speakers at the town meeting and will be the captain of the local volunteers. Editha gives George her letter as he leaves, to show him how serious she is about the war. She tells him that war is in the order of Providence: There are no two sides about war; there is nothing now but their country. George remains silent after Editha's words, musing and pensive....

The Tell-Tale Heart

An unnamed narrator opens the story by addressing the reader and claiming that he is nervous but not mad. He says that he is going to tell a story in which he will defend his sanity yet confess to having killed an old man. His motivation was neither passion nor desire for money, but rather a fear of the man's pale blue eye. Again, he insists that he is not crazy because his cool and measured actions, though criminal, are not those of a madman. Every night, he went to the old man's apartment and secretly observed the man sleeping. In the morning, he would behave as if everything were normal. After a week of this activity, the narrator decides, somewhat randomly, that the time is right actually to kill the old man. When the narrator arrives late on the eighth night, though, the old man wakes up and cries out. The narrator remains still, stalking the old man as he sits awake and frightened. The narrator understands how frightened the old man is, having also experienced the lonely terrors of the night. Soon, the narrator hears a dull pounding that he interprets as the old man's terrified heartbeat. Worried that a neighbor might hear the loud thumping, he attacks and kills the old man. He then dismembers the body and hides the pieces below the floorboards in the bedroom. He is careful not to leave even a drop of blood on the floor. As he finishes his job, a clock strikes the hour of four. At the same time, the narrator hears a knock at the street door. The police have arrived, having been called by a neighbor who heard the old man shriek. The narrator is careful to be chatty and to appear normal. He leads the officers all over the house without acting suspiciously. At the height of his bravado, he even brings them into the old man's bedroom to sit down and talk at the scene of the crime. The policemen do not suspect a thing. The narrator is comfortable until he starts to hear a low thumping sound. He recognizes the low sound as the heart of the old man, pounding away beneath the floorboards. He panics, believing that the policemen must also hear the sound and know his guilt. Driven mad by the idea that they are mocking his agony with their pleasant chatter, he confesses to the crime and shrieks at the men to rip up the floorboards.

The Birth-Mark

Aylmer is a late 18th-century scientist who is totally and completely committed to his work. His entire life has been about figuring out the way that nature works, to the detriment of his personal and social life. However, just recently, he has put down his test tubes long enough to marry a beautiful woman, Georgiana. Now, Georgiana is distinctive in that she has a small red birthmark on her cheek in the shape of a tiny hand. Most men who pursued her found the birthmark attractive; some catty women said that it messed up an otherwise perfect face. Georgiana has always liked it, until Aylmer brings up the topic one day soon after their marriage. He doesn't like the birthmark; he thinks Georgiana would be perfect if it were removed. Georgiana falls completely to pieces. Because Aylmer thinks the birthmark is ugly, she now thinks herself ugly, and both partners become increasingly unhappy in their marriage. In Aylmer's mind, the birthmark becomes the symbol of human imperfection. Some time later, Aylmer tells his wife of a dream he had, in which he tried to surgically remove the birthmark. The deeper he cut, he explains, the deeper the birthmark went, until it was a part of Georgiana's very heart. In the dream, he wanted to keep cutting through her heart to get it out. Georgiana is so upset by this dream that she tells Aylmer to figure out a way to get rid of the birthmark. Aylmer has already been working on such a plan. He takes Georgiana into his laboratory, where he has set up a special room for her to hang out while he devises an elixir with which to remove the birthmark. In the laboratory we meet Aminadab, Aylmer's assistant, who is stocky and earthly in contrast to the spiritual and lofty Aylmer. When the elixir is finally ready, Aylmer brings it to his wife, who drinks it and falls asleep. Sure enough, the birthmark fades almost entirely from her face. Aminadab laughs at the outcome rather cryptically. Sadly, Georgiana wakes up, she tells Aylmer that she is dying. Then, as we might expect, she dies. Aminadab laughs again, which we have to say is rather untactful. The narrator then takes over for the conclusion to tell us that Georgiana couldn't live as a perfect being, since human beings are necessarily imperfect. Also, he says, Aylmer is kind of an idiot for throwing away a good thing (a good thing being the beautiful woman who is now perfect, but also dead).

The open boat

It is just before dawn, and not far off the coast of Florida, between the open sea and the surf, are four men in a dinghy. The ship on which they were sailing sank overnight, and they are the only survivors, left to bob up and down in the waves until their bathtub-sized boat capsizes and they too drown. They do not have a moment's peace. The ocean is so rough that one indelicate move will upset the dinghy and send them into the winter waters. Each man, despite not having slept for two days, works tirelessly to keep the boat afloat. The correspondent and the oiler share the work of rowing, while the cook huddles on the floor of the dinghy, bailing water. These men take their direction from the captain, who was injured during the shipwreck and sits grimly in the bow, the memory still fresh of his ship engulfed in the sea and the crew's dead faces in the water. As day breaks and the cook and correspondent bicker about being rescued, the men begin to make progress toward the shore. Fighting hopelessness, they row silently. Gulls fly overhead and perch on the water. The gulls are at ease on the ocean, so much so that one lands on the captain's head. The men see this as a sinister, insulting gesture, but the captain cannot swat the bird off because the sudden movement would likely topple the boat. Eventually, the captain shoos the bird away, and they go on rowing until the captain sees a lighthouse in the distance. Although the cook expresses reservation that the nearby lifesaving station has been abandoned for more than a year, the crew heartens at approaching land, almost taking pleasure in the brotherhood that they have formed and in attending to the business of the sea. The correspondent even finds four dry cigars in a pocket, which he shares with the others. The men's optimism evaporates when, approaching land yet unable to master the turbulent surf, they realize that help isn't coming. They again make for the open sea, exhausted and bitter. Another sign of hope comes when the captain sees a man on shore. Each crew member looks for signs of hope in the man's gestures. They think the man sees them. Then they think they see two men, then a crowd and perhaps a boat being rolled down to the shore. They stubbornly think that help is on the way as the shadows lengthen and the sea and sky turn black. During the night, the men forget about being saved and attend to the business of the boat. The correspondent and oiler, exhausted from rowing, plan to alternate throughout the night. But they get tired in the early hours of the morning, and the cook helps out. For the most part, the correspondent rows alone, wondering how he can have come so far if he is only going to drown. Rowing through phosphorescence and alongside a monstrous shark, the correspondent thinks of a poem he learned in childhood about a soldier dying in a distant land, never to return home. When morning comes, the captain suggests that they try to run the surf while they still have enough energy. They take the boat shoreward until it capsizes, and then they all make a break for it in the icy water. The oiler leads the group, while the cook and correspondent swim more slowly and the captain holds onto the keel of the overturned dinghy. With the help of a life preserver, the correspondent makes good progress, until he is caught in a current that forces him to back to the boat. Before he can reach the dinghy, a wave hurls him to shallower water, where he is saved by a man who has appeared on shore and plunged into the sea to save the crew. On land, the correspondent drifts in and out of consciousness, but as he regains his senses, he sees a large number of people on the shore with rescue gear. He learns that the captain and cook have been saved but the oiler has died.

The Raven

It's late at night, and late in the year (after midnight on a December evening, to be precise). A man is sitting in his room, half reading, half falling asleep, and trying to forget his lost love, Lenore. Suddenly, he hears someone (or something) knocking at the door. He calls out, apologizing to the "visitor" he imagines must be outside. Then he opens the door and finds...nothing. This freaks him out a little, and he reassures himself that it is just the wind against the window. So he goes and opens the window, and in flies (you guessed it) a raven. The Raven settles in on a statue above the door, and for some reason, our speaker's first instinct is to talk to it. He asks for its name, just like you usually do with strange birds that fly into your house, right? Amazingly enough, though, the Raven answers back, with a single word: "Nevermore." Understandably surprised, the man asks more questions. The bird's vocabulary turns out to be pretty limited, though; all it says is "Nevermore." Our narrator catches on to this rather slowly and asks more and more questions, which get more painful and personal. The Raven, though, doesn't change his story, and the poor speaker starts to lose his sanity.

The story of an hour

Louise Mallard has heart trouble, so she must be informed carefully about her husband's death. Her sister, Josephine, tells her the news. Louise's husband's friend, Richards, learned about a railroad disaster when he was in the newspaper office and saw Louise's husband, Brently, on the list of those killed. Louise begins sobbing when Josephine tells her of Brently's death and goes upstairs to be alone in her room. Louise sits down and looks out an open window. She sees trees, smells approaching rain, and hears a peddler yelling out what he's selling. She hears someone singing as well as the sounds of sparrows, and there are fluffy white clouds in the sky. She is young, with lines around her eyes. Still crying, she gazes into the distance. She feels apprehensive and tries to suppress the building emotions within her, but can't. She begins repeating the word Free! to herself over and over again. Her heart beats quickly, and she feels very warm. Louise knows she'll cry again when she sees Brently's corpse. His hands were tender, and he always looked at her lovingly. But then she imagines the years ahead, which belong only to her now, and spreads her arms out joyfully with anticipation. She will be free, on her own without anyone to oppress her. She thinks that all women and men oppress one another even if they do it out of kindness. Louise knows that she often felt love for Brently but tells herself that none of that matters anymore. She feels ecstatic with her newfound sense of independence. Josephine comes to her door, begging Louise to come out, warning her that she'll get sick if she doesn't. Louise tells her to go away. She fantasizes about all the days and years ahead and hopes that she lives a long life. Then she opens the door, and she and Josephine start walking down the stairs, where Richards is waiting. The front door unexpectedly opens, and Brently comes in. He hadn't been in the train accident or even aware that one had happened. Josephine screams, and Richards tries unsuccessfully to block Louise from seeing him. Doctors arrive and pronounce that Louise died of a heart attack brought on by happiness.

Nature

Nature is divided into an introduction and eight chapters. In the Introduction, Emerson laments the current tendency to accept the knowledge and traditions of the past instead of experiencing God and nature directly, in the present. He asserts that all our questions about the order of the universe — about the relationships between God, man, and nature — may be answered by our experience of life and by the world around us. Each individual is a manifestation of creation and as such holds the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe. Nature, too, is both an expression of the divine and a means of understanding it. The goal of science is to provide a theory of nature, but man has not yet attained a truth broad enough to comprehend all of nature's forms and phenomena. Emerson identifies nature and spirit as the components of the universe. He defines nature (the "NOT ME") as everything separate from the inner individual — nature, art, other men, our own bodies. In common usage, nature refers to the material world unchanged by man. Art is nature in combination with the will of man. Emerson explains that he will use the word "nature" in both its common and its philosophical meanings in the essay. At the beginning of Chapter I, Emerson describes true solitude as going out into nature and leaving behind all preoccupying activities as well as society. When a man gazes at the stars, he becomes aware of his own separateness from the material world. The stars were made to allow him to perceive the "perpetual presence of the sublime." Visible every night, they demonstrate that God is ever-present. They never lose their power to move us. We retain our original sense of wonder even when viewing familiar aspects of nature anew. Emerson discusses the poetical approach to nature — the perception of the encompassing whole made up of many individual components. Our delight in the landscape, which is made up of many particular forms, provides an example of this integrated vision. Unlike children, most adults have lost the ability to see the world in this way. In order to experience awe in the presence of nature, we need to approach it with a balance between our inner and our outer senses. Nature so approached is a part of man, and even when bleak and stormy is capable of elevating his mood. All aspects of nature correspond to some state of mind. Nature offers perpetual youth and joy, and counteracts whatever misfortune befalls an individual. The visionary man may lose himself in it, may become a receptive "transparent eyeball" through which the "Universal Being" transmits itself into his consciousness and makes him sense his oneness with God. In nature, which is also a part of God, man finds qualities parallel to his own. There is a special relationship, a sympathy, between man and nature. But by itself, nature does not provide the pleasure that comes of perceiving this relationship. Such satisfaction is a product of a particular harmony between man's inner processes and the outer world. The way we react to nature depends upon our state of mind in approaching it. In the next four chapters — "Commodity," "Beauty," "Language," and "Discipline" — Emerson discusses the ways in which man employs nature ultimately to achieve insight into the workings of the universe. In Chapter II, "Commodity," he treats the most basic uses of nature — for heat, food, water, shelter, and transportation. Although he ranks these as low uses, and states that they are the only applications that most men have for nature, they are perfect and appropriate in their own way. Moreover, man harnesses nature through the practical arts, thereby enhancing its usefulness through his own wit. Emerson quickly finishes with nature as a commodity, stating that "A man is fed, not that he may be fed, but that he may work," and turns to higher uses. In Chapter III, "Beauty," Emerson examines nature's satisfaction of a nobler human requirement, the desire for beauty. The perception of nature's beauty lies partly in the structure of the eye itself, and in the laws of light. The two together offer a unified vision of many separate objects as a pleasing whole — "a well-colored and shaded globe," a landscape "round and symmetrical." Every object in nature has its own beauty, which is magnified when perspective allows comprehensive vision of the whole. Emerson presents three properties of natural beauty. First, nature restores and gives simple pleasure to a man. It reinvigorates the overworked, and imparts a sense of well-being and of communion with the universe. Nature pleases even in its harsher moments. The same landscape viewed in different weather and seasons is seen as if for the first time. But we cannot capture natural beauty if we too actively and consciously seek it. We must rather submit ourselves to it, allowing it to react to us spontaneously, as we go about our lives. Secondly, nature works together with the spiritual element in man to enhance the nobility of virtuous and heroic human actions. There is a particular affinity between the processes of nature and the capabilities of man. Nature provides a suitably large and impressive background against which man's higher actions are dramatically outlined. Thirdly, Emerson points out the capacity of natural beauty to stimulate the human intellect, which uses nature to grasp the divine order of the universe. Because action follows upon reflection, nature's beauty is visualized in the mind, and expressed through creative action. The love of beauty constitutes taste; its creative expression, art. A work of art — "the result or expression of nature, in miniature" — demonstrates man's particular powers. Man apprehends wholeness in the multiplicity of natural forms and conveys these forms in their totality. The poet, painter, sculptor, musician, and architect are all inspired by natural beauty and offer a unified vision in their work. Art thus represents nature as distilled by man. Unlike the uses of nature described in "Commodity," the role of nature in satisfying man's desire for beauty is an end in itself. Beauty, like truth and goodness, is an expression of God. But natural beauty is an ultimate only inasmuch as it works as a catalyst upon the inner processes of man. In Chapter IV, "Language," Emerson explores nature's service to man as a vehicle for thought. He first states that words represent particular facts in nature, which exists in part to give us language to express ourselves. He suggests that all words, even those conveying intellectual and moral meaning, can be etymologically traced back to roots originally attached to material objects or their qualities. (Although this theory would not be supported by the modern study of linguistics, Emerson was not alone among his contemporaries in subscribing to it.) Over time, we have lost a sense of the particular connection of the first language to the natural world, but children and primitive people retain it to some extent. Not only are words symbolic, Emerson continues, but the natural objects that they represent are symbolic of particular spiritual states. Human intellectual processes are, of necessity, expressed through language, which in its primal form was integrally connected to nature. Emerson asserts that there is universal understanding of the relationship between natural imagery and human thought. An all-encompassing universal soul underlies individual life. "Reason" (intuitive understanding) affords access to the universal soul through the natural symbols of spirit provided by language. In language, God is, in a very real sense, accessible to all men. In his unique capacity to perceive the connectedness of everything in the universe, man enjoys a central position. Man cannot be understood without nature, nor nature without man. In its origin, language was pure poetry, and clearly conveyed the relationship between material symbol and spiritual meaning. Emerson states that the same symbols form the original elements of all languages. And the moving power of idiomatic language and of the strong speech of simple men reminds us of the first dependence of language upon nature. Modern man's ability to express himself effectively requires simplicity, love of truth, and desire to communicate efficiently. But because we have lost the sense of its origins, language has been corrupted. The man who speaks with passion or in images — like the poet or orator who maintains a vital connection with nature — expresses the workings of God. Finally, Emerson develops the idea that the whole of nature — not just its particulate verbal expressions — symbolizes spiritual reality and offers insight into the universal. He writes of all nature as a metaphor for the human mind, and asserts that there is a one-to-one correspondence between moral and material laws. All men have access to understanding this correspondence and, consequently, to comprehending the laws of the universe. Emerson employs the image of the circle — much-used in Nature — in stating that the visible world is the "terminus or circumference of the invisible world." Visible nature innately possesses a moral and spiritual aspect. Man may grasp the underlying meaning of the physical world by living harmoniously with nature, and by loving truth and virtue. Emerson concludes "Language" by stating that we understand the full meaning of nature by degrees. Nature as a discipline — a means of arriving at comprehension — forms the subject of Chapter V, "Discipline." All of nature serves to educate man through both the rational, logical "Understanding" and the intuitive, mystical "Reason." Through the more rational understanding, we constantly learn lessons about the similarities and differences between objects, about reality and unreality, about order, arrangement, progression, and combination. The ultimate result of such lessons is common sense. Emerson offers property and debt as materially based examples that teach necessary lessons through the understanding, and space and time as demonstrations of particularity and individuality, through which "we may know that things are not huddled and lumped, but sundered and individual." Each object has its own particular use, and through the understanding we know that it cannot be converted to other uses to which it is not fitted. The wise man recognizes the innate properties of objects and men, and the differences, gradations, and similarities among the manifold natural expressions. The practical arts and sciences make use of this wisdom. But as man progressively grasps the basic physical laws, he comes closer to understanding the laws of creation, and limiting concepts such as space and time lose their significance in his vision of the larger picture. Emerson emphasizes the place of human will — the expression of human power — in harnessing nature. Nature is made to serve man. We take what is useful from it in forming a sense of the universe, giving greater or lesser weight to particular aspects to suit our purposes, even framing nature according to our own image of it. Emerson goes on to discuss how intuitive reason provides insight into the ethical and spiritual meanings behind nature. "All things are moral," he proclaims, and therefore every aspect of nature conveys "the laws of right and wrong." Nature thus forms the proper basis for religion and ethics. Moreover, the uses of particular facets of nature as described in "Commodity" do not exhaust the lessons these aspects can teach; men may progress to perception of their higher meaning as well. Emerson depicts moral law as lying at the center of the circle of nature and radiating to the circumference. He asserts that man is particularly susceptible to the moral meaning of nature, and returns to the unity of all of nature's particulars. Each object is a microcosm of the universe. Through analogies and resemblances between various expressions of nature, we perceive "its source in Universal Spirit." Moreover, we apprehend universal order through thought — through our grasp of the relationship between particular universal truths, which are related to all other universal truths. Emerson builds upon his circle imagery to suggest the all-encompassing quality of universal truth and the way it may be approached through all of its particulars. Unity is even more apparent in action than in thought, which is expressed only imperfectly through language. Action, on the other hand, as "the perfection and publication of thought," expresses thought more directly. Because words and conscious actions are uniquely human attributes, Emerson holds humanity up as the pinnacle of nature, "incomparably the richest informations of the power and order that lie at the heart of things." Each human example is a point of access into the universal spirit. As an expression of nature, humanity, too, has its educational use in the progression toward understanding higher truth. At the beginning of Chapter VI, "Idealism," Emerson questions whether nature actually exists, whether God may have created it only as a perception in the human mind. Having stated that the response to this question makes no difference in the usefulness of nature as an aid to human comprehension of the universal, Emerson concludes that the answer is ultimately unknowable. Whether real or not, he perceives nature as an ideal. Even if nature is not real, natural and universal laws nevertheless apply. However, the common man's faith in the permanence of natural laws is threatened by any hint that nature may not be real. The senses and rational understanding contribute to the instinctive human tendency to regard nature as a reality. Men tend to view things as ultimates, not to look for a higher reality beyond them. But intuitive reason works against the unquestioned acceptance of concrete reality as the ultimate reality. Intuition counteracts sensory knowledge, and highlights our intellectual and spiritual separateness from nature. As the intuition is increasingly awakened, we begin to perceive nature differently, to see the whole, the "causes and spirits," instead of individual forms. Emerson explores idealism at length. He first points out that a change in perspective is caused by changes in environment or mechanical alterations (such as viewing a familiar landscape from a moving railroad car), which heighten the sense of the difference between man and nature, the observer and the observed. Altered perspective imparts a feeling that there is something constant within man, even though the world around him changes, sometimes due to his own action upon it. Emerson then discusses the way in which the poet communicates his own power over nature. The poet sees nature as fluid and malleable, as raw material to shape to his own expressive purposes. Inspired by intuition and imagination, he enhances and reduces facets of nature according to his creative dictates. He provides an ideal interpretation of nature that is more real than concrete nature, as it exists independent of human agency. The poet, in short, asserts "the predominance of the soul" over matter. Emerson looks to philosophy, science, religion, and ethics for support of the subordination of matter to spirit. He does not uniformly approve of the position assigned to nature by each of these disciplines, but nevertheless finds that they all express an idealistic approach to one degree or another. He points out that although the poet aims toward beauty and the philosopher toward truth, both subject the order and relations within nature to human thought in order to find higher absolutes, laws, and spiritual realities. Scientists, too, may elevate the spiritual over the material in going beyond the accumulation of particulars to a single, encompassing, enlightening formula. And although they distrust nature, traditional religion and ethics also promote the spiritual and moral over the physical. In "Idealism," Emerson again takes up the capacity of all men to grasp the ideal and universal. Intellectual inquiry casts doubt upon the independent existence of matter and focuses upon the absolute and ideal as a higher reality. It encourages approaching nature as "an appendix to the soul" and a means of access to God. Although these complex ideas are expressed by specialists in "intellectual science," they are nevertheless available to all. And when any man reaches some understanding of divinity, he becomes more divine and renews himself physically as well as spiritually. Knowledge of the ideal and absolute brings confidence in our existence, and confers a kind of immortality, which transcends the limitations of space and time. Emerson points out that in the quest for the ideal, it does not serve man to take a demeaning view of nature. He suggests nature's subservience merely to define its true position in relation to man, as a tool for spiritual education and perfection (as discussed in "Discipline"), and to distinguish the real (that is, the ideal) from the unreal (the concretely apparent). He concludes the chapter by advocating the ideal theory of nature over more popular materialism because it offers exactly the kind of view of the world that the human mind craves and intuitively wants to adopt. It subordinates matter to mind, places the world in the context of God, and allows man to synthesize a mass of details into a whole. Emerson deals with nature's spiritual qualities and purpose in Chapter VII, "Spirit." He states that a true theory of nature and man must allow progressive, dynamic comprehension. In its fidelity to its divine origin and its constant illumination of spirit and of the absolute, nature allows satisfaction of this condition. Emerson writes of the difficulty of visualizing and expressing the divine spirit. The noblest use of nature is to help us by representing God, by serving as the medium "through which the universal spirit speaks to the individual, and strives to lead the individual back to it." Emerson then addresses three questions: What is matter?; Where does it come from?; and What is its purpose? The first question — What is matter? — is answered by idealism, which holds that matter is a phenomenon (in Kantian philosophy, something that appears to the mind independently of its existence outside the mind) rather than a substance. This theory both underscores the difference between the incontrovertible evidence of human existence in the intellect and the questionable existence of nature as a distinct reality outside the mind, and at the same time allows us to explain nature in terms other than purely physical. But it is not enough to say that nature does not have independent existence. The divine spirit and human perception must also form part of the equation. Emerson adds that the very importance of the action of the human mind on nature distances us from the natural world and leaves us unable to explain our sympathy with it. He then turns to the questions of where matter comes from, and to what end. He refers to the "universal essence," an all-encompassing creative life force, which God expresses in nature as it is passed through and invigorates man. Man's capabilities are unlimited in proportion to his openness to nature's revelatory and transforming properties. Nature affords access to the very mind of God and thus renders man "the creator in the finite." The world is thus explained as proceeding from the divine, just as man does. Emerson describes it as "a remoter and inferior incarnation of God, a projection of God in the unconscious." Nature possesses a serenity and order that man appreciates. His closeness to God is related to his appreciation of and sympathy with nature. Emerson closes the chapter by referring to the difficulty of reconciling the practical uses of nature, as outlined in "Commodity," with its higher spiritual meaning. In "Prospects," the eighth and final chapter of Nature, Emerson promotes intuitive reason as the means of gaining insight into the order and laws of the universe. Empirical science hinders true perception by focusing too much on particulars and too little on the broader picture. "Untaught sallies of the spirit" advance the learned naturalist farther than does precise analysis of detail. A guess or a dream may be more productive than a fact or a scientific experiment. The scientist fails to see the unifying principles behind the bewildering abundance of natural expressions, to address the ultimately spiritual purpose of this rich diversity, to recognize man's position as "head and heart" of the natural world. Emerson points out that men now only apply rational understanding to nature, which is consequently perceived materially. But we would do better to trust in intuitive reason, which allows revelation and insight. He cites examples of intuition working in man (Jesus Christ, Swedenborg, and the Shakers among them), which provide evidence of the power of intuition to transcend time and space. Emerson refers to the knowledge of God as matutina cognitio — morning knowledge. He identifies the imbalance created by man's loss of an earlier sense of the spiritual meaning and purpose of nature. By restoring spirituality to our approach to nature, we will attain that sense of universal unity currently lacking. If we reunite spirit with nature, and use all our faculties, we will see the miraculous in common things and will perceive higher law. Facts will be transformed into true poetry. While we ponder abstract questions intellectually, nature will provide other means of answering them. Emerson concludes Nature optimistically and affirmatively. He asserts that we will come to look at the world with new eyes. Nature imbued with spirit will be fluid and dynamic. The world exists for each man, the humble as well as the great. As we idealize and spiritualize, evil and squalor will disappear, beauty and nobility will reign. Man will enter the kingdom of his own dominion over nature with wonder.

From the interesting Narrative of the life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavas Vassa, The african, written by himself

Olaudah Equiano was born in 1745 in Eboe, in what is now Nigeria. When he was about eleven, Equiano was kidnapped and sold to slave traders headed to the West Indies. Though he spent a brief period in the state of Virginia, much of Equiano's time in slavery was spent serving the captains of slave ships and British navy vessels. One of his masters, Henry Pascal, the captain of a British trading vessel, gave Equiano the name Gustavas Vassa, which he used throughout his life, though he published his autobiography under his African name. In service to Captain Pascal and subsequent merchant masters, Equiano traveled extensively, visiting England, Holland, Scotland, Gibraltar, Nova Scotia, the Caribbean, Pennsylvania, Georgia, and South Carolina. He was purchased in 1763 by Robert King, a Quaker merchant from Philadelphia, for whom he served as a clerk. He also worked on King's trading sloops. Equiano, who was allowed to engage in his own minor trade exchanges, was able to save enough money to purchase his freedom in 1766. He settled in England in 1767, attending school and working as an assistant to scientist Dr. Charles Irving. Equiano continued to travel, making several voyages aboard trading vessels to Turkey, Portugal, Italy, Jamaica, Grenada, and North America. In 1773 he accompanied Irving on a polar expedition in search of a northeast passage from Europe to Asia. Equiano published his autobiography, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African, in 1789 as a two-volume work. It went through one American and eight British editions during his lifetime. Following the publication of his Interesting Narrative, Equiano traveled throughout Great Britain as an abolitionist and author. He married Susanna Cullen in 1792, with whom he had two daughters. Equiano died in London in 1797. Equiano's journey begins when he is kidnapped from his village with his sister, from whom he is eventually separated. He describes a long voyage through various African regions, marked by brief tenures as a slave to "a chieftain, in a very pleasant country" and a wealthy widow who resides in "a town called Tinmah, in the most beautiful country I had yet seen in Africa" (pp. 51, 62). Ultimately, Equiano is sold back to traders who bring him "sometimes by land, sometimes by water, through different countries and various nations, till . . . [he] arrive[s] at the sea coast" (p. 69). Equiano is sold to the owner of a slave ship bound for the West Indies, and he goes on to describe the "Middle Passage"—"the journey across the Atlantic Ocean that brought enslaved Africans to North America. His descriptions of extreme hardships and desperate conditions are punctuated by his astonishment at new sights and experiences. The narration occasionally reflects the childish wonder of the young Equiano at the time of his journey, but it also highlights his culture shock at his introduction to European culture and European treatment of slaves. Though he witnesses the sale of slaves in the West Indies, Equiano himself is not purchased, and he stays with the Dutch ship, traveling from the West Indies to North America. There he is purchased and put to work on a Virginia plantation, doing light field work and household chores. He is not in Virginia long before Michael Henry Pascal, a lieutenant in the British royal navy and captain of a merchant ship, purchases him as "a present to some of his friends in England" (p. 94). During their spring 1757 voyage to England, Pascal renames the eleven-year-old Equiano Gustavus Vassa, and Equiano forges a friendship with a white American boy named Robert Baker, which lasts until Baker's death two years later. After the ship's arrival in England, Equiano is exposed to Christianity. When he asks questions about his first encounter with snow, he is told it is made by "a great man in the heavens, called God." He attends church, and receives instruction from his new friend, Robert (p. 105). Equiano describes the various battles and ship transfers that take place after his return to sea with Pascal. He also expresses his growing ease with the European culture he initially found so strange and frightening: "I ceased to feel those apprehensions and alarms which had taken such strong possession of me when I first came among the Europeans" (p. 111). As his time with Pascal progresses, Equiano professes a growing attachment to his master and a desire to "imbibe" and "imitate" the English culture in which he is immersed (p. 133). He can "now speak English tolerably well" and "embrace[s] every occasion of improvement . . . [having] long wished to be able to read and write" (p. 132-133). During stopovers in England, Captain Pascal sends Equiano to wait upon two sisters known as the Miss Guerins. They become, in a sense, patrons to Equiano, not only treating him kindly but also supporting his education and his interest in Christianity by sending him to school. The Guerins are also instrumental in persuading Pascal to allow Equiano to be baptized into the church. Equiano continues his studies and his religious development independently whenever possible, but his visits to England are always temporary, as he returns to sea with his captain whenever Pascal and the ship are ready for a new voyage. The journeys are always fraught with danger, and he describes numerous skirmishes and sieges throughout the Mediterranean, Atlantic, and West Indian Oceans. Equiano faithfully serves Pascal for several years and, believing that Pascal's kindness implies a promise to free him, he is shocked at an abrupt betrayal during a layover in England, when Pascal has him roughly seized and forced into a barge. Pascal sells Equiano to Captain James Doran, the captain of a ship bound for the West Indies. Dazed by his sudden change in fortunes, Equiano argues with Captain Doran that Pascal "could not sell me to him, nor to any one else . . . I have served him . . . many years, and he has taken all my wages and prize-money . . . I have been baptized; and by the laws of the land no man has a right to sell me" (p. 176-177). After Doran tells Equiano he talks "too much English" and threatens to subdue him, Equiano begins service under a new master, for he is "too well convinced of his power over me to doubt what he said" (177). Dejected at the situation in which he now finds himself, Equiano begins to believe his new situation is a result of God's punishment for his sins and soon resigns himself to his new life. Doran takes him back to the West Indies, and Equiano is horrified at the sight of Montserrat, because he is fearful of being sold into this "land of bondage . . . misery, stripes, and chains" (p. 190). Instead, he is purchased by Mr. Robert King, a "charitable and humane" Quaker merchant who employs him in a variety of positions, from loading boats to clerking and serving as a personal groom, in addition to occasionally hiring out Equiano"s services to other merchants (p. 192). One of King's boat captains, an Englishman named Thomas Farmer, relies heavily on Equiano and frequently hires him for voyages from the West Indies to North America. Proud of being singled out, Equiano remarks that he "became so useful to the captain on shipboard, that . . . [he would] tell my master I was better to him on board than any three white men he had" (p. 231). At this time, Equiano begins buying and selling goods and fruit and starts his own side trading enterprise during each voyage. Although he faces setbacks and insults from white buyers who refuse to pay for goods, use "bad coin," or demand fraudulent refunds, Equiano acquires a small amount of savings and is "determined to . . . obtain my freedom, and to return to Old England" (p. 268, p. 250). King encourages him in his entrepreneurial pursuits, proposing that when Equiano has saved enough money "to purchase my freedom . . . he would let me have it for forty pounds sterling money, which was only the same price he gave for me" (p. 260). After briefly recounting a violent assault while trading in Savannah, Georgia, and his subsequent recovery and return to Montserrat, Equiano closes the first volume of the Interesting Narrative somewhat abruptly, noting that "This ended my adventures in 1764; for I did not leave Montserrat again till the beginning of the following year" (p. 272). DocSouth has published a summary of the second volume of The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, in which Equiano describes his life as a freeman, his adventures as a world-traveling tradesman, and his spiritual transformation.

The Negro Speaks of Rivers

Our speaker introduces himself in the first line by telling us that he has known rivers and that his soul has come to be as deep as a river. Then he explains to us just how that transformation took place. He must be one ancient man, because he has been around for thousands of years. He used to go swimming the Euphrates River when Earth was just a baby. He lived near the Congo River in central Africa. He helped to build the pyramids in Egypt almost four thousand years ago. He heard the Mississippi River sing when President Abraham Lincoln took a boat ride down to New Orleans. He tells us again that he has known lots of ancient, dusky rivers, and that his soul has become as deep as these rivers.

Tecumseh

Tecumseh was a Native American chief of the Shawnee tribe. He was born in 1768 in Ohio. His father was killed in 1774 by white men who were violating a treaty by coming on Shawnee land. Tecumseh decided at that time to become a warrior and defend his land and people. At the age of 15, he became part of a band of warriors who protected invasion of their land by attacking flatboats that were traveling from Pennsylvania via the Ohio River. Tecumseh and his family moved multiple times due to having their village raided by George Rogers Clark and his men. The Shawnee tribe joined with British forces during the American Revolution, pitting them against Clark. In 1808, Tecumseh became the leader of a confederation made up of various tribes. He had a vision of uniting the tribes against the Americans and forming an Independent Nation of Native Americans East of the Mississippi. It was known as Tecumseh's Confederacy and was involved in both the War of 1812 and Tecumseh's War. Tecumseh worked hard to bring more tribes into the confederacy. In 1809, Tecumseh opposed the Treaty of Fort Wayne that had been signed by assorted Native American chiefs. The treaty gave to the white men three million acres of land owned by Native Americans. Tecumseh again joined with British troops fighting against the Americans in the War of 1812. In 1813, Tecumseh was killed during the Battle of Thames that took place in Canada. Shortly thereafter, Tecumseh's tribe surrendered to American troops.

Mother to son

The mother says to her son that life has not been a "crystal stair" - it has had tacks and splinters and torn boards on it, as well as places without carpet. The stair is bare. However, she still climbs on, reaching landings, turning corners, and persevering in the dark when there is no light. She commands him, "So boy, don't you turn back." She instructs him not to go back down the stairs even if he thinks climbing is hard. He should try not to fall because his mother is still going, still climbing, and her life "ain't been no crystal stair." The speaker advises the reader to hold onto dreams, because if dreams die, life will be like a bird with damaged wings that cannot fly. When dreams go away, life is "barren field" covered with frozen snow.

Bartleby, The screwdriver

The narrator of "Bartleby the Scrivener" is the Lawyer, who runs a law practice on Wall Street in New York. The Lawyer begins by noting that he is an "elderly man," and that his profession has brought him "into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men the law-copyists, or scriveners." While the Lawyer knows many interesting stories of such scriveners, he bypasses them all in favor of telling the story of Bartleby, whom he finds to be the most interesting of all the scriveners. Bartleby is, according to the Lawyer, "one of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from the original sources, and, in his case, those were very small." Before introducing Bartleby, the Lawyer describes the other scriveners working in his office at this time. The first is Turkey, a man who is about the same age as the Lawyer (around sixty). Turkey has been causing problems lately. He is an excellent scrivener in the morning, but as the day wears on—particularly in the afternoon—he becomes more prone to making mistakes, dropping ink plots on the copies he writes. He also becomes more flushed, with an ill temper, in the afternoon. The Lawyer tries to help both himself and Turkey by asking Turkey only to work in the mornings, but Turkey argues with him, so the Lawyer simply gives him less important documents in the afternoon. The second worker is Nippers, who is much younger and more ambitious than Turkey. At twenty-five years old, he is a comical opposite to Turkey, because he has trouble working in the morning. Until lunchtime, he suffers from stomach trouble, and constantly adjusts the height of the legs on his desk, trying to get them perfectly balanced. In the afternoons, he is calmer and works steadily. The last employee—not a scrivener, but an errand-boy—is Ginger Nut. His nickname comes from the fact that Turkey and Nippers often send him to pick up ginger nut cakes for them. The Lawyer spends some time describing the habits of these men and then introduces Bartleby. Bartleby comes to the office to answer an ad placed by the Lawyer, who at that time needed more help. The Lawyer hires Bartleby and gives him a space in the office. At first, Bartleby seems to be an excellent worker. He writes day and night, often by no more than candlelight. His output is enormous, and he greatly pleases the Lawyer. One day, the Lawyer has a small document he needs examined. He calls Bartleby in to do the job, but Bartleby responds: "I would prefer not to." This answer amazes the Lawyer, who has a "natural expectancy of instant compliance." He is so amazed by this response, and the calm way Bartleby says it, that he cannot even bring himself to scold Bartleby. Instead, he calls in Nippers to examine the document instead.

The weary blues

The poem begins with a speaker telling someone about a piano player he heard a couple nights ago. This musician was playing a slow blues song with all his body and soul. The speaker starts to really get into the sad music. Starting at line 19, we get the first verse to the song. This musician is singing about how, even though he's miserable, he's going to put his worries aside. The second verse is more of a bummer: nothing can cure his blues, and he wishes he was dead. The musician plays on late into the night; and when he finally goes to bed, he sleeps like a dead person or something else that can't think.

We wear the mask

The poems overarching theme of African-Americans being forced to subdue their identity and submit to an enforced masquerade is made manifest from the very opening line which asserts a collective experience through its pronoun choice and the description of that mask as one that presents an outwardly cheery countenance which is, in fact, a lie. Further descriptive imagery brings the mask into sharper contrast in the reader's mind: big enough to cover the cheeks and capable of throwing shade over the eyes. That the mask is specifically intended to present an untruthful person is demonstrated by observation that the mask is part of a debt that must be paid. The mask is also a work of crafty guile as it forces the debt by making the wearer appear happy at all times regardless the pain they may be feel beneath. The historical implication is clear: regardless of emancipation and abolition and Reconstruction, blacks at all times must show publicly demonstrate the debt they owe for being free through an exhibition of happy contentment. The heartbreak and simmering anger at the being force to wear this mask suddenly seems to melt away as the narrator seriously ponders why anything else should be expected? The white world hasn't been overeager to analyze all tears and sighs that have marked the black experience in America. The mask gives them a chance to alleviate that painful experience by choosing the view the mask as the reality and avoiding the truth that lies beneath. The poem draws to a conclusion with the news that behind the smile of the mask lies very often someone crying out to Jesus for with a soul in torture. There is then the confession the sound of a song does not automatically imply happiness. The joyous sound of singing is just another way to make it through the long road that is still lies ahead in the journey toward the day when they can remove the mask. Until then, the rest of the world can think the mask is the reality. And they will continue wearing it.

To my dear children

The poet refers to her children as birds that she has hatched in her nest - four boys and four girls. She labored to care for them and give them everything she could. Her firstborn son took flight to a region far away, and Bradstreet writes him letters, but she desires his return very much. Her second child, a daughter, married and moved southward with her husband. They return when the seasons change. Bradstreet's third child, another daughter, has no equal for her beauty, and is also married. She lives far away as well. Another son went to the Academy to slake his thirst for learning and to excel above all others. The fifth has "scarce gone" and lives amongst the "shrubs and bushes" until his wings are strong enough for him to alight on higher branches. The last three are with the poet in her nest until they can also take flight. She hopes that her brood will never experience any harm, like being surprised while pecking for corn, falling into a fowler's grasp, being hit by a boy, falling into a net, or being snared by hawks. She knows that they remember being at her breast, feeling her love, which is stronger than ever. She worries that her children do not yet fully know the ways of the world and hopes that they will see any perils coming. Now that the poet is nearing the end of her life, she will spend her last days singing. When she is called, she will alight from her bough and fly away into a different country where "spring lasts to eternity." Her children will start their own nests with their own children and tell them about their loving grandmother who did everything she could for her young and nursed them until they were strong. She showed her children "joy and misery" and taught them right from wrong. Even though she will be gone, she hopes her counsel will live on, for "I happy am, if well with you."

Before the Birth of one of her children

The poet wonders how soon death will come for her, and how soon her husband might lose his friend. They are both "ignorant" at the moment, but the poet feels beholden to write these lines so she can say farewell when the knot that binds them comes untied. She hopes that the days she will not get to live will be given to her husband, and that her faults will be buried with her. She hopes that only her virtuous or valuable traits will live on in his memories, and she hopes he will love her even after the grief of losing her has passed. She wants him to look to their children as her "dear remains" and protect them from a future stepmother's "injury." If there is a chance that her husband must see these verses, she hopes he will honor her and kiss the paper in recognition of their love, crying "salt tears."

A letter to her husband, absent upon public employment

The poet wonders why her head and heart and eyes and life, and her joy and "Magazine of earthly store" -her husband -is away while she remains at Ipswich. It seems like it is so many steps, that the neck separates the head and heart by too many. It is winter on earth and winter in her as well, and she mourns in black for his absence. She writes that the sun is so far gone in Zodiacal cycle. When he was there she never felt cold or storms, but now her limbs lie cold and forlorn without him. She calls for the "Sol" to return from Capricorn and bring him back, ending her "dead time". It is difficult for her to look at their children since they resemble their father so much. It is a strange thing. He has gone southward and she is weary, feeling that the day is too long. When he northward to her returns, she hopes that the sun will never set again but burn within her and in their house where he is the "dearest guest". She hopes he will stay there forever and never leave again until finally it is time to die. She calls herself "the flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone" and ends with "I here, thou there, yet both but one".

I, too

The speaker claims that he, too, sings America. He is the "darker brother" who is sent to eat in the kitchen when there are guests visiting. However, he does laugh and he eats well and grows bigger and stronger. Tomorrow, he will sit at the table when the guests come, and no one will dare to tell him to eat in the kitchen. They will see his beauty and be ashamed, for, as he claims, "I, too, am America."

The wife of his youth

The story opens with Mr. Ryder, a man of color, born free before the Civil war, the president of Blue Veins Society planning a society ball. Blue Veins is a club for people who are generally not white, however, ironically the majority of its members is mostly white in terms of their manners or appearance. As he has done well for himself, Mr. Ryder has been pursued by many women throughout his life, but he has not considered marriage until a young woman by the name Molly Dixon made an appearance. It is in her honor and with the intention of proposing to her, that Mr. Ryder plans the next Blue Veins ball. When he is preparing his speech, Mr. Ryder receives an unexpected visitor. Liza Jane, an older black woman, who travels from city to city in search for her husband Sam Taylor, whom she has not seen in 25 years, comes to ask for help. She tells Mr. Ryder that she, a slave back then, and Sam, a free born man, were married before the Civil War, but because his family wanted to sell him into slavery she helped him escape. Sam promised to come back for her, but Liza Jane was sold to a different family and he never returned. In response to Liza Jane's story Mr. Ryder suggests that Sam could have remarried, as the slave marriages conducted before the Civil War were not considered binding, died, or have a number of other reasons for not seeking her out, or for not wanting her to seek him out. Liza Jane asserts that she is certain that her husband has remained faithful and that she will not stop looking for him. She leaves Mr. Ryder with a picture of Sam when he was young. At the ball, when Mr. Ryder is supposed to give his speech, he recounts the story of Liza Jane to the guests. Afterwards he asks the audience whether they think that the man in the story should have acknowledged the woman he has outgrown as his wife. All Mr. Ryder's guests including Molly Dixon agree that the man should acknowledge his wife, upon which he leaves. After a moment he returns with Liza Jane and introduces her as 'the wife of his youth'.

To the right honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth, His majesty's Principal secretary of state for North America, &c.

Wheatly, a slave, had met William Legge, the earl of Dartmouth, when she was in England for the publication of her collected poems. She knew him to be a friend of the countess of Huntingdon, a supporter of Wheatley's work. Because the countess also supported the abolishment of slavery, Wheatley's hopes were that the earl would share these abolitionist sensibilities. Putting her faith in this hope, she makes a frank personal appeal to him in this poem. Because the earl had opposed the Stamp Act, he was considered a friend of the colonists, and the poem opens with a picture of New England's joy at his new political appointment. The reins of authority will be, in his hands, "silken," suggesting relief from the tyranny colonists had experienced at the hands of England's monarch. Wheatley expresses her—and America's—confidence that past wrongs will be made right. The second stanza moves from the perspective of all New England to a personal one. The poet suggests that Dartmouth may wonder about the source of her love of freedom. Her answer is uncharacteristically outspoken. She refers to the "cruel fate" of being kidnapped from her African homeland and of the anguish this would have caused her parents in losing their "babe belov'd." As a slave, she truly knows the value of liberty. Having suffered so much, she wants to spare others the pain she has known in her loss of freedom; thus her hopes are that New England will be spared further tyranny. The emotional restraint of most neoclassical poetry is set aside in this poem, and Wheatley speaks from the heart. The decision to express her feelings about her bondage was a risky one.