The Short story

The short story is a fictional prose tale of no specified length, but too short to be published as a volume on its own, as novellas sometimes and novels usually are. A short story will normally concentrate on a single event with only one or two characters, by contrast with a novel‘s sustained exploration of social background. There are similar fictional forms of greater antiquity, such as fables, lays, folk tales, and parables, but the short story as we know it flourished in the magazines of the 19th and early 20th centuries, especially in the USA, which has a particularly strong tradition from Washington Irving to Flannery O‘Connor. The leading 19th-century short-story writers were Pushkin, Edgar Allan Poe, Guy de Maupassant, and Anton Chekhov. In the early 20th century, outstanding authors included Saki, Franz Kafka, James Joyce, Katherine Mansfield, Somerset Maugham, and D. H. Lawrence.
Poetry
Poetry is language sung, chanted, spoken, or written according to some pattern of recurrence which emphasizes the relationships between words on the basis of sound as well as sense: this pattern is almost always a rhythm or metre, which may be supplemented by rhyme or alliteration or both. The demands of verbal patterning usually make poetry a more condensed medium than prose or everyday speech, often permitting unusual orderings of words within sentences, and sometimes involving the use of special words and phrases (‘poetic diction‘) peculiar to poets. Poetry is usually characterized by a more frequent and elaborate use of figures of speech, principally metaphor and simile. All cultures have their poetry, using it for various purposes from sacred ritual to obscene insult, but it is generally employed in those utterances which call for heightened intensity of emotion, dignity of expression, or subtlety of meditation. Poetry is valued for combining pleasures of sound with freshness of ideas, whether these be solemn or comical. The three major categories of poetry are narrative, dramatic, and lyric, the last being the most extensive.
The Unicorn in the Garden
By James Thurber
Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping the roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. "There‘s a unicorn in the garden," he said. "Eating roses." She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him. "The unicorn is a mythical beast," she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; he was now browsing among the tulips. "Here, unicorn," said the man and pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife a gain. "The unicorn," he said, "ate a lily." His wife sat up in bed and looked at him, coldly. "You are a booby," she said, "and I am going to have you put in a booby-hatch." The man, who never liked the words "booby" and "booby-hatch," and who liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. "We‘ll see about that," he said. He walked over to the door. "He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead," he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn; but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat among the roses and went to sleep.
And as soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat in her eye. She telephoned the police and she telephoned the psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait-jacket. When the police and the psychiatrist looked at her with great interest. "My husband," she said, "saw a unicorn this morning." The police looked at the psychiatrist and the psychiatrist looked at the police. "He told me it ate a lily," she said. The psychiatrist looked at the police and the police looked at the psychiatrist. "He told me it had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead," she said. At a solemn signal from the signal from the psychiatrist, the police leaped from their chairs and seized the wife. They had a hard time subduing her, for she put up a terrific struggle, but they finally subdued her. Just as they got her into the strait-jacket, the husband came back into the house.
"Did you tell your wife you saw a unicorn?" asked the police. "Of course not," said the husband. "The unicorn is a mythical beast." "That‘s all I wanted to know," said the psychiatrist. "Take her away. I‘m sorry, sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jay bird." So they took her away, cursing and screaming, and shut her up in an institution. The husband lived happily ever after.
Moral: Don‘t count your boobies until they are hatched.
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines _____,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the _____.
Then the traveler in the _____,
Thanks you for your tiny _____
He could not see which way to ____,
If you did not twinkle ____.
In the dark blue sky you ____,
And often through my curtains ____,
For you never shut your ____,
‘Till the sun is in the ____.
As your bright and tiny ____,
Lights the traveler in the ____,
Though I know not what you ____,
Twinkle, twinkle, little ____.
Mother’s Voice
All of us were guided by our mother‘s voice, wisdom and common sense, even if we didn‘t think so at the time. Whether we remember what she said fondly, or try to forget these phrases, they are still part of us. Ultimately, without even realizing it, we pass them along to our children, who will in most likelihood pass it on to their children.
Someday your face will freeze like that!
What if everyone jumped off a cliff? Would you do it, too?
Close the door behind you -- were you born in a barn?
Why? Because I said so, that‘s why?
Eat those carrots, they‘re good for your eyes. Have you ever seen a rabbit wearing glasses?
Did you flush?
There‘s enough dirt in those ears to grow potatoes!
I hope someday you have children just like you.
Don‘t pick, it‘ll get infected.
I‘m not just talking to hear myself.
Don‘t cross your eyes or they‘ll freeze that way.
If you swallow a watermelon seed, a watermelon will grow out your ears.
When the Body Speaks
Did you know that in some parts of the world putting your hands on your hips is impolite? the thumbs-up sign is downright offensive? a wink is unacceptable?
In Australia, it is rude to wink at women.
In Brazil, pulling down the lower lid of the right eye means that the listener doubts what you are saying.
In China, point with an open hand and beckon or signal with the hand facing palm down. To use a finger to point or beckon is rude.
In Hong Kong, only animals are beckoned with a finger. To signal someone to come to you, reach out, palm down and flutter your fingers.
In India, grasping your ear means either "honestly" or "I‘m sorry."
In Indonesia, hands on hips while talking means that you‘re angry and is impolite. In Japan, it is an insult to point at someone with four fingers spread and thumb tucked in. In Korea, it is rude to blow your nose in front of people.
In Spain, snapping the thumb and first finger together a few times is a form of applause. If you think the person you are talking about is stingy, tap your left elbow with your right hand. If you‘ve heard the story before, put your right hand behind your head and pull your left ear.
In Sri Lanka, moving your head from side to side means yes and nodding your head up and down means no!
In Thailand, people point to an object with their chins, not their hands. Thumbing your nose (raising your thumb to your nose and fanning your fingers) is a sign of mockery throughout most of the world.
The Tally Stick
By Jarold Ramsey
Here from the start, from our first of days, look:
I have carved our lives in secret on this stick
of mountain mahogany the length of your arms
outstretched, the wood clear red, so hard and rare.
It is time to touch and handle what we know we share.
Near the butt, this intricate notch where the grains
converge and join: it is our wedding.
I can read it through with a thumb and tell you now
who danced, who made up the songs, who meant us joy.
These little arrowheads along the grain,
they are the births of our children. See,
they make a kind of design with these heavy crosses,
the deaths of our parents, the loss of friends.
Over it all as it goes, of course, I
have chiseled Events, History—random
hash-marks cut against the swirling grain.
See, here is the Year the World Went Wrong,
we thought, and here the days the Great Men fell.
The lengthening runes of our lives run through it all.
See, our tally stick is whittled nearly end to end;
delicate as scrimshaw, it would not bear you up.
Regrets have polished it , hand over hand.
Yet let us take it up, and as our fingers
like children leading on a trail cry back
our unforgotten wonders, sign after sign,
we will talk softly as of ordinary matters,
and in one another’s blameless eyes go blind.
Elegy written in a country churchyard
By Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Proverbs of Hell
William Blake
Dip him in the river who loves water.
Folly is the cloak of knavery.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
What is now proved was once only imagined.
One thought fills immensity.
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
Where man is not, nature is barren.
Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendars
Mark Twain
Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.
There are several good protections against temptations but the surest is cowardice.
It takes your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you to the heart, the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you.
Don’t part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist but you have ceased to live.
Every one is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.
Poor Richard’s Almanac
Benjamin Franklin
Light purse, heavy heart.
He’s a fool that makes his doctor his heir.
Hunger never saw bad bread.
Where there’s marriage without love, there will be love without marriage.
Do good to thy friend to keep him, to thy enemy to gain him.
He that cannot obey, cannot command.
Marry you son when you will, but your daughter when you can.
Be slow in choosing a friend, slower in changing.
To be humble to superiors is duty, to equals courtesy, to inferiors nobleness.
Fish and visitors stink in three days.
God heals, and the doctor takes the fees.
There are no ugly loves, nor handsome prisons.
Read much, but not many books.
Let thy vices die before thee.
He that falls in love with himself, will have no rivals.
An old man in a house is a good sign.
Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble.
The way to be safe , is never to be secure.
Riddles
What kind of shoes are made out of banana skins?
What kind of clothing lasts the longest?
What ship has two mates but no captain.?
What is taken from you before you get it?
What becomes higher when the head is off?
What did the pig say when the farmer took hold of his tail?
Why is a river rich?
Why does time fly?
Why is a doctor the meanest man on earth?
Which runs faster, heat or cold?
Which has more legs, a horse or no horse?
If you throw a white stone into the Red sea, what will it become?
What is the difference between a hill and a pill?
What starts with T, ends with T, and is full of tea?
The eagle
Alfred. Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world , he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Little Red Riding Hood
There was once a sweet little maid, much beloved by everybody, but most of all by her grandmother, who never knew how to make enough of her. Once she sent her a little cap of red velvet, and as it was very becoming to her, and she never wore anything else, people called her Little Red Riding Hood.
One day her mot her said to her, ‘Come, Little Red Riding Hood, here are some cakes and a flask of wine for you to take to grandmother, she is weak and ill, and they will do her good. Make haste and start before it grows hot, and walk properly and nicely, and don’t run, or you might fall and break the flask of wine, and there would be none left for grandmother. And when you go into her room, don’t forget to say, good morning, instead of staring about you.’
‘I will be sure to take care,’ said Little Red Riding Hood to her mother, and gave her hand upon it. Now the grandmother lived away in the wood, half-an-hour’s walk from the village; and when Little Red Riding Hood had reached the wood, she met the wolf, bur as she did not know what a bad sort of animal he was, she did not feel frightened. ‘Good day, Little Red Riding Hood,’ said he.
‘Thank you kindly, wolf,’ answered she.
‘Where are you going so early, Little Red Riding Hood?’
‘To my grandmother’s.’
‘What are you carrying under your apron?’
‘Cakes and wine; we baked yesterday; and my grandmother is very weak and ill, so they will do her good, and strengthen her.’
‘Where does your grandmother live, Little Red Riding Hood?
‘A quarter of an hour’s walk from here; her house stands beneath the three oak trees, and you may know it by the hazel bushes,’ said Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf thought to himself.
‘That tender young thing would be a delicious morsel, and would taste better than the old one; I must manage somehow to get both of them.’
Then he walked by Little Red Riding Hood a little while, and said,
‘Little Red Riding Hood, just look at the pretty flowers that are growing all around you, and I don’t think you are listening to the song of the birds; you are posting along just as if you were going to school, and it is so delightful out here in the wood.’
Little Red Riding Hood glanced round her, and when she saw the sunbeams darting here and there through the trees, and lovely flowers everywhere, she thought to herself,
‘If I were to take a fresh nosegay to my grandmother she would be very pleased, and it is so early in the day that I shall reach her in plenty of time’; and so she ran about in the wood, looking for flowers. And as she picked one she saw a still prettier one a little farther off, and so she went farther and farther into the wood. But the wolf went straight to the grandmother’s house and knocked at the door.
‘Who is there?’ cried the grandmother.
‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ he answered, ‘and I have brought you some cake and wine. Please open the door.’
‘Lift the latch,’ cried the grandmother,’ I am too feeble to get up.’
So the wolf lifted the latch, and the door flew open, and he fell on the grandmother and ate her up without saying one word. Then he drew on her clothes, put on her cap, lay down in her bed, and drew the curtains.
Little Red Riding Hood was all this time running about among the flowers, and when she had gathered as many as she could hold, she remembered her grandmother, and set off to go to her. She was surprised to find the door standing open, and when she came inside she felt very strange, and thought to herself,
‘Oh dear, how uncomfortable I feel, and I was so glad this morning to go to my grandmother!’
And when she said, ‘Good morning,’ there was no answer. Then she went up to the bed and drew back the curtains, there lay the grandmother with her cap pulled over her eyes, so that she looked very odd.
‘O grandmother, what large ears you have got!’
‘The better to hear with.’
‘O grandmother, what great eyes you have got!’
‘The better to see with.’
‘O grandmother, what large hands you have got!’
‘The better to take hold of you with.’
‘But, grandmother, what a terrible large mouth you have got!’
‘The better to devour you!’ And no sooner had the wolf said it than he made one bound from the bed, and swallowed up poor Little Red Riding Hood.
Then the wolf, having satisfied his hunger, lay down again in the bed, went to sleep, and began to snore loudly. The huntsman heard him as he was passing by the house, and thought,
‘How the old woman snores—I had better see if there is anything the matter with her.’
Then he went into the room, and walked up to the bed, and saw the wolf lying there.
‘At last I find you, you old sinner!’ said he. ‘I have been looking for you a long time.’ And he made up his mind that the wolf had swallowed the grandmother whole, and that she might yet be saved. So he did not fire, but took a pair of shears and began to slit up the wolf’s body. When he made a few snips Little Red Riding Hood appeared, and after a few more snips she jumped out and cried, ‘Oh dear, how frightened I have been! It is so dark inside the wolf.’ And then out came the old grandmother, still living and breathing. But Little Red Riding Hood went and quickly fetched some large stones, with which she filled the wolf’s body, so that when he waked up, and was going to run away, the stones were so heavy that he sank down and fell dead.
They were all three very pleased. The huntsman took off the wolf’s skin, and carried it home. The grandmother ate the cakes, and drank the wine, and held up her head again, and Little Red Riding Hood said to herself that she would never more stray about in the wood alone, but would mind what her mother told her.
Some Day My Prince Will Crawl
‘A group of the women’s liberation movement on Merseyside is rewriting fairy tales, in which men and women will be shown to have equal opportunities.’ (The Guardian)
…So Little Red Riding Hood took off her cloak, but when she climbed up on the bed she was astonished to see how her grandmother looked in her night-gown.
‘Grandmother dear!’ she exclaimed, ‘what big arms you have!’
‘All the better to hug you with, my child!’
‘Grandmother dear, what big ears you have!’
‘All the better to hear you with, my child!’
‘Grandmother dear, what big eyes you have!’
‘All the better to see you with, my child!’
‘Grandmother dear, what big teeth you have!’
‘All the better to eat you with, my child!’
With these words, the wicked Wolf leapt upon Little Red Riding Hood, and stopped a short right to the jaw.
‘HAI!’ cried Little Red Riding Hood, giving a textbook karate jab to the ribs that brought the Wolf to its knees.
‘AKACHO!’ screamed Little Red Riding Hood, following up with a neck chop, a double finger eye-prod, and a reverse groin kick.
The Wolf coughed once, and expired on the rug.
At that moment, the door of the little house flew open, and the woodchopper burst in, brandishing his axe.
‘Little Red Riding Hood!’ he cried, ‘are you all right?’
‘No thanks to you!’ snapped Little Red Riding Hood, snatching the axe from him, breaking it across her knee, and tossing it into the corner. ‘And while you’re at it , wash the dishes!’
With which she cracked her knuckles and strode out into the forest, slamming the door behind her.
The Mudbacks
I see by the local paper that the New Jersey town where I live will hold a bicycle safety check next week. The chief or police will inspect bikes at the municipal parking lot; checking "brakes, lights, sounding devices, reflectors, and general bike condition. Those bikes which are approved will be marked with a 1971 inspection sticker."
I remember the bike I had when I was a kid. We didn‘t have bike inspections in those days, and it was a lucky thing. My bike would have flunked. Everybody‘s bike would have failed, mostly on "general bike condition."
Many safety devices were missing. One kid had no handle bars. And take reflectors. None of the bikes has reflectors because the reflectors were fastened to the fenders, and the fenders got torn off early in the game. Nobody worried about fenders; you worried about spokes. It was very important to have enough spokes so that the wheel remained more or less round. Each of my bike wheels had thirty-six spokes, and I found by experience that I couldn‘t afford to lose more than twenty. When a wheel lost too many spokes it began to sag and it was difficult to ride the bike fast.
The whole point was to ride the bike fast. You could tell a really fast bike rider by the streak of mud up his back.
I don‘t recall any of the bikes having "sounding devices." The most popular device was the bike rider himself. He screamed when confronted by any obstacle, real or imaginary.
There were three popular ways of stopping a bike-"coaster brake,” "hand brake," and "hitting something." Less popular methods included accidentally sticking your foot in the front wheel or clamping hard on just the front hand brake, which made you do a tight little somersault over the handle bars.
A safety inspection also would have produced penalty points for loose seats and handle bars caused by stripped bolts or no bolts, missing pedal parts, lack of air in the tires, or lack of tires to put air in.
No bike would have had a prayer of passing a modern inspection. It‘s just as well. There was no place to put a sticker anyway.
The Waltz
Dorothy Parker
Why, thank you so much, I‘d love to .
I don‘t want to dance with him. I don‘t want to dance with anybody. And even if I did, it wouldn‘t be him. He‘d be well down among the last ten.
What can you say, when a man asks you to dance with him? I most certainly will not dance with you: I‘ll see you in the hell first. Why, thank you, I‘d like to awfully, but I‘m having labor pains. Oh, yes, do let‘s dance together.
Why, I think it‘s more of a waltz, really. Isn‘t it? We might just listen to the music a second. Shall we? Oh, yes, it‘s a waltz. Mind? Why, I‘m simply thrilled. I‘d love to waltz with you.
I‘d love to waltz with you. I‘d love to waltz with you. I‘d love to have my tonsils out. I‘d love to be in a midnight fire at sea. Well it‘s too late now. We‘re getting underway-Ow! For God‘s sake, don‘t kick, You idiot; this is only second down.
Oh, no, no, no. Goodness, no. It didn‘t hurt the least little bit. And anyway it was my fault. Really it was. Truly. Well, you‘re just being sweet, to say that. It really was all my fault.
I wonder what I‘d better do-kill him this instant, with my naked hands, or wait and let him drop in his tracks. Maybe it‘s best not to make a scene. I guess I‘ll just lie low, and watch the pace get him. He can‘t keep this up indefinitely-he‘s only flesh and blood. Die he must, and die he shall, for what he did to me. Ow! Bet off my instep you hulking peasant? What do you think, I am, anyway-a gangplank? Ow!
No, of course it didn‘t hurt. Why, it didn‘t a bit Honestly. And it was all my fault. You see, that little step of yours-well, it‘s perfectly lovely; but it‘s just a tiny bit tricky to follow at first. Oh, did you work it up yourself? You really did? Well, aren‘t you amazing. Oh, now I think I‘ve got it. Oh, I think it‘s lovely. I was watching you do it when you were dancing before. It‘s awfully effective when you look at it.
It‘s awfully effective when you look at it. I bet I‘m awfully effective when you look at me. My hair is hanging along my cheeks, my skirt is swaddling about me. I can feel the cold damp of my brow, I must look like something out of the "Fall of the House of Usher."
Oh, they‘re going to play another encore. Oh, goody. Oh, that‘s lovely. Tired? I should say I‘m not tired I‘d like to go on like this forever.
I should say I‘m not tired. I‘m dead, that‘s all I am. Dead, and in what a cause. I‘m past all feeling now. The only way I can tell when he steps on me is that I can hear the splintering of bones. And all the events of my life are passing before my eyes. There was the time I was in a hurricane in the West Indies, there was the day I got my head cut open in the taxi smash, there was the night the drunken lady threw a bronze ashtray at her own true love and got me instead, there was that summer that the sailboat kept capsizing, Ah, what an easy, peaceful time was mine, until I fell in with Swifty, here.
Oh, they‘ve stopped, the mean things. They are not going to play any more. Oh, Darn. Oh, do you think they would? Do you really think so, if you gave them twenty dollars? Oh, that would be lovely. And look, do tell them to play this same thing. I‘d simply adore to go on waltzing.
A Word about Books
What do books mean to you? People often have a lot to say about books. They talk about what they like and don‘t like as well as how books have influenced their lives. Do you agree with any of the following quotations?
"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing."
--------- Benjamin Franklin
"A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever."
---------Martin Tupper
"Some books leave us free and some books make us free."
----------Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings."
----------Heinrich Heine
"Books, the children of the brain."
----------Jonathan Swift
"I have always come to life after coming to books."
----------Jorge Luis Borges
"A garden carried in a pocket."
----------Chinese proverb
"People die, but books never die."
----------Publishers‘ Weekly
"The oldest books are only just out to those who have not read them."
----------Samuel Butler
"The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can‘t read them."
-----------Mark Twain
How to Read a Book Inside and Out
Rare book: When few copies of a book are known to exist, it is called rare.
First edition: The first printing of a book, valued by collectors because it is the original version of the author‘s text.
Autographed copy: A book that is signed by the author.
Inside
Leaves: Each sheet of paper is a leaf.
Pages: Each side of a leaf is a page.
Bookplate: A label pasted in a book that names the owner or donor.
Endpapers: The pages between the cover and body of a book; they may be plain,
colored, or printed, such as with a map.
Front matter: The pages before the text (title page, etc.)
Back matter: The pages following the text (index, etc.)
Text: The basic information, or core, of a book.
Atlas
A book of maps with or without text. The word atlas was first used as the title of a book by Gerardus Mercator in 1585.
Examples: Atlas of the World, and McNally Atlas of the Earth‘s Resources
Biographical Index
A book of information about people who are well known in a particular field. Examples: Who‘s Who, Current Biography
Dictionary
Definitions, spellings, and pronunciations of words, arranged in alphabetical order.
Examples: The American Heritage Dictionary, The Misspellers‘ Dictionary, Young People‘s Science Dictionary
Directory
The names and addresses as well as other facts about specific groups, persons, or organizations.
Examples: Guide to Summer Camps, Children‘s Media Marketplace
Encyclopedia
Information on just about every subject arranged in alphabetical order.
Examples: World Book Encyclopedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica
Gazetteer
A geographical dictionary or index with the names of places and their locations in alphabetical order.
Example: Chambers World Gazetteer: An A-Z of Geographical Information
Guidebook
Information and directions, often for travelers.
Examples: Fodor‘s Travel Guides, Guide to the Ski Touring Centers of New England, Barron‘s Guide to the Most Prestigious Colleges
Manual/Handbook
Instructions on how to do or make something.
Examples: A Manual for Writing Term Papers, by Kate L. Turabian; The Manual of Martial Arts, by Ron van Clief
Thesaurus
Synonyms, or near synonyms, for words as well as related terms.
Example: Roget‘s Thesaurus
Yearbook/Almanac
Current information on a wide range of topics.
Examples: Information Please Almanac, Guinness Book of World Records
From Another Planet
There are eight planets in our solar system besides Earth. So far, no life as we know it exists on any of these planets. Let‘s see why.
What do Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars have in common? They are all solid spheres. All were alive, in times past, with volcanoes and earthquakes.
Mercury
Mercury is a dead, nearly airless planet. The planet closest to the sun, this rocky sphere was named for the Roman god Mercury, a swift messenger. In fact, the planet Mercury travels around the sun faster than any other planet.
Venus
Venus is often called Earth‘s twin because the two planets are close in size, but that‘s the only similarity. The dense atmosphere that covers Venus creates a greenhouse effect that keeps it sizzling at 8640. Venus, named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty, is also known as the "morning star" and "evening star" since it is visible at these times to the unaided eye.
Mars
Because of its blood-red color (which comes from iron-rich dust), this planet was named for Mars, the Roman god of war. Mars is the fourth planet from the sun, making it farther than Earth from the sun.
Jupiter
Jupiter, the largest planet, was named for the most important Roman god because of its size. About 1,300 Earths would fit into it.
Saturn
Saturn, the second-largest planet, has majestic rings surrounding it. Named for the Roman god of farming, Saturn was the farthest planet known by the ancients.
Uranus
Uranus is a greenish-blue planet, rotating on its axis at 98* (most planets are at a 90* angle). Uranus was discovered in 1781 and named after an ancient Roman sky god.
Neptune
Neptune, named for an ancient Roman sea god, is a stormy blue planet about 30 times farther from the sun than Earth. Neptune was "discovered" by mathematical calculation before 1846, when it was seen through a telescope.
Pluto
Pluto, named after the Roman and Greek god of the underworld, is the coldest, smallest, and outermost planet in our solar system. Pluto and its moon, Charon, are called a double planet. Pluto was predicted to exist in 1905 and discovered in 1930.
Text 34
The Adventure of Tom Sawyer
CHAPTER II
SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged.
He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently -- the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben‘s gait was the hop-skip-and-jump -- proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to star-board and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance -- for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them….
Tom went on whitewashing -- paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: "Hi-Yi! you‘re up a stump, ain‘t you!"
No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom‘s mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:
"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?"
Tom wheeled suddenly and said:
"Why, it‘s you, Ben! I wasn’t noticing."
"Say -- I‘m going in a-swimming, I am. Don‘t you wish you could? But of course you‘d druther work -- wouldn‘t you? Course you would!"
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
"What do you call work?"
"Why, ain‘t that work?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain‘t. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don‘t mean to let on that you like it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don‘t see why I oughtn‘t to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect -- added a touch here and there -- criticized the effect again -- Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn‘t hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly‘s awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street, you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn‘t mind and she wouldn‘t. Yes, she‘s awful particular about this fence; it‘s got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain‘t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it‘s got to be done."
"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I‘d let you, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I‘d like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly -- well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn‘t let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn‘t let Sid. Now don‘t you see how I‘m fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it --"
"Oh, shucks, I‘ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I‘ll give you the core of my apple."
"Well, here -- No, Ben, now don‘t. I‘m afeard --"
"I‘ll give you all of it!"
Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with -- and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn‘t unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.
He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while -- plenty of company -- and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn‘t run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it -- namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.
CHAPTER IV
Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he dipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves; poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed the towel and said:
"Now ain‘t you ashamed, Tom. You mustn‘t be so bad. Water won‘t hurt you."
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut and groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from the towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she was done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years -- they were simply called his "other clothes" -- and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe.
CHAPTER VII
When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and whispered in her ear:
"Put on your bonnet and let on you‘re going home; and when you get to the corner, give the rest of ‘em the slip, and turn down through the lane and come back. I‘ll go the other way and come it over ‘em the same way."
So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with another. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and when they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising house. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking. Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:
"Do you love rats?"
"No! I hate them!"
"Well, I do, too -- live ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your head with a string."
"No, I don‘t care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum."
"Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now."
"Do you? I‘ve got some. I‘ll let you chew it awhile, but you must give it back to me."
That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs against the bench in excess of contentment.
"Was you ever at a circus?" said Tom.
"Yes, and my pa‘s going to take me again some time, if I‘m good."
"I been to the circus three or four times -- lots of times. Church ain‘t shucks to a circus. There‘s things going on at a circus all the time. I‘m going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."
"Oh, are you! That will be nice. They‘re so lovely, all spotted up."
"Yes, that‘s so. And they get slathers of money -- most a dollar a day, Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"
"What‘s that?"
"Why, engaged to be married."
"No."
"Would you like to?"
"I reckon so. I don‘t know. What is it like?"
"Like? Why it ain‘t like anything. You only just tell a boy you won‘t ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that‘s all. Anybody can do it."
"Kiss? What do you kiss for?"
"Why, that, you know, is to -- well, they always do that."
"Everybody?"
"Why, yes, everybody that‘s in love with each other. Do you remember what I wrote on the slate?"
"Ye -- yes."
"What was it?"
"I sha‘n‘t tell you."
"Shall I tell you?"
"Ye -- yes -- but some other time."
"No, now."
"No, not now -- to-morrow."
"Oh, no, now. Please, Becky -- I‘ll whisper it, I‘ll whisper it ever so easy."
Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her ear. And then he added:
"Now you whisper it to me -- just the same."
She resisted, for a while, and then said:
"You turn your face away so you can‘t see, and then I will. But you mustn‘t ever tell anybody -- will you, Tom? Now you won‘t, will you?"
"No, indeed, indeed I won‘t. Now, Becky."
He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred his curls and whispered, "I -- love -- you!"
Then she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches, with Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with her little white apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:
"Now, Becky, it‘s all done -- all over but the kiss. Don‘t you be afraid of that -- it ain‘t anything at all. Please, Becky." And he tugged at her apron and the hands.
By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing with the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and said:
"Now it‘s all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain‘t ever to love anybody but me, and you ain‘t ever to marry anybody but me, ever never and forever. Will you?"
"No, I‘ll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I‘ll never marry anybody but you -- and you ain‘t to ever marry anybody but me, either."
"Certainly. Of course. That‘s part of it. And always coming to school or when we‘re going home, you‘re to walk with me, when there ain‘t anybody looking -- and you choose me and I choose you at parties, because that‘s the way you do when you‘re engaged."
"It‘s so nice. I never heard of it before."
"Oh, it‘s ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence --"
The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.
"Oh, Tom! Then I ain‘t the first you‘ve ever been engaged to!"
The child began to cry. Tom said:
"Oh, don‘t cry, Becky, I don‘t care for her any more."
"Yes, you do, Tom -- you know you do."
Text 35
THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET
by William Shakespeare
Scene II.
Capulet‘s orchard.
Enter ROMEO
Enter JULIET above at a window.
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and JULIET is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; ‘tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
JUL. Ay me!
ROM. She speaks.
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o‘er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond‘ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
JUL. O ROMEO, ROMEO! wherefore art thou ROMEO?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name!
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I‘ll no longer be a Capulet.
ROM. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JUL. ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What‘s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What‘s in a name? That which we call a rose
By my other name would smell as sweet.
So ROMEO would, were he not ROMEO call‘d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. ROMEO, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
ROM. I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I‘ll be new baptiz‘d;
Henceforth I never will be ROMEO.
JUL. What man art thou that, thus bescreen‘d in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
ROM. By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am.
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
JUL. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue‘s utterance, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not ROMEO, and a Montague?
ROM. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
JUL. How cam‘st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
ROM. With love‘s light wings did I o‘erperch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt.
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
JUL. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.
ROM. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
JUL. I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROM. I have night‘s cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here.
My life were better ended by their hate
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
JUL. By whose direction found‘st thou out this place?
ROM. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire.
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash‘d with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
JUL. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form- fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me, I know thou wilt say ‘Ay‘;
And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear‘st,
Thou mayst prove false. At lovers‘ perjuries,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle ROMEO,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
I‘ll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my haviour light;
But trust me, gentleman, I‘ll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard‘st, ere I was ware,
My true-love passion. Therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
ROM. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-
JUL. O, swear not by the moon, th‘ inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
ROM. What shall I swear by?
JUL. Do not swear at all;
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I‘ll believe thee.
ROM. If my heart‘s dear love-
JUL. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night.
It is too rash, too unadvis‘d, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say ‘It lightens.‘ Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer‘s ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flow‘r when next we meet.
Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
ROM. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JUL. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
ROM. Th‘ exchange of thy love‘s faithful vow for mine.
JUL. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
And yet I would it were to give again.
ROM. Would‘st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
JUL. But to be frank and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!