THE LUNCHEON - SOMERSET MAUGHAM

A friendly intention of taking an acquaintance out to lunch can result in important revelations about oneself not experienced in other events. This comes to the forefront in Somerset W. Maugham's anecdotal short story "The Luncheon." The young protagonist, a writer, learns he should not be too generous for fear of being taken advantage of after feeling humiliated and angry because he took a pretentious woman out to lunch. The elements of structure, vivid imagery, symbols and style help to develop the acquaintance's personality and the protagonist's feelings from excitement to anger while also delineating to which extent the protagonist's perception of things has changed for his own good

IN PRISON - JAWAHARLAL NEHRU.

jawaharlal Nehru was the first Prime Minister of India and one of the strongest leaders of the independence movement. Through his leadership, independent India went on to become one of the more industrialized nations. Jawaharlal Nehru was born into a wealthy Kashmiri Brahmin family on the 14th of November, 1989 at Allahabad in North India. He studied at Harrow School in England, for two years before entering Trinity College at the University of Cambridge, where he spent three years earning an honours degree in Natural Science. He then qualified as a a barrister after two years at the Inner Temple, London. He returned to India in 1912 and practiced law in Allahabad High Court. In 1916 he married Kamala Kaul. Their only child, Indira Priyadarshini, would too, later serve as the Prime Minister of India. Nehru was deeply moved to join politics when on 13th April, 1919, British troops fired at point-blank range into a crowd of 10,000 unarmed Indians who had gathered at Amritsar, Punjab, to celebrate a Hindu festival. Nehru joined the Non-cooperation movement, which was led by Mahatma Gandhi, in 1920. The campaign of Non-cooperation advocated ahimsa and swaraj, particularly in the economic sphere. In the year 1920, Gandhi refashioned the Congress party from an elite organization into an effective political instrument with widespread grassroots and Nehru supported the reforms. Nehru was arrested by the British and imprisoned for the first time in 1921. Over the next 24 years, Nehru spent more than nine years in jail, with the longest of his nine detentions lasting for three years. Nehru occupied much of his prison time with writing. His major works include Glimpses of World History (1934), his Autobiography (1936) and The Discovery of India (1946). Nehru became the General Secretary of the Congress party for a period of two years from1923-25. He attained the position again in 1927 for another two years. He traveled to Europe and the former Soviet Union, where he developed an interest in Marxism. Under Gandhis patronage, Nehru was elected President of the Congress party at the partys Lahore session. Nehru served as the party President six times. When Gandhi formally resigned from politics, Nehru became the leader of the Congress party in 1934. In February 1937, when the elections under the Government of India Act brought the Congress to power in a majority of the

provinces, Nehru was faced with a dilemma. Mohammed Ali Jinnah, the leader of the defeated Muslim League asked for the formation of a coalition Congress-Muslim League governments in some of the provinces. Nehru denied his request. The subsequent clash between the Congress and the Muslim League hardened into a conflict between the Hindus and the Muslims that ultimately led to the partition of India and the creation of Pakistan. When the Congress party passed the Quit India resolution in Bombay on August 8 1942, the entire Congress Working Committee, including Gandhi and Nehru, was arrested and imprisoned. In1942, Gandhi officially designated Nehru as his political heir. On the midnight of 15 August 1947, India and Pakistan formally achieved their sovereignty. Nehru delivered his famous speech titled "Indias Tryst with Destiny". Nehru became the first Prime Minister of Independent India and introduced a mix of socialist planning and free enterprise measures to repair and build the countrys ravaged economy. He also took the external affairs portfolio and served as the Foreign Minister throughout his tenure as Prime Minister. In 1950, India became a Republic with Nehru as its Prime Minister. He became deeply involved in the development and implementation of the countrys fiveyear plans that over the course of the 1950s and 1960s saw India become one of the most industrialized nations in the world. In foreign affairs, Nehru advocated the policies of nationalism, anti-colonialism, internationalism, and nonalignment or positive neutrality. Nehru argued for the admission of China to the United Nations and called for dtente between the United States and the Soviet Union. Acting as a mediator, he also helped to end the Korean war of 1950-53. However, in 1962, a long-standing border dispute with China broke out into war despite Nehrus efforts to improve relations between the two countries. In 1963, he suffered a slight stroke followed by a more debilitating attack in January. Nehru died in office on 27 May, 1964 in New Delhi from a third and fatal stroke.

THE BEGGAR - ANTON CHEKHOV

"KIND sir, be so good as to notice a poor, hungry man. I have not tasted food for three days. I have not a five-kopeck piece for a night's lodging. I swear by God! For five years I was a village schoolmaster and lost my post through the intrigues of the Zemstvo. I was the victim of false witness. I have been out of a place for a year now." Skvortsov, a Petersburg lawyer, looked at the speaker's tattered dark blue overcoat, at his muddy, drunken eyes, at the red patches on his cheeks, and it seemed to him that he had seen the man before. "And now I am offered a post in the Kaluga province," the beggar continued, "but I have not the means for the journey there. Graciously help me! I am ashamed to ask, but . . . I am compelled by circumstances." Skvortsov looked at his goloshes, of which one was shallow like a shoe, while the other came high up the leg like a boot, and suddenly remembered. "Listen, the day before yesterday I met you in Sadovoy Street," he said, "and then you told me, not that you were a village schoolmaster, but that you were a student who had been expelled. Do you remember?"

"N-o. No, that cannot be so!" the beggar muttered in confusion. "I am a village schoolmaster, and if you wish it I can show you documents to prove it." "That's enough lies! You called yourself a student, and even told me what you were expelled for. Do you remember?" Skvortsov flushed, and with a look of disgust on his face turned away from the ragged figure. "It's contemptible, sir!" he cried angrily. "It's a swindle! I'll hand you over to the police, damn you! You are poor and hungry, but that does not give you the right to lie so shamelessly!" The ragged figure took hold of the door-handle and, like a bird in a snare, looked round the hall desperately. "I . . . I am not lying," he muttered. "I can show documents." "Who can believe you?" Skvortsov went on, still indignant. "To exploit the sympathy of the public for village schoolmasters and students -- it's so low, so mean, so dirty! It's revolting!" Skvortsov flew into a rage and gave the beggar a merciless scolding. The ragged fellow's insolent lying aroused his disgust and aversion, was an offence against what he, Skvortsov, loved and prized in himself: kindliness, a feeling heart, sympathy for the unhappy. By his lying, by his treacherous assault upon compassion, the individual had, as it were, defiled the charity which he liked to give to the poor with no misgivings in his heart. The beggar at first defended himself, protested with oaths, then he sank into silence and hung his head, overcome with shame. "Sir!" he said, laying his hand on his heart, "I really was . . . lying! I am not a student and not a village schoolmaster. All that's mere invention! I used to be in the Russian choir, and I was turned out of it for drunkenness. But what can I do? Believe me, in God's name, I can't get on without lying -when I tell the truth no one will give me anything. With the truth one may die of hunger and freeze without a night's lodging! What you say is true, I understand that, but . . . what am I to do?" "What are you to do? You ask what are you to do?" cried Skvortsov, going close up to him. "Work -that's what you must do! You must work!" "Work. . . . I know that myself, but where can I get work?" "Nonsense. You are young, strong, and healthy, and could always find work if you wanted to. But you know you are lazy, pampered, drunken! You reek of vodka like a pothouse! You have become false and corrupt to the marrow of your bones and fit for nothing but begging and lying! If you do graciously condescend to take work, you must have a job in an office, in the Russian choir, or as a billiard-marker, where you will have a salary and have nothing to do! But how would you like to undertake manual labour? I'll be bound, you wouldn't be a house porter or a factory hand! You are too genteel for that!" "What things you say, really . . ." said the beggar, and he gave a bitter smile. "How can I get manual work? It's rather late for me to be a shopman, for in trade one has to begin from a boy; no one would take me as a house porter, because I am not of that class. . . . And I could not get work in a factory; one must know a trade, and I know nothing."

"Nonsense! You always find some justification! Wouldn't you like to chop wood?" "I would not refuse to, but the regular woodchoppers are out of work now." "Oh, all idlers argue like that! As soon as you are offered anything you refuse it. Would you care to chop wood for me?" "Certainly I will. . ." "Very good, we shall see. . . . Excellent. We'll see!" Skvortsov, in nervous haste; and not without malignant pleasure, rubbing his hands, summoned his cook from the kitchen. "Here, Olga," he said to her, "take this gentleman to the shed and let him chop some wood." The beggar shrugged his shoulders as though puzzled, and irresolutely followed the cook. It was evident from his demeanour that he had consented to go and chop wood, not because he was hungry and wanted to earn money, but simply from shame and amour propre, because he had been taken at his word. It was clear, too, that he was suffering from the effects of vodka, that he was unwell, and felt not the faintest inclination to work. Skvortsov hurried into the dining-room. There from the window which looked out into the yard he could see the woodshed and everything that happened in the yard. Standing at the window, Skvortsov saw the cook and the beggar come by the back way into the yard and go through the muddy snow to the woodshed. Olga scrutinized her companion angrily, and jerking her elbow unlocked the woodshed and angrily banged the door open. "Most likely we interrupted the woman drinking her coffee," thought Skvortsov. "What a cross creature she is! " Then he saw the pseudo-schoolmaster and pseudo-student seat himself on a block of wood, and, leaning his red cheeks upon his fists, sink into thought. The cook flung an axe at his feet, spat angrily on the ground, and, judging by the expression of her lips, began abusing him. The beggar drew a log of wood towards him irresolutely, set it up between his feet, and diffidently drew the axe across it. The log toppled and fell over. The beggar drew it towards him, breathed on his frozen hands, and again drew the axe along it as cautiously as though he were afraid of its hitting his golosh or chopping off his fingers. The log fell over again. Skvortsov's wrath had passed off by now, he felt sore and ashamed at the thought that he had forced a pampered, drunken, and perhaps sick man to do hard, rough work in the cold. "Never mind, let him go on . . ." he thought, going from the dining-room into his study. "I am doing it for his good!" An hour later Olga appeared and announced that the wood had been chopped up. "Here, give him half a rouble," said Skvortsov. "If he likes, let him come and chop wood on the first of every month. . . . There will always be work for him." On the first of the month the beggar turned up and again earned half a rouble, though he could hardly stand. From that time forward he took to turning up frequently, and work was always found for him: sometimes he would sweep the snow into heaps, or clear up the shed, at another he used to beat the

rugs and the mattresses. He always received thirty to forty kopecks for his work, and on one occasion an old pair of trousers was sent out to him. When he moved, Skvortsov engaged him to assist in packing and moving the furniture. On this occasion the beggar was sober, gloomy, and silent; he scarcely touched the furniture, walked with hanging head behind the furniture vans, and did not even try to appear busy; he merely shivered with the cold, and was overcome with confusion when the men with the vans laughed at his idleness, feebleness, and ragged coat that had once been a gentleman's. After the removal Skvortsov sent for him. "Well, I see my words have had an effect upon you," he said, giving him a rouble. "This is for your work. I see that you are sober and not disinclined to work. What is your name?" "Lushkov." "I can offer you better work, not so rough, Lushkov. Can you write?" "Yes, sir." "Then go with this note to-morrow to my colleague and he will give you some copying to do. Work, don't drink, and don't forget what I said to you. Good-bye." Skvortsov, pleased that he had put a man in the path of rectitude, patted Lushkov genially on the shoulder, and even shook hands with him at parting. Lushkov took the letter, departed, and from that time forward did not come to the back-yard for work. Two years passed. One day as Skvortsov was standing at the ticket-office of a theatre, paying for his ticket, he saw beside him a little man with a lambskin collar and a shabby cat's-skin cap. The man timidly asked the clerk for a gallery ticket and paid for it with kopecks. "Lushkov, is it you?" asked Skvortsov, recognizing in the little man his former woodchopper. "Well, what are you doing? Are you getting on all right?" "Pretty well. . . . I am in a notary's office now. I earn thirty-five roubles." "Well, thank God, that's capital. I rejoice for you. I am very, very glad, Lushkov. You know, in a way, you are my godson. It was I who shoved you into the right way. Do you remember what a scolding I gave you, eh? You almost sank through the floor that time. Well, thank you, my dear fellow, for remembering my words." "Thank you too," said Lushkov. "If I had not come to you that day, maybe I should be calling myself a schoolmaster or a student still. Yes, in your house I was saved, and climbed out of the pit." "I am very, very glad." "Thank you for your kind words and deeds. What you said that day was excellent. I am grateful to you and to your cook, God bless that kind, noble-hearted woman. What you said that day was excellent; I am indebted to you as long as I live, of course, but it was your cook, Olga, who really saved me."

"How was that?" "Why, it was like this. I used to come to you to chop wood and she would begin: 'Ah, you drunkard! You God-forsaken man! And yet death does not take you!' and then she would sit opposite me, lamenting, looking into my face and wailing: 'You unlucky fellow! You have no gladness in this world, and in the next you will burn in hell, poor drunkard! You poor sorrowful creature!' and she always went on in that style, you know. How often she upset herself, and how many tears she shed over me I can't tell you. But what affected me most -- she chopped the wood for me! Do you know, sir, I never chopped a single log for you -- she did it all! How it was she saved me, how it was I changed, looking at her, and gave up drinking, I can't explain. I only know that what she said and the noble way she behaved brought about a change in my soul, and I shall never forget it. It's time to go up, though, they are just going to ring the bell." Lushkov bowed and went off to the gallery.

George Orwell What is Science?

In last week's Tribune, there was an interesting letter from Mr. J. Stewart Cook, in which he suggested that the best way of avoiding the danger of a scientific hierarchy would be to see to it that every member of the general public was, as far as possible, scientifically educated. At the same time, scientists should be brought out of their isolation and encouraged to take a greater part in politics and administration. As a general statement, I think most of us would agree with this, but I notice that, as usual, Mr. Cook does not define science, and merely implies in passing that it means certain exact sciences whose experiments can be made under laboratory conditions. Thus, adult education tends to neglect scientific studies in favour of literary, economic and social subjects, economics and sociology not being regarded as branches of science. Apparently. This point is of great importance. For the word science is at present used in at least two

meanings, and the whole question of scientific education is obscured by the current tendency to dodge from one meaning to the other. Science is generally taken as meaning either (a) the exact sciences, such as chemistry, physics, etc., or (b) a method of thought which obtains verifiable results by reasoning logically from observed fact. If you ask any scientist, or indeed almost any educated person, What is science? you are likely to get an answer approximating to (b). In everyday life, however, both in speaking and in writing, when people say science they mean (a). Science means something that happens in a laboratory: the very word calls up a picture of graphs, test-tubes, balances, Bunsen burners, microscopes. A biologist, and astronomer, perhaps a psychologist or a mathematician is described as a man of science: no one would think of applying this term to a statesman, a poet, a journalist or even a philosopher. And those who tell us that the young must be scientifically educated mean, almost invariably, that they should be taught more about radioactivity, or the stars, or the physiology or their own bodies, rather than that they should be taught to think more exactly. This confusion of meaning, which is partly deliberate, has in it a great danger. Implied in the demand for more scientific education is the claim that if one has been scientifically trained one's approach to all subjects will be more intelligent than if one had had no such training. A scientist's political opinions, it is assumed, his opinions on sociological questions, on morals, on philosophy, perhaps even on the arts, will be more valuable than those of a layman. The world, in other words, would be a better place if the scientists were in control of it. But a scientist, as we have just seen, means in practice a specialist in one of the exact sciences. It follows that a chemist or a physicist, as such, is politically more intelligent than a poet or a lawyer, as such. And, in fact, there are already millions of people who do believe this. But is it really true that a scientist, in this narrower sense, is any likelier than other people to approach non-scientific problems in an objective way? There is not much reason for thinking so. Take one simple test the ability to withstand nationalism. It is often loosely said that Science is international, but in practice the scientific workers of all countries line up behind their own governments with fewer scruples than are felt by the writers and the artists. The German scientific community, as a whole, made no resistance to Hitler. Hitler may have ruined the long-term prospects of German science, but there were still plenty of gifted men to do the necessary research on such things as synthetic oil, jet planes, rocket projectiles and the atomic bomb. Without them the German war machine could never have been built up. On the other hand, what happened to German literature when the Nazis came to power? I believe no exhaustive lists have been published, but I imagine that the number of German scientists Jews apart who voluntarily

exiled themselves or were persecuted by the rgime was much smaller than the number of writers and journalists. More sinister than this, a number of German scientists swallowed the monstrosity of racial science. You can find some of the statements to which they set their names in Professor Brady's The Spirit and Structure of German Fascism. But, in slightly different forms, it is the same picture everywhere. In England, a large proportion of our leading scientists accept the structure of capitalist society, as can be seen from the comparative freedom with which they are given knighthoods, baronetcies and even peerages. Since Tennyson, no English writer worth reading one might, perhaps, make an exception of Sir Max Beerbohm has been given a title. And those English scientists who do not simply accept the status quo are frequently Communists, which means that, however intellectually scrupulous they may be in their own line of work, they are ready to be uncritical and even dishonest on certain subjects. The fact is that a mere training in one or more of the exact sciences, even combined with very high gifts, is no guarantee of a humane or sceptical outlook. The physicists of half a dozen great nations, all feverishly and secretly working away at the atomic bomb, are a demonstration of this. But does all this mean that the general public should not be more scientifically educated? On the contrary! All it means is that scientific education for the masses will do little good, and probably a lot of harm, if it simply boils down to more physics, more chemistry, more biology, etc., to the detriment of literature and history. Its probable effect on the average human being would be to narrow the range of his thoughts and make him more than ever contemptuous of such knowledge as he did not possess: and his political reactions would probably be somewhat less intelligent than those of an illiterate peasant who retained a few historical memories and a fairly sound aesthetic sense. Clearly, scientific education ought to mean the implanting of a rational, sceptical, experimental habit of mind. It ought to mean acquiring a method a method that can be used on any problem that one meets and not simply piling up a lot of facts. Put it in those words, and the apologist of scientific education will usually agree. Press him further, ask him to particularize, and somehow it always turns out that scientific education means more attention to the sciences, in other words more facts. The idea that science means a way of looking at the world, and not simply a body of knowledge, is in practice strongly resisted. I think sheer professional jealousy is part of the reason for this. For if science is simply a method or an attitude, so that anyone whose thought-processes are sufficiently rational can in some sense be described as a scientist what then becomes of the enormous prestige now enjoyed by the chemist, the physicist, etc. and his claim to be somehow wiser than the rest of us?

A hundred years ago, Charles Kingsley described science as making nasty smell in a laboratory. A year or two ago a young industrial chemist informed me, smugly, that he could not see what was the use of poetry. So the pendulum swings to and fro, but it does not seem to me that one attitude is any better than the other. At the moment, science is on the upgrade, and so we hear, quite rightly, the claim that the masses should be scientifically educated: we do not hear, as we ought, the counter-claim that the scientists themselves would benefit by a little education. Just before writing this, I saw in an American magazine the statement that a number of British and American physicists refused from the start to do research on the atomic bomb, well knowing what use would be made of it. Here you have a group of same men in the middle of a world of lunatics. And though no names were published, I think it would be a safe guess that all of them were people with some kind of general cultural background, some acquaintance with history or literature or the arts in short, people whose interests were not, in the current sense of the word, purely scientific.

All the world's a stage

"All the world's a stage" is the phrase that begins a monologue from William Shakespeare's As You Like It, spoken by the melancholy Jaques in Act II Scene vii. The speech compares the world to a stage and life to a play, and catalogues the seven stages of a man's life, sometimes referred to as the seven ages of man: infant, schoolboy, lover, soldier, justice, pantaloon, and second childhood, "sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything". It is one of Shakespeare's most frequently-quoted passages.

All the World's a Stage monologue All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
The Poetry of Robert Frost Summary and Analysis
The narrator comes upon a fork in the road while walking through a yellow wood. He considers both paths and concludes that each one is equally well-traveled and appealing. After choosing one of the roads, the narrator tells himself that he will come back to this fork one day in order to try the other road. However, he realizes that it is unlikely that he will ever have the opportunity to come back to this specific point in time because his choice of path will simply lead to other forks in the road (and other decisions). The narrator ends on a nostalgic note, wondering how different things would have been had he chosen the other path. Analysis This poem is made up of four stanzas of five lines, each with a rhyme scheme of ABAAB. Along with Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, this poem is one of Frosts most beloved works and is frequently studied in high school literature classes. Since its publication, many readers have analyzed the poem as a nostalgic commentary on life choices. The narrator decided to seize the day and express himself as an individual by choosing the road that was less traveled by. As a result of this decision, the narrator claims, his life was fundamentally different that it would have been had he chosen the more well-traveled path. This reading of the poem is extremely popular because every reader can empathize with the narrators decision: having to choose between two paths without having any knowledge of where each road will lead. Moreover, the narrators decision to choose the less traveled path demonstrates his courage. Rather than taking the safe path that others have traveled, the narrator prefers to make his own way in the world. However, when we look closer at the text of the poem, it becomes clear that such an idealistic analysis is largely inaccurate. The narrator only distinguishes the paths from one another after he has already selected one and traveled many years through life. When he

first comes upon the fork in the road, the paths are described as being fundamentally identical. In terms of beauty, both paths are equally fair, and the overall passing there / Had worn them really about the same. It is only as an old man that the narrator looks back on his life and decides to place such importance on this particular decision in his life. During the first three stanzas, the narrator shows no sense of remorse for his decision nor any acknowledgement that such a decision might be important to his life. Yet, as an old man, the narrator attempts to give a sense of order to his past and perhaps explain why certain things happened to him. Of course, the excuse that he took the road less traveled by is false, but the narrator still clings to this decision as a defining moment of his life, not only because of the path that he chose but because he had to make a choice in the first place.

The Tell-Tale Heart

"The Tell-Tale Heart" is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe first published in 1843. It follows an unnamed narrator who insists on his sanity after murderingan old man with a "vulture eye". The murder is carefully calculated, and the murderer hides the body by dismembering it and hiding it under the floorboards. Ultimately the narrator's guilt manifests itself in the hallucination that the man's heart is still beating under the floorboards. It is unclear what relationship, if any, the old man and his murderer share. It has been suggested that the old man is a father figure, or whether the narrator works for the old man as a servant, perhaps, that his vulture eye represents some sort of veiled secret, or power. The ambiguity and lack of details about the two main characters stand in stark contrast to the specific plot details leading up to the murder. The story was first published in James Russell Lowell's The Pioneer in January 1843. "The Tell-Tale Heart" is widely considered a classic of the Gothic fiction genre and one of Poe's most famous short stories.

Plot summary

"The Tell-Tale Heart" is a first-person narrative of an unnamed narrator

[1]

who insists he is sane but

suffering from a disease (nervousness) which causes "over-acuteness of the senses". The old man with whom he lives has a clouded, pale, blue "vulture-like" eye which so distresses the narrator that he plots to murder the old man, though the narrator states that he loves the old man, and hates only the eye. The narrator insists that his careful precision in committing the murder shows that he cannot possibly be insane. For seven nights, the narrator opens the door of the old man's room, a process which takes him a full hour. However, the old man's vulture eye is always closed, making it impossible to "do the work". On the eighth night, the old man awakens and sits up in his own bed while the narrator performs his nightly ritual. The narrator does not draw back and, after some time, decides to open his lantern. A single ray of light shines out and lands precisely on the old man's eye, revealing that it is wide open. Hearing the

old man's heart beating unusually and dangerously quick from terror, the narrator decides to strike, jumping out with a loud yell and smothering the old man with his own bed. The narrator dismembers the body and conceals the pieces under the floorboards, making certain to hide all signs of the crime. Even so, the old man's scream during the night causes a neighbor to report to the police. The narrator invites the three arriving officers in to look around. He claims that the screams heard were his own in a nightmare and that the man is absent in the country. Confident that they will not find any evidence of the murder, the narrator brings chairs for them and they sit in the old man's room, right on the very spot where the body is concealed, yet they suspect nothing, as the narrator has a pleasant and easy manner about him. The narrator, however, begins to hear a faint noise. As the noise grows louder, the narrator comes to the conclusion that it is the heartbeat of the old man coming from under the floorboards. The sound increases steadily, though the officers seem to pay no attention to it. Shocked by the constant beating of the heart and a feeling that not only are the officers aware of the sound, but that they also suspect him, the narrator confesses to killing the old man and tells them to tear up the floorboards to reveal the body.

Analysis
"The Tell-Tale Heart" uses an unreliable narrator. The exactness with which the narrator recounts murdering the old man, as if his stealthy way of executing the crime is evidence of his sanity, reveals his monomania and paranoia. The narrator of "The Tell-Tale Heart" is generally assumed to be male. However, some critics have suggested a woman may be narrating; no pronouns are used to clarify one way or the other.
[2]

The story

starts in medias res, in the middle of the event. The opening is an in-progress conversation between the narrator and another person who is not identified in any way. It is speculated that the narrator is confessing to a prison warden, judge, newspaper reporter, doctor or psychiatrist. narrator's need to explain himself in great detail.
[3] [4] [5] [3]

This sparks the

What follows is a study of terror but, more specifically, The first word of the story, "True!",

the memory of terror as the narrator is relating events from the past. is an admission of his guilt. pull him/her into the story.
[7] [6]

This introduction also serves to immediately grab the reader's attention and

From there, every word contributes to the purpose of moving the story

forward, possibly making "The Tell-Tale Heart" the best example of Poe's theories on a perfect short story.

The story is driven not by the narrator's insistence upon his innocence but by insistence on his sanity. This, however, is self-destructive because in attempting to prove his sanity he fully admits he is guilty of murder.
[8]

His denial of insanity is based on his systemic actions and precisiona rational explanation for
[4]

irrational behavior.

This rationality, however, is undermined by his lack of motivation ("Object there was

none. Passion there was none."). Despite this, he says the idea of murder, "haunted me day and

night".

[8]

The story's final scene, however, is a result of the narrator's feelings of guilt. Like many

characters in the Gothic tradition, his nerves dictate his true nature. Despite his best efforts at defending himself, the narrator's "over acuteness of the senses," which help him hear the heart beating in the floorboards, is actually evidence that he is truly mad.
[9]

Readers during Poe's time would have been

[10]

especially interested amidst the controversy over the insanity defense in the 1840s.

The narrator claims to have a disease which causes hypersensitivity in his senses. A similar motif is used for Roderick Usher in "The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839) and in "The Colloquy of Monos and Una" (1841).
[11]

It is unclear, however, if the narrator actually has very acute senses or if he is merely imagining

things. If his condition is believed to be true, what he hears at the end of the story may not be the old man's heart but death watch beetles. The narrator first admits to hearing death watches in the wall after startling the old man from his sleep. According to superstition, death watches are a sign of impending death. One variety of death watch beetles raps its head against surfaces, presumably as part of a mating ritual, while others emit a ticking sound.
[11]

Henry David Thoreau had suggested in 1838 that the death

[12]

watch beetles sound similar to a heartbeat.

Alternatively, if the heart beating is really a product of the

[13]

narrator's imagination, it is that uncontrolled imagination that leads to his own destruction.

The relationship between the old man and the narrator is ambiguous, as are their names, their occupations, and where they live. In fact, that ambiguity adds to the tale as an ironic counter to the strict attention to detail in the plot.
[14]

The narrator may be a servant of the old man's or, as is more often

assumed, his son. In that case, the "vulture" eye of the old man is symbolizing parental surveillance and possibly the paternal principles of right and wrong. The murder of the eye, then, is a removal of conscience.
[15]

The eye may also represent secrecy, again playing on the ambiguous lack of detail about
[16]

the old man or the narrator. Only when the eye is finally found open on the final night, penetrating the veil of secrecy, is the murder carried out. Regardless, their relationship is incidental; the focus of the story
[17]

is the perverse scheme to commit the perfect crime.

Former United States Poet Laureate Richard Wilbur has suggested that the tale is an allegorical representation of Poe's poem "To Science". The poem shows the struggle between imagination and science. In "The Tell-Tale Heart," the old man represents the scientific rational mind while the narrator is the imaginative.
[18]

The Gift of the Magi

"The Gift of the Magi" is a short story written by O. Henry (a pen name for William Sydney Porter), about a young married couple and how they deal with the challenge of buying secret Christmas gifts for each other with very little money. As a sentimental story with a moral lesson about gift-giving, it has been a popular one for adaptation, especially for presentation during the Christmas season. The plot and its

"twist ending" are well-known, and the ending is generally considered an example of situational irony. It was allegedly written at Pete's Tavern
[1][2]

on Irving Place in New York City.

Plot
Young married couple Della and James "Jim" Dillingham Young are very much in love with each other but can barely afford their one-room apartment due to their very bad economic situation. For Christmas, Della decides to buy Jim a chain for his prized pocket watch given to him by his father's father. To raise the funds, she has her long, beautiful hair cut off and sold to make a wig. Meanwhile, Jim decides to sell his watch to buy Della a beautiful set of combs made out of tortoiseshell and jewels for her lovely, kneelength brown hair. Although each is disappointed to find the gift they chose rendered useless, each is pleased with the gift that they received, because it represents their love for one another. The story ends with the narrator comparing the pair's mutually sacrificial gifts of love with those of the Biblical Magi: The magi, as you know, were wise men wonderfully wise men who brought gifts to the new-born King of the Jews in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. In a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and [3] receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the Magi.

The Necklace
The Necklace or The Diamond Necklace (French: La Parure) is a short story by Guy de Maupassant, first published in 1884 in the French newspaper Le Gaulois. The story has become one of Maupassant's popular works and is well known for its ending. It is also the inspiration for Henry James's short story, "Paste".
[citation needed] [2] [1]

It has been dramatised as a musical by the Irish composer Conor Mitchell;

it was

first produced professionally by Thomas Hopkins and Andrew Jenkins for Surefire Theatrical Ltd at the Edinburgh Festival in 2007.

Plot Summary
"The Necklace" tells the story of Madame Mathilde Loisel and her husband. Mathilde always imagined herself in a high social position with wonderful jewels. However she has nothing and marries a low paid clerk who tries his best to make her happy. Through lots of begging at work, he is able to get two invitations to the Ministry of the Public Instruction party. Mathilde then refuses to go, for she has nothing to wear. Her husband is upset to see her displeasure and, using money that he was saving to buy a rifle, he lets Mathilde buy a dress that suits her. But Mathilde is still not happy, she wants jewels to wear with it. Since they have no money left, her husband suggests that she borrow something from her friend, Madame Jeanne Forestier. Mathilde picks

out the fanciest jewel necklace that she can find. After attending the Ministry of Public Instruction party, Mathilde discovers that she has lost the necklace. Mathilde and her husband look everywhere but the necklace is not to be found. They take out loans from generous friends and loan sharks to buy a diamond necklace that looks just like the one that was lost. It takes them ten years of hard labor to come up with the 36,000 francs necessary to pay them back. Toward the end, Mathilde takes a walk, remembering her past and the night when the necklace was lost. Suddenly she sees Madame Jeanne Forestier and goes to meet her. Mathilde confesses about that night and how she worked so hard to return her necklace. Mme. Forestier, deeply moved, tells Mathilde that the one she had borrowed was not made of real diamonds and that it was worth at most 500 francs.

HER FIRST BALL - CATHERINE MANSFIELD

Katherine Mansfield was born in Wellington, New Zealand, into a middle-class colonial family. Her father, Harold Beauchamp, was a banker and her mother, Annie Burnell Dyer, was of genteel origins. She lived for six years in the rural village of Karori. Later on Mansfield said "I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was, too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all." At the age of nine she had her first story published. Entitled 'Enna Blake' it appeared in The High School Reporter in Wellington, with the editor's comment, that it "shows promise of great merit". As a first step to her rebellion against her background, she withdrew to London in 1903 and studied at Queen's College, where she joined the staff of the College Magazine. Back in New Zealand in 1906, she then took up music, and had affairs with both men and women. Her father denied her the opportunity to become a professional cello player she was an accomplished violoncellist. In 1908 she studied typing and bookkeeping at Wellington Technical College. Her lifelong friend Ida Baker (L.M., Leslie Moore in her diary and correspondence) persuaded Mansfield's father to allow Katherine to move back to England, with an allowance of 100 a year. There she devoted herself to writing. Mansfield never visited New Zealand again. After an unhappy marriage in 1909 to George Brown, whom she left a few days after the wedding, Mansfield toured for a while as an extra in opera. Before the marriage she had an affair with Garnett Trowell, a musician, and became pregnant. In Bavaria, where Mansfield spent some time, she suffered a miscarriage. During her stay in Germany she wrote satirical sketches of German characters, which were published in 1911 under the title In a German Pension. Earlier her stories had appeared in The New Age. On her return to London, Mansfield became ill with an untreated sexually transmitted disease she contracted from Floryan Sobieniowski; a condition which contributed to her weak health for the rest of her life. Sobieniowski was a Polish

migr translator, whom she met in Germany. Her first story published in England was 'The Child-Who-Was-Tired', about a overworked nursemaid who kills a baby it has been claimed that it was a copy of Chekhov's story 'Spat Khochetsia' (1888, Sleepyhead). Mansfield attended literary parties without much enthusiasm: "Pretty rooms and pretty people, pretty coffee, and cigarettes out of a silver tankard... I was wretched." Always outspoken, she was once turned out of an omnibus after calling another woman a whore; the woman had declared that all suffragettes ought to be trampled to death by horses. In 1911 she met John Middleton Murry, a Socialist and former literary critic, who was first a tenant in her flat, then her lover. Mansfield co-edited and contributed to a series of journals. Until 1914 she published stories in Rhythm and The Blue Review. During the war she travelled restlessly between England and France. When her brother "Chummie"died in World War I, Mansfield focused her writing on New Zealand and her family. 'Prelude' (1916), one of her most famous stories, was written during this period. After divorcing her first husband in 1918, Mansfield married Murry. In the same year she was found to have tuberculosis. Mansfied and Murry were closely associated with D.H. Lawrence and his wife Frieda. Upon learning that Murry had an affair with the Princess Bibesco (ne Asquith), Mansfield objected not to the affair but to her letters to Murry: "I am afraid you must stop writing these love letters to my husband while he and I live together. It is one of the things which is not done in our world." (from a letter to Princess Bibesco, 1921) Mansfied did her best work in the early 1920s, the peak of her achievement being the Garden Party (1922), which she wrote during the final stages of her illness. Her last years Mansfield spent in southern France and in Switzerland, seeking relief from tuberculosis. As a part of her treatment in 1922 at an institute, Mansfield had to lie a few hours every day on a platform suspended over a cow manger. She breathed odors emanating from below but the treatment did no good. Without the company of her literary friends, family, or her husband, she wrote much about her own roots and her childhood. Mansfield died of a pulmonary hemorrhage on January 9, 1923, in Gurdjieff Institute, near Fontainebleau, France. Her last words were: "I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face." Mansfield's family memoirs were collected in Bliss (1920). Only three volumes of Mansfield's stories were published during her lifetime. 'Miss Brill' was about a woman who enjoys the beginning of the Season. She goes to her "special" seat with her fur. She had taken it out of its box in the afternoon, shaken off the moth-powder, and given it a brush. She feels that she has a part in the play in the park, and somebody will notice if she isn't there. A couple sits near her. The girl laughs at her fur and the man says: "Why does she come here at all who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her

silly old mug at home?" Miss Brill hurries back home, unclasps the neckpiece quickly, and puts it in the box. "But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying." In 'The Garden Party' (1921) an extravagant garden-party is arranged on a beautiful day. Laura, the daughter of the party's hostess, hears of the accidental death of a young local working-class man, Mr. Scott. The man lived in the neighborhood. Laura wants to cancel the party, but her mother refuses to understand. She fills a basket with sandwiches, cakes, pastries and other food, goes to the widow's house, and sees the dead man in the bedroom where he is lying. "He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane." Crying she tells her brother who is looking for her: "'It was simply marvellous. But, Laurie ' She stopped, she looked at her brother. 'Isn't life,' she stammered, 'isn't life ' But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood." Mansfield was greatly influenced by Anton Chekhov, sharing his warm humanity and attention to small details of human behavior. Her influence on the development of the modern short story was also notable. Among her literary friends were Aldous Huxley, Virginia Woolf, who considered her overpraised, and D.H. Lawrence, who later turned against Murry and her. Mansfield's journal, letters, and scrapbook were edited by her husband, who ignored her wish that he should "tear up and burn as much as possible" of the papers she left behind her.

The Monkey's Paw

"The Monkey's Paw" is a horror short story by author W. W. Jacobs. It was published in England in 1902. The story is based on the famous "setup" in which three wishes are granted. In the story, the paw of a dead monkey is a talisman that grants its possessor three wishes, but the wishes come with an enormous price for interfering with fate.

Plot
The story involves Mr. and Mrs. White and their adult son Herbert. Sergeant-Major Morris, a friend of the Whites who has been part of the British Armed Forces in India, leaves them with the monkey's paw, telling of its mysterious powers to grant three wishes, and of its journey from an old fakir to his comrade, who used his third and final wish to wish for death. Mr. White wishes for 200. Their son is killed by machinery at his company, and they get compensation of 200. Ten days after they bury Herbert, Mrs. White, almost mad with grief, asks her husband to wish Herbert back to life with the paw. Reluctantly, he does so. After a delay, there is a knock at the door. Mrs. White

fumbles at the locks in an attempt to open the door. Mr. White knows, however, that he cannot allow their son in, as his appearance will be too horrific. Mr. White was required to witness and identify the body, which had been mutilated by the accident and then buried for more than a week. He wishes his third wish, and the knocking stops. Mrs. White opens the door to find no one there. The moral of the story is contained in this description of the paw: '"It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow."

BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH - EMILY DICKINSON

First Published: 1890 Type of Work: Poem Genres: Poetry, Lyric poetry Subjects: Immortality, Death or dying, Life and death, Time, Cemeteries,Eternity Death appears personified in this poem as a courtly beau who gently insists that the speaker put aside both labor and leisure. He arrives in his carriage, having stopped for her because she could not have stopped for him, and he even submits to a chaperone, Immortality, for the length of their outing together. This death holds no terrors. Their drive is slow, and they pass the familiar sights of the town: fields of grain which gaze at them, the local school and its playground. Even so, the speaker realizes that this is no ordinary outing with an ordinary gentleman caller when they pass the setting sun, Or rather He passed Us. She realizes that it has grown cold, that she wears only a gossamer gown and a tulle lace cap. Death takes the speaker to her new home, A Swelling of the Ground, whose roof is scarcely visible. Though centuries have passed since the event, the entire episode, including the speaker's awareness of her death, seems less than a day in length. The poem fuses elements of the secular seduction motif, with elements of the medieval bride-of-Christ tradition, arguable through inclusion of details such as the tippet of a nun's habit.

The World Is Too Much with Us

"The World Is Too Much with Us" is a sonnet by the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth. In it, Wordsworth criticizes the world of the First Industrial Revolution for being absorbed in materialism and distancing itself from nature. Composed circa 1802, the poem was first published in Poems, In Two Volumes (1807). Like most Italian sonnets, its 14 lines are written in iambic pentameter.

Theme
In the early 19th century, Wordsworth wrote several sonnets blasting what he perceived as "the decadent material cynicism of the time."
[1]

"The World Is Too Much with Us" is one of those works. It reflects his
[1]

philosophy that humanity must get in touch with nature in order to progress spiritually.

The rhyme

scheme of this poem is abbaabbacdcdcd. This Italian sonnet uses the last six lines (sestet) to answer the first eight lines (octave). [edit]Poem The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! Id rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathd horn.

Summary
Wordsworth gives a fatalistic view of the world, past and future. The words "late and soon" in the opening verse describe how the past and future are included in his characterization of mankind. The author knows the potential of humanity's "powers," but fears it is clouded by the mentality of "getting and spending." The "sordid boon" we have "given our hearts" is the materialistic progress of mankind. The detriment society has on the environment will proceed unchecked and relentless like the "winds that will be howling at all hours". Unlike society, Wordsworth does not see nature as a commodity. The verse "Little we see in Nature that is ours", shows that coexisting is the relationship envisioned. This relationship appears to be at the mercy of mankind because of the vulnerable way nature is described. The verse "This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon", gives the vision of a feminine creature opening herself to the heavens above. The phrase "sleeping flowers" might also describe how nature is being overrun unknowingly and is helpless.

The verse "I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn", reveals Wordsworth's perception of himself in society: a visionary romantic more in touch with nature than his contemporaries. [edit]Conventions Metaphor we have given our hearts away, a sordid boon Sordid- demonstrating the worst aspects of human nature such as immorality, selfishness and greed. Boon- something that functions as a blessing or benefit. Contradiction between words suggests materialism is a destructive and corrupt blessing that the industrial revolution has produced. It emphasised the tension between the good exterior and the sordid truth behind materialism. On the exterior material good bring pleasure and in many ways are a symbol of mans progress however in truth they feed the worst aspects of humanity (greed). Sonnet form Ironic-Wordsworth employs a strictly structured form which conforms to a set of strict conventions. Creates a tension between the emotional, natural, fluid themes explored in the poem and the structured form of the sonnet. Mirrors what was occurring at the time in which artists and poets were rebelling in the structured world of the neoclassical period. Shattering it from with in Employing the familiar with the new and revolutionary-Wordsworth uses the familiar structure of the sonnet as well as referencing to familiar ancient Gods (in the authors context they would have been familiar) to persuade the reader to engage in a positive way to the concepts addressed. The unfamiliar or unknown is always feared and suppressed thus by incorporating the familiar with the revolutionary the reader in the 19th century is more likely to engage positively with Wordsworths message. In many ways this poem is a persuasive piece Repetition and rhyming scheme -Repetitive rhyming scheme ABBAABBA getting and spending late and soon emphasises the monotonous nature of modern life and materialism. Getting and spending, cluster of longer emphasised words with many consonants words are drawn out when read. Sluggish -In essence materialism is just that getting and spending it is devoid of emotion or a true fulfilling purpose no life of flare as shown in the language. This positions the reader to engage negatively with the glorification of materialism and industrialization. In many ways the stereotypes of man and woman mirror the difference between the neoclassical and romantic period between civilized and nature. Men in this context are associated with rationality, strength, order and power. Whereas the feminine is associated with emotion and the imagination.

Capitalization of the word Sea makes it a name This idea that nature is not a commodity but and equal to man is demonstrated in the line little we see in nature that is ours implies that wordsworth envisions a equal relationship between man and nature Music and Harmony for this for everything we are out of tune -Implies that man is out of tune with nature, unable to live in harmony. Through describing this as a tune this demonstrates Wordsworths use of the sense experience in his poetry. -From his defensive writings sense the music of the poem -Wordsworths poetry has lyrical harmonies Collective pronoun uses the words we and us. Involves and includes the reader once again positioning reader to engage positively. Persuasive Imagery "and are up gathered now like sleeping flowers" -Sleeping flowers suggest that man is numb and in a way dead and unaware of the beauty and power of the natural world. -However there is also a certain optimismsleeping flowers implies that humans are dormant in other words there is some hope wake up and realize the power of nature. Punctuation many commas and semicolons create pauses that instill a reflection in the reader. In each pause the reader is given space to contemplate and engage with the message.

Robert Southey (1774-1843) My Days among the Dead are Past

1My days among the Dead are past; 2 Around me I behold, 3Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 4 The mighty minds of old; 5My never-failing friends are they, 6With whom I converse day by day.

7With them I take delight in weal,

8 And seek relief in woe; 9And while I understand and feel 10 How much to them I owe, 11My cheeks have often been bedew'd 12With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

13My thoughts are with the Dead, with them 14 I live in long-past years, 15Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 16 Partake their hopes and fears, 17And from their lessons seek and find 18Instruction with an humble mind.

19My hopes are with the Dead, anon 20 My place with them will be, 21And I with them shall travel on 22 Through all Futurity; 23Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 24That will not perish in the dust.

Preposition and postposition

Prepositions (or more generally, adpositions, see below) are a grammatically distinct class of words whose most central members characteristically express spatial relations (such as English in,under, toward) or serve to mark various syntactic functions and semantic roles (such as

English of, for). In that the primary function is relational, a preposition typically combines with anotherconstituent (called its complement) to form a prepositional phrase, relating the complement to the context in which the phrase occurs. The word preposition comes from Latin, a language in which such a word is usually placed before its complement. (Thus it is pre-positioned.) English is another such language. In many languages (e.g. Urdu, Turkish, Hindi and Japanese), the words with this grammatical function come after, not before, the complement. Such words are then commonly called postpositions. Similarly,circumpositions consist of two parts that appear on both sides of the complement. The technical term used to refer collectively to prepositions, postpositions, and circumpositions is adposition. Some linguists use the word "preposition" instead of "adposition" for all three cases. The following examples illustrate some uses of English prepositional phrases: as a modifier to a verb sleep throughout the winter danced atop the tables for hours
[2]

[1]

as a modifier to a noun the weather in May cheese from France with live bacteria

as a modifier of an adjective happy for them sick until recently

as the complement of a verb insist on staying home dispose of unwanted items

as the complement of a noun a thirst for revenge an amendment to the constitution

as the complement of an adjective or adverb attentive to their needs separately from its neighbors

as the complement of another preposition until after supper from beneath the bed

Definitional issues
Adpositions form a heterogeneous class, with boundaries that tend to overlap with other categories (like verbs, nouns, and adjectives). It is thus impossible to provide an absolute definition that picks out all and only the adpositions in every language. The following features, however, are often required of adpositions. An adposition combines syntactically with exactly one complement phrase, most often a noun phrase (or, in a different analysis, a determiner phrase). (In some analyses, an adposition need have no complement. See below.) In English, this is generally a noun (or something functioning as a noun, e.g., a gerund), called the object of the preposition, together with its attendant modifiers. An adposition establishes the grammatical relationship that links its complement to another word or phrase in the context. In English, it may also establish a semantic relationship, which may be spatial (in, on, under, ...), temporal (after, during, ...), or logical (via, ...) in nature. The World Atlas of Language Structures treats a word as an adposition if it takes a noun phrase as complement and indicates the grammatical or semantic relationship of that phrase to the verb in the containing clause.
[3]

An adposition determines certain grammatical properties of its complement (e.g. its case). In English, the objects of prepositions are always in the objective case (where such case is available: i.e. pronouns). In Koine Greek, certain prepositions always take their objects in a certain case (e.g., always takes its object in the dative), and other prepositions may take their object in one of several cases, depending on the meaning of the preposition (e.g., takes its object in the genitive or in the accusative, depending on the meaning).

Adpositions are non-inflecting (or "invariant"); i.e., they do not have paradigms of forms (for different tenses, cases, genders, etc.) in the same way as verbs, adjectives, and nouns in the same language. There are exceptions, though, for example in Celtic languages (see Inflected preposition).