from The Somnambulistby George MacDonaldOne night I was sitting in my room, devouring an old romance which I had brought from the library. It was late. The fire blazed bright; but the candles were nearly burnt out, and I grew sleepy.Suddenly I found myself on my feet, listening with agony. Whether I had heard anything I could not tell; but I felt as if I had. Yes; I was sure of it. Far away, I heard a faint cry. Driven by some secret impulse, I flew, without a moment’s reflection, to the door, and stood in the great echoing hall, amid the touches, light and ghostly, of the cobwebs set afloat in the eddies occasioned by my sudden entrance.A faded moonbeam fell on the floor, and filled the place with an ancient dream-light, which wrought strangely on my brain, and filled it, as if it, too, were but a deserted, sleepy house, haunted by old dreams and memories. Recollecting myself, I went back for a light; but the candles were both flickering in the sockets, and I was compelled to trust to the moon. I ascended the staircase. Old as it was, not a board creaked, not a banister shook—the whole felt solid as rock. Finding, at length, no more stair to ascend, I groped my way on; for here there was no direct light from the moon—only the light of the moonlit air. I was in some trepidation, I confess; for how should I find my way back? At length, after wandering into several rooms and out again, my hand fell on a latched door. I opened it, and entered a long corridor, with many windows on one side. Broad strips of moonlight lay slantingly across the narrow floor, divided by regular intervals of shade.I started, and my heart swelled; for I saw a movement somewhere—I could neither tell where, nor of what: I was only aware of motion. I stood in the first shadow, and gazed, but saw nothing. I sped across the light to the next shadow, and stood again, looking with fearful fixedness of gaze towards the far end of the corridor. Suddenly a white form glimmered and vanished. I crossed to the next shadow. Again a glimmer and vanishing, but nearer. Nerving myself to the utmost, I ceased the stealthiness of my movements, and went forward, slowly and steadily. A tall form, apparently of a woman, dressed in a long white robe, appeared in one of the streams of light, threw its arms over its head, gave a wild cry—which, notwithstanding its wildness and force, had a muffled sound, as if many folds, either of matter or of space, intervened—and fell at full length along the moonlight. Amidst the thrill of agony which shook me at the cry, I rushed forward, and, kneeling beside the prostrate figure, discovered that, unearthly as was the scream which had preceded her fall, it was the Lady Alice. I saw the fact in a moment: the Lady Alice was a somnambulist.* . . .*a sleep-walker5Select ALL the correct answers.In which two ways does the author best create suspense in the story? by setting the scene late at night in a large, dark house without lights through the descriptive elements of moonlight, shadow, movement, and form through the interplay of thoughts, dreams, and memories of the narrator by suggesting the unfamiliarity of the narrator with his surroundings by focusing on the rooms of the house through which the story progresses

Upon the Burning of Our HouseAnne BradstreetIn silent night when rest I took,For sorrow near I did not look,I waken'd was with thund’ring noiseAnd Piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.That fearful sound of fire and fire,5Let no man know is my Desire.I, starting up, the light did spy,And to my God my heart did cryTo strengthen me in my DistressAnd not to leave me succourless. 10Then coming out beheld a space,The flame consume my dwelling place.And, when I could no longer look,I blest his Name that gave and took,That laid my goods now in the dust: 15Yea so it was, and so 'twas just.It was his own: it was not mine;Far be it that I should repine.He might of All justly bereft,But yet sufficient for us left. 20When by the Ruines oft I past,My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,And here and there the places spyWhere oft I sate, and long did lye.Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest; 25There lay that store I counted best:My pleasant things in ashes lye,And them behold no more shall I.Under thy roof no guest shall sit,Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.30No pleasant tale shall 'ere be told,Nor things recounted done of old.No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.In silence ever shalt thou lye; 35Adieu, Adeiu; All's vanity.Then straight I gin my heart to chide,And didst thy wealth on earth abide?Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust,The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? 40Raise up thy thoughts above the skyThat dunghill mists away may fly.Thou hast an house on high erectFram'd by that mighty Architect,With glory richly furnished, 45Stands permanent tho' this bee fled.It's purchased, and paid for tooBy him who hath enough to doe.A Price so vast as is unknown,Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own. 50There's wealth enough, I need no more;Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store.The world no longer let me Love,My hope and Treasure lyes Above.QuestionHow is the organization of the poem significant to its meaning?ResponsesA Each stanza depicts another issue the speaker must cope with.Each stanza depicts another issue the speaker must cope with.B Each stanza essentially repeats the previous stanza's thought.Each stanza essentially repeats the previous stanza's thought.C Each stanza recounts the night of the fire from a different perspective.Each stanza recounts the night of the fire from a different perspective.D Each stanza describes another possession the speaker has lost in the fire.Each stanza describes another possession the speaker has lost in the fire.E Each stanza represents another phase in the speaker's reaction to the fire.Each stanza represents another phase in the speaker's reaction to the fire.

Choose the poem that uses alliteration.Snug in my easy chair,I stirred the fire to flame.Fantastically fairThe flickering fancies came.When the cold dawn stood above the house-tops,Too late I remembered the cryIn the night of a wild bird flyingThrough the rain-filled sky.

It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh--almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry's eyes to Carton's face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of Ms foot.

During a dull, dark, and soundless day in autumn, when the clouds hung oppressively low, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country. At length I found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I looked upon the scene before me; upon the mere house, and the simple landscape—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like windows, upon a few rank marsh plants, and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation. What was it, I paused to think, what was it that so unnerved me about the House of Usher? It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression. Then, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid lake near the dwelling, and gazed down upon the warped reflection of the marsh plants, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant eye-like windows.     Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to take a sojourn of several weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of my friends in boyhood. Although, many years had passed since we last met. A letter, however, had reached me in a distant part of the country. A letter from him, which had required nothing less than a personal reply. Usher's letter spoke of illness,of a mental disorder which oppressed him and of an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his only personal friend. His desire being, that through my cheerfulness, I could help to alleviate his malady. It was the way in which it was said, it was the heart that went with his request, which allowed me no room for hesitation; and I accordingly obeyed forthwith.3Which detail from the passage develops the theme that true friends can always be counted upon in times of need? A. A letter, however, had reached me in a distant part of the country. B. Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to take a sojourn of several weeks. C. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of my friends in boyhood. D. Usher's letter spoke of illness,of a mental disorder which oppressed him and of an earnest desire to see me . . .

Which of these quotations establishes an atmosphere of sadness?The room filled with eager chatter, with the smell of roast chicken floating in from the kitchen.The glow of the fire filled the room and seemed to fill their faces with warmth and colour.The coats hung limply in the corner of the empty room. The memory of him seemed colourless now.