Ruins of a Great Housethough our longest sun sets at right declensions andmakes but winter arches,it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness, andhave our light in ashes. . .Browne, Urn BurialStones only, the disjecta membra of this Great House,Whose moth-like girls are mixed with candledust,Remain to file the lizard’s dragonish claws.The mouths of those gate cherubs shriek with stain;Axle and coach wheel silted under the muckOf cattle droppings.Three crows flap for the treesAnd settle, creaking the eucalyptus boughs.A smell of dead limes quickens in the noseThe leprosy of empire.‘Farewell, green fields,Farewell, ye happy groves!’Marble like Greece, like Faulkner’s South in stone,Deciduous beauty prospered and is gone,But where the lawn breaks in a rash of treesA spade below dead leaves will ring the boneOf some dead animal or human thingFallen from evil days, from evil times.It seems that the original crops were limesGrown in that silt that clogs the river’s skirt;The imperious rakes are gone, their bright girls gone,The river flows, obliterating hurt.I climbed a wall with the grille ironworkOf exiled craftsmen protecting that great houseFrom guilt, perhaps, but not from the worm’s rentNor from the padded calvary of the mouse.And when a wind shook in the limes I heardWhat Kipling heard, the death of a great empire, theabuseOf ignorance by Bible and by sword.A green lawn, broken by low walls of stone,Dipped to the rivulet, and pacing, I thought nextOf men like Hawkins, Walter Raleigh, Drake,Ancestral murderers and poets, more perplex4edIn memory now by every ulcerous crime.The world’s green age then was rotting limeWhose stench became the charnel galleon’s text.The rot remains with us, the men are gone.But, as dead ash is lifted in a windThat fans the blackening ember of the mind,My eyes burned from the ashen prose of Donne.Ablaze with rage I thought,Some slave is rotting in this manorial lake,But still the coal of my compassion foughtThat Albion too was onceA colony like ours, ‘part of the continent, piece of themain’,Nook-shotten, rook o’erblown, derangedBy foaming channels and the vain expenseOf bitter faction.All in compassion endsSo differently from what the heart arranged:‘as well as if a manor of thy friend’s. . . ‘

The Fall of the House of UsherEdgar Allan Poe1 Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn.2 Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me—while the carvings of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy—while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this—I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master.3 The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books and musical instruments lay scattered about, but failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all.QuestionWhich statement BEST expresses the relationship between the diction and mood of this selection?ResponsesA The story's formal diction creates a sad mood.The story's formal diction creates a sad mood.B The story's formal diction creates a joyful mood.The story's formal diction creates a joyful mood.C The story's casual diction creates an angry mood.The story's casual diction creates an angry mood.D The story's formal diction creates an elegant mood.

What can be said about the houses of the Neolithic era?They were meant to provide shelter only during the winter.They became more durable and permanent. They were just walls and a roof with nothing inside.They had abundant ornaments and sculptures.

What happened to the remains of Helen Martins?1 pointBuried in the local graveyardIn the Camel YardOn her fireplace in a glass containerInside the cement owl on her roof

Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Arizona. White House Ruins. Wikimedia Commons. Web. 16 Aug 2016Based upon the image, which statement below BEST describes the Indian tribe that inhabited these ruins?Elimination ToolSelect one answerAThe tribe was nomadic, moving from place to place in search of food.BThe tribe built these structures after their conversion to Christianity.CThe tribe lived in permanent structures as part of a community.DThe tribe sought to model their structures on the homes found in Europe.

Did you know that some animal habitats (places where animals live) are being destroyed? Can you give any examples? think of the bush fires in Australia, for example. Can you think of any other ways in which animal habitats are being destroyed?