POEM WITH ANALYSIS

THERE'S A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--

We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--

None may teach it--Any--

'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air--

When it comes, the Landscape listens--

Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--
(Dickinson.  "There's a Certain Slant of Light")
This poem could fit for people who long for the light of sun, and winter is what is really
outside.  A single ray of sunlight on a gloomy winter can be very oppressing.  God gives one
the glimpse of warmer weather, yet the weather is not quite warm yet.  Or maybe the poem
is about death.  Death is oppressive, causes much hurt, and is a scarring aspect in the lives
of human beings.

I looked on Bloom's Literary Resource and this is what I found, "This is the poem's central
insight: the paradox that we live in the iron grasp of the ungraspable, so that our deepest
convictions are shaped by subtleties of perception of which we are scarcely aware" (Leiter
NP)

So, one can interpret the poem to be discussing the paradox of perception of experiences in
life.
I DIED FOR BEAUTY

  I died for beauty, but was scarce

Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?

"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth - the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a-night,

We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
(Dickinson.  "I Died for Beauty")

Beauty never lasts; it fades away with time, and is not an important thing in life.  However,
truth is something that lasts forever.  It is not a physical thing that wears away with the
cruelty of the years.  It is a fixed thing, that one can maintain the entirety of one's life.

In this poem, beauty and truth have been buried in the same room. Both have failed, and
called each other brethren.  They talk to each other, and see through the differences--until
they both fade away in the decay of the ground and cease to matter.  For, in the end, one
goes to Heaven, and nothing of this earth matters anymore.

 
I HEARD A FLY BUZZ WHEN I DIED

I heard a fly buzz when I died;

The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,

And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away

What portion of me I
Could make assignable,--and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,

Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.
(Dickinson.  "I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died")

This poem seems to be a minute observation typical of one's last breath.  The air is still in
this poem, and there is a stillness, which leads one to believe that the speaker in the poem
died alone--with no one to make those dying breaths more bearable.

"I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable" This
person feels like she is pretty much worthless in the world; whether it is due to being alone,
or just plain old age.  For some reason, it is reminiscent of Eleanor Rigby, in the Beatles
song with that title: "Eleanor Rigby/picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has
been/Lives in a dream/Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the
door/Who is it for?...Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her
name/Nobody came."

Finally, "the windows failed, and then I could not see."  This seems pretty obvious that the
main character has died.
PRESENTIMENT

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn

Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.
(Dickinson.  "Presentiment")

Presentiment, as defined by dictionary.com is "a feeling or impression that

something is about to happen, esp. something evil; foreboding."  The
shadow on the lawn warns the grass that the sun is setting.  And that is all I
could really pick out of this poem, so I looked at Bloom's Literary Resource:

In Emily Dickinson's short poem the speaker uses a natural phenomenon

(the formation of long shadows on the lawn as the sun sets) to illustrate how
a premonition could work.

Because the subject borders on the occult, the speaker suspends the usual
laws of the physical universe. Hence there is talk of suns (line 2) even
though our planet has only one, and the grass has an emotional life (it
becomes "startled" in line 3). The word "Notice" requires an even larger leap
of faith, however, since as it is used here, it denotes a formal announcement
by an authority of some kind. This suggests an entire system of
extrasensory sensations that operates beyond the reach of our tangible
sciences and our five universally recognized senses (Huff NP)
THE FIRST DAY'S NIGHT HAD COME
The first Day's Night had come—
And grateful that a thing
So terrible—had been endured—
I told my Soul to sing—

She said her Strings were snapt—

Her Bow—to Atoms blown—
And so to mend her—gave me work
Until another Morn—

And then—a Day as huge

As Yesterdays in pairs,
Unrolled its horror in my face—
Until it blocked my eyes—

My Brain—begun to laugh—
I mumbled—like a fool—
And tho' 'tis Years ago—that Day—
My Brain keeps giggling—still.

And Something's odd—within—

That person that I was—
And this One—do not feel the same—
Could it be Madness—this?
(Dickinson.  "The First Day's Night Had Come")

I interpret that this poem is about overcoming a terrible circumstance that

has happened to oneself.  However, the tragedy is now over, and you are
deciding to make the best of things and tell your "Soul to sing"  Everything
can go wrong in your life, yet you can still make the best of it.  Out of most
any bad experience there are good results, no matter if obvious or not.

However, even after telling oneself that there's a light at the end of the
tunnel, one is still feeling the pain.  Your brain is laughing and you are
mumbling like a fool..."Could it be Madness--this?"
EXAMPLE OF ESSAY
Describe the world you come from
Prompt:
Describe the world you come from – for example, your family, community or
school – and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.

Most children acquire the same eye color or a similar shaped nose from their
parents, but I’ve inherited much more: a passion for learning and an insatiable
curiosity which has served me well throughout my academic career. My father, an
electrical engineer, taught me to explore the world with inquisitive eyes, constantly
seeking to learn more, to understand more. I watched him for hours as he worked
on elevator schematics at home, wondering what all the various symbols and lines
meant. I was fascinated by technology and wanted to know how and why things
worked the way they did.

“How does this toaster work?” “What’s inside this VCR?” I was never satisfied
with the simplified answers that my parents gave to these questions. So I
discovered many answers for myself by exploring and experimenting.

My playground was a jumble of old circuit boards, spare electric wire, and an
assortment of broken appliances. I spent hours disassembling and tinkering with
the amazing treasures I found lying around our garage. My mother, a first grade
teacher, noticed my intellectual curiosity and encouraged my childhood
explorations. She gave me piles of mind-opening children’s books, which I
willingly read. Books like “What Makes Popcorn Pop, and Other Questions about
the World around Us” allowed me to discover the irresistible appeal of imaginative
questions and their fascinating answers.

I was given a remarkable amount of freedom at a young age. When I was 8, my

parents bought an old computer for $25 from a local yard sale with the intention of
letting me loose on it. I was thrilled. Motivated by curiosity, I delved into it at once
and learned how to use each and every feature of the computer’s antiquated MS-
DOS operating system. With my father’s help and an old programming book by
my side, I even created simple videogames for my younger brother to play.
My parents taught me to be independent and self-motivated by providing me
opportunities to learn by trial and error. I recall an episode where my parents
bought a new microwave when I was just 10 years old. As they unpacked the
microwave, I caught sight of the owner’s manual and asked to see it. After reading
the 40-page text front-to-back, I learned one very important thing: how to use a
feature called “child lock,” or as I saw it, “parent lock.” By pressing a special
sequence of buttons on the microwave, I disabled it, thus protecting my parents
from the dangers of using the appliance without my supervision. Until this day, the
first thing I do after buying a new gadget is read the entire manual, in search of
nifty features.

My intellectual curiosity is the result of a unique combination of early influences

and childhood experiences which have fueled my passion for learning inside and
outside of the classroom -- learning from everything I do. I hope to continue
applying this curiosity to all aspects of my life, exploring the world through the
eyes of my childhood persona. By refusing to accept the obvious explanation,
refusing to settle for a superficial understanding, and refusing to endure the status
quo, great American innovators like my role model Benjamin Franklin created new
knowledge, new technologies, and new innovations. I strive to do the same. It’s
part of who I am, and what drives me to become successful and happy.
My World, My Dreams
Most children acquire the same eye color or a similar shaped nose from their
parents, but I've inherited much more: a passion for learning and an insatiable
curiosity which has served me well throughout my academic career. My father,
an electrical engineer, taught me to explore the world with inquisitive eyes,
constantly seeking to learn more, to understand more. I watched him for
hours as he worked on elevator schematics at home, wondering what all the
various symbols and lines meant. I was fascinated by technology and wanted
to know how and why things worked the way they did.

"How does this toaster work?" "What’s inside this VCR?" I was never satisfied
with the simplified answers that my parents sometimes gave to these
questions. So I discovered many answers for myself by exploring and
experimenting.

My playground was a jumble of old circuit boards, spare electric wire, and an
assortment of broken appliances. I spent hours disassembling and tinkering
with the amazing treasures I found lying around our garage. My mother, a first
grade teacher, noticed my intellectual curiosity and encouraged my childhood
explorations. She gave me piles of mind-opening children's books, which I
willingly read. Books like "What Makes Popcorn Pop, and Other Questions
about the World around Us" allowed me to discover the irresistible appeal of
imaginative questions and their fascinating answers.

I was given a remarkable amount of freedom at a young age. When I was 6,

my parents bought an old computer for $25 from a local yard sale with the
intention of letting me loose on it. I was thrilled. Motivated by curiosity, I
delved into it at once and learned how to use each and every feature of the
computer's antiquated MS-DOS operating system. With my father's help and
an old programming book by my side, I even created simple videogames for
my younger brother to play.
My parents taught me to be independent and self-motivated by providing me
opportunities to learn by trial and error. I recall an episode where my parents
bought a new microwave when I was just 8 years old. As they unpacked the
microwave, I caught sight of the owner's manual and asked to see it. After
reading the 40-page text front-to-back, I learned one very important thing:
how to use a feature called "child lock," or as I saw it, "parent lock." By
pressing a special sequence of buttons on the microwave, I disabled it, thus
protecting my parents from the dangers of using the appliance without my
supervision. Until this day, the first thing I do after buying a new gadget is
read the entire manual, in search of nifty features.

My intellectual curiosity is the result of a unique combination of early

influences and childhood experiences which have fueled my passion for
learning inside and outside of the classroom -- learning from everything I do. I
hope to continue applying this curiosity to all aspects of my life, exploring the
world through the eyes of my childhood persona. By refusing to accept the
obvious explanation, refusing to settle for a superficial understanding, and
refusing to endure the status quo, great American innovators like my role
model Benjamin Franklin created new knowledge, new technologies, and new
innovations. I strive to do the same. It's part of who I am, and what drives me
to become successful and happy.
The Pen Drill
I wended my way through the first through fourth grades mostly without
speaking. My presentations during that time went in two parts: a stilted “My
name is ---,” then some sort of pantomime. So I was surprised when I got a
part in the class play, notwithstanding that everybody got a part. I played the
part of Ernest Hemingway without uttering a word. Perhaps my fifth grade
teacher wished to show Hemingway’s taciturn spirit. Perhaps it was that
playing the Hemingway part consisted of two appearances: walking through
the stage like an old man, holding an aquamarine paper C, and giving a tearful
farewell to some bare arms.

Seven years later, I was to convince two hundred and twenty members of the
Torrey Pines NHS that I should be their secretary. Mr. Chess, the club advisor,
had warned the members not to clap, since there were five other applicants
for the post of secretary alone. We did not have the time — only twenty-five
minutes in the lunch hour — needed to get this over with.

I compressed my planned speech, compressed my motions until I could drown

out that throng’s roar. Mr. Chess ended up standing up and clapping, too, in
the end.

More important than results, though, is the process of how I learned to speak
and enunciate:

Stick a pen in your mouth. Hold it like a dog holds a bone, with the ends
sticking out.

Preferably a pen which you own.

Dijyoo duwit? Chan’t enunsiate, khan yoo?

Read a speech without taking it out. Breathe through your gaping mouth and
enunciate, even though you cannot. If you can do this impossible thing, you
can enunciate while making a normal, unencumbered speech. Your mouth
opens wide, enough to fit your hand into. That’s the basic point of classical
technique, the kind that preachers and other unamplified orators practice. It
can deafen the back row.

There is a second part, though, in this technique. The Pen Drill cannot truly be
done alone. It needs to be done in front of people who laugh at the
ridiculousness of the drill, because then the second realization comes— those
people are not laughing at you. They laugh at the spectacle, the absurdity of
the stretched mouth, and if you laugh at it too, you laugh together. Laugh
together. If you can do this impossibility, you can look at any audience and
stay composed.

It took more than The Pen Drill™ to turn myself into a presenter. One time
practicing is not enough. One technique, one drill is not enough. I inserted
“banana” in words, declaimed upside-down holding up weights, and excised
the word “um” from my vocabulary permanently. Then the practicalities: I had
to write speeches and make speeches. I practiced making an entrance, making
an exit, marking a beginning and curtly finishing. I saw the music in the words,
realized the limited but infinite range of pitch and tone that a speaker can
command.

Most of all, however, I laughed.

BEDROOM TOUR
A typical teen's room? In some respects, yes, but in many ways, my room has become an extension of
my personality, interests and values. Upon entering, one would probably notice the lack of any music
group, scantily clad female model, or indeed, any adornment at all on my walls. I prefer the unsoiled look
of clean walls, which provide a sense of calm. However, my room is far from military precision and order;
my bed lies unmade and yesterday's wardrobe gathers dust on the floor. The visitor may consider my
room tidy, but not inflexible.
While touring my room, one would surely stop to look through the room's workspace, my desk and
computer. The desktop is fairly organized, consisting of a pencil holder, desk calendar, and assorted
textbooks. The calendar is full of important dates--tests, deadlines, and of course, the rare days off from
school. Academics are one of my highest priorities, but would be useless without occasional relaxation.
Above my desk hangs a bulletin board. Similar to the calendar, it holds important pieces of information, as
well as a few personal items. A postcard, a present from my grandfather, would likely catch one's eye.
The postcard is from my homeland, and includes a famous quote by Mahatma Gandhi. It reminds me of
the country I was born in, and the ties I have to my original culture. Directly below the postcard hang a
few baby pictures of myself, mementos of a simpler time. Alongside my desk is a computer, without which
I could not survive. The slightly outdated, yet fully competent Apple Macintosh aids with school, and,
nearly any other activity I participate in. The Mac also has a modem, connecting me to the global
community linked through the Internet. I am very interested in the Internet, and have found it a very useful
source of information for everything ranging from tomorrow's weather to buying a new car. Upon leaving
my workspace, I hope my possessions would convey that I am serious about my work, but I approach it
with practicality and a grain of salt.
On the other side of my room lies my relaxation area, commonly referred to as a bed. Strewn about the
bed are two magazines which represent my interests, MacWorld and Time. I read these magazines daily,
to keep up with current events as well as advancements in the information age. Atop my bureau lays the
latest work by Stephen King. The content may not be as deep and insightful as Jane Austen's or Keats,
but his stories serve their purpose in providing light entertainment. The bed is unmade, a fact for which I
feel no remorse. Although my mother disapproves, I consider an unmade bed a symbol of rest and
quietude. My bed may be considered utilitarian, for its uses are not limited to sleeping upon. Some of my
best moments of focus and concentration have occurred while lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling,
producing thoughts ranging from T.V. shows to pondering college life. Few teen rooms can be considered
complete without a loud stereo and an assorted collection of tapes and C.D.'s. My room is no different--
my music collection occupies two shelves. Past the techno-rubble of the Eighties lie my current favorites,
alternative rock. If a visitor were to turn on the stereo, he would find a couple presets devoted to
"homework" music, classical and light jazz. I find that these sounds provide a sense of tranquility while
trying to do homework, write reports, or complete college essays. My bed and surrounding areas
represent my non-academic, more human interests. They personify the activities and hobbies which I truly
enjoy, and provide a breather from some of the more rigorous aspects of life.
After exiting my room, I would hope my visitor learned a few important things about me. I consider my
academics seriously, and devote much of my time (and room) to them. However, they do not necessarily
dominate my existence; loud music and Stephen King novels also play a role.
Comments:
While no one felt that this essay was strongly flawed, they made a number of suggestions about how the
author could have rewritten the essay to create more of an impact.
The writing style is a little too rigid. The writer should let go of the fear that he won't be taken seriously
unless he uses a formal style. The writer should replace stodgy sounding phrases like "while touring my
room," with the more straightforward, "as you look around my room." If this were one of my students
asking advice, I'd pat him on the back and say, "Lighten up, it's your bedroom. Don't use words like
quietude and utilitarian. Relax and have fun with this."
The last paragraph needs to be dropped altogether. If the essay has done it's job, recaps like this are
obvious and unnecessary.

Violin
Struck with sudden panic, I hastily flipped through the many papers in my travel folder until I spotted the
ticket. I nervously thrust it toward the beaming stewardess, but took the time to return her wide smile.
Before stepping into the caterpillar tunnel I looked back at my parents, seeking reassurance, but I sensed
from their plastered-on grins and overly enthusiastic waves that they were more terrified than I. I gave
them a departing wave, grabbed my violin case, and commenced my first solitary journey.
Seated in the plane I began to study the pieces I would soon be performing, trying to dispel the flutterings
in my stomach. I listened to some professional recordings on my Walkman, mimicking the fingerings with
my left hand while watching the sheet music.
"Where ya goin'?" smiling businessman-seatmate interrupted.
"To the National High School Orchestra," I answered politely, wanting to go back to the music. "It's
composed of students chosen from each state's All-State ensemble."
After three days of rehearsal, the orchestra would be giving a concert at a convention center in Cincinnati.
I focused back on the music, thinking only of the seating audition I would have to face in a few hours.
When I arrived at the hotel in Cincinnati, instruments and suitcases cluttered every hallway, other kids
milled around aimlessly, and the line to pick up room keys was infinitely long. In line I met my social
security blanket, a friendly Japanese exchange student, [name], who announced proudly and frequently,
"I fro Tayx-aas!" Both glad to have met someone, we adopted each other as friends of circumstance, and
touched on a few of the many differences between Japanese and American culture (including plumbing
apparatuses!)
Soon all of the performers received an audition schedule, and we went rushing to our rooms to practice. I
had an hour until my audition, and repeated the hardest passages ad nauseam. When my time finally
came, I flew up to the ninth floor and into the dreaded audition room. Three judges sat before a table.
They chatted with me, futilely attempting to calm me. All too soon they resumed serious expressions, and
told me which sections to perform. They were not the most difficult ones, but inevitably my hands shook
and sweated and my mind wandered. . . .
I felt giddy leaving the audition room. The immense anxiety over the audition was relieved, yet the
adrenaline still rushed through me. I wanted to yell and laugh and jump around and be completely silly, for
my long-awaited evaluation was over. After dinner the seating list would be posted and I would know just
where I fit in with the other musicians, all of whom intimidated me by their mere presence at the
convention.
Solitary, having been unable to find [name] or any of my three roommates, I entered the dining room. I
glanced feverishly around the giant room which swarmed with strangers. I gathered up all of my courage
and pride for the first time ever, and approached a group I had no preconceived notions about. I sat
quietly at first, gathering as much information as I could about the new people. Were they friend material?
After careful observation of their socialization, I hypothesized that these complete strangers were very
bright and easy to talk to, and shared my buoyant (but sometimes timid), sense of humor. I began to feel
at home as we joked about S.A.T.'s, drivers' licenses, and other teenage concerns. I realized then how
easy it is to get along with people I meet by coincidence. I became eager to test my newfound revelation.
The flutterings returned to my stomach when I approached the seating lists which everyone strained to
see. "I knew it; I got last chair," I heard someone announce. My flutterings intensified. I located the violin
list and scanned for my name from the bottom up. My tender ego wouldn't let me start at the top and get
increasingly disappointed as I read farther and farther down. "There I am, seventh seat. Pretty good out of
twenty," I thought. . . .
Every day at the convention seemed long, only because we did so many wonderful things. We rehearsed
for at least seven hours each day, made numerous outings, and spent time meeting new friends.
On the second day, during a luncheon boat ride on the Ohio River, [name] and I sat together, both
dreaming of Japan. Looking over at her as we talked, I remembered that in two days I would be torn from
the young, promising friendships I had been building. When some friends--including a few I had met at the
dinner table on the first night--approached us, bearing a deck of cards, I became absorbed in a jovial
game and quickly forgot my sorrow.
Rehearsals were magical right from the start, because everyone rapidly grew accustomed to the strangely
professional sound of the group and began to play without reserve, with full dynamics. I continually gazed,
wide-eyed, around the large, bright room, watching others, admiring their skill. We were surrounded by
pure talent, and the sky was our limit. We blossomed under the conductor's suggestions, using our pre-
developed technique to its fullest.
Each time the orchestra played, my emotion soared, wafted by the beauty and artfulness of the music,
bringing goose-bumps to my skin and a joyful feeling to my soul. I felt the power of the group--the talent
and strength of each individual--meld into a chorus of heavenly sound. I was just where I wanted to be. I
had everything I'd ever need. I was no longer doubting myself among strangers; I was making music with
friends.
Comments:
This essay contains a good example of wowing the committee with a good closing sentence. Last lines
are usually hard to manage. However, this essayist does a great job with hers, and the panel definitely
noticed.
The last sentence of the essay is wonderfully composed.
The last line of this essay captures what I think are the two strong points of this piece. First of all, the
author is an accomplished musician. No matter what sort of institution you are applying to, be it a music
program, a liberal arts university, or a technical institution, strong musical ability will always be a big plus
with the admission committee. This is because they know that proficiency in music requires self-
discipline, a desire to improve and a willingness to learn. If you have achieved a notable level of
accomplishment in some area of music, and have also succeeded in maintaining good grades, it tells an
admission officer that you can manage your time well and set your priorities. The second strong point of
this essay is the author's description of how she made friends and became completely immersed in
appreciating and enjoying the entire experience. This tells an admission officer that she will almost
certainly take to the college experience the same way, that she will overcome initial shyness, throw
herself into a new situation, and soon extract every ounce of pleasure and personal growth from the
experience. She will certainly be an asset to the incoming class.
EXAMPLE OF NOVELS
JANE EYRE by charlotte Bronte
Jane Eyre is a young orphan being raised by Mrs. Reed, her cruel, wealthy aunt. A servant
named Bessie provides Jane with some of the few kindnesses she receives, telling her stories and
singing songs to her. One day, as punishment for fighting with her bullying cousin John Reed,
Jane’s aunt imprisons Jane in the red-room, the room in which Jane’s Uncle Reed died. While
locked in, Jane, believing that she sees her uncle’s ghost, screams and faints. She wakes to find
herself in the care of Bessie and the kindly apothecary Mr. Lloyd, who suggests to Mrs. Reed
that Jane be sent away to school. To Jane’s delight, Mrs. Reed concurs.

Once at the Lowood School, Jane finds that her life is far from idyllic. The school’s headmaster
is Mr. Brocklehurst, a cruel, hypocritical, and abusive man. Brocklehurst preaches a doctrine of
poverty and privation to his students while using the school’s funds to provide a wealthy and
opulent lifestyle for his own family. At Lowood, Jane befriends a young girl named Helen Burns,
whose strong, martyrlike attitude toward the school’s miseries is both helpful and displeasing to
Jane. A massive typhus epidemic sweeps Lowood, and Helen dies of consumption. The epidemic
also results in the departure of Mr. Brocklehurst by attracting attention to the insalubrious
conditions at Lowood. After a group of more sympathetic gentlemen takes Brocklehurst’s place,
Jane’s life improves dramatically. She spends eight more years at Lowood, six as a student and
two as a teacher.

After teaching for two years, Jane yearns for new experiences. She accepts a governess position
at a manor called Thornfield, where she teaches a lively French girl named Adèle. The
distinguished housekeeper Mrs. Fairfax presides over the estate. Jane’s employer at Thornfield is
a dark, impassioned man named Rochester, with whom Jane finds herself falling secretly in love.
She saves Rochester from a fire one night, which he claims was started by a drunken servant
named Grace Poole. But because Grace Poole continues to work at Thornfield, Jane concludes
that she has not been told the entire story. Jane sinks into despondency when Rochester brings
home a beautiful but vicious woman named Blanche Ingram. Jane expects Rochester to propose
to Blanche. But Rochester instead proposes to Jane, who accepts almost disbelievingly.

The wedding day arrives, and as Jane and Mr. Rochester prepare to exchange their vows, the
voice of Mr. Mason cries out that Rochester already has a wife. Mason introduces himself as the
brother of that wife—a woman named Bertha. Mr. Mason testifies that Bertha, whom Rochester
married when he was a young man in Jamaica, is still alive. Rochester does not deny Mason’s
claims, but he explains that Bertha has gone mad. He takes the wedding party back to Thornfield,
where they witness the insane Bertha Mason scurrying around on all fours and growling like an
animal. Rochester keeps Bertha hidden on the third story of Thornfield and pays Grace Poole to
keep his wife under control. Bertha was the real cause of the mysterious fire earlier in the story.
Knowing that it is impossible for her to be with Rochester, Jane flees Thornfield.

Penniless and hungry, Jane is forced to sleep outdoors and beg for food. At last, three siblings
who live in a manor alternatively called Marsh End and Moor House take her in. Their names are
Mary, Diana, and St. John (pronounced “Sinjin”) Rivers, and Jane quickly becomes friends with
them. St. John is a clergyman, and he finds Jane a job teaching at a charity school in Morton. He
surprises her one day by declaring that her uncle, John Eyre, has died and left her a large fortune:
20,000 pounds. When Jane asks how he received this news, he shocks her further by declaring
that her uncle was also his uncle: Jane and the Riverses are cousins. Jane immediately decides to
share her inheritance equally with her three newfound relatives.

St. John decides to travel to India as a missionary, and he urges Jane to accompany him—as his
wife. Jane agrees to go to India but refuses to marry her cousin because she does not love him.
St. John pressures her to reconsider, and she nearly gives in. However, she realizes that she
cannot abandon forever the man she truly loves when one night she hears Rochester’s voice
calling her name over the moors. Jane immediately hurries back to Thornfield and finds that it
has been burned to the ground by Bertha Mason, who lost her life in the fire. Rochester saved the
servants but lost his eyesight and one of his hands. Jane travels on to Rochester’s new residence,
Ferndean, where he lives with two servants named John and Mary.

At Ferndean, Rochester and Jane rebuild their relationship and soon marry. At the end of her
story, Jane writes that she has been married for ten blissful years and that she and Rochester
enjoy perfect equality in their life together. She says that after two years of blindness, Rochester
regained sight in one eye and was able to behold their first son at his birth.

ANALYSIS:
Jane Eyre is written in the first-person point of view, with Jane serving as the narrator of the
novel. Jane narrates from ten years later than the novel’s end, meaning that she can both relate
to her previous selves and comment upon them in hindsight. In parts of Jane Eyre, she
describes events as she experienced them and occasionally slips into present tense. For
example, directly after her escape from Thornfield, Jane describes: “The coach is a mile off by
this time; I am alone.” The sudden switch to present tense creates a jarring impression, which
reflects Jane’s agonized mental state. The reader can also interpret this switch as Jane reliving
traumatic events, emphasizing their lasting impact; she still remembers what she felt like after
leaving Rochester. In other chapters, Jane makes use of the distance she has from the events
to address the reader, drawing attention to the fact that time has passed, and Jane narrates with
the benefit of hindsight. Throughout, Jane has strong opinions that color the reader’s opinions of
events and other characters. For example, when she describes Blanche Ingram, Jane
emphasizes the haughty pride in Blanche’s expression, encouraging the reader’s dislike.
Blanche’s eventual behavior justifies Jane’s judgment, alerting the reader to Jane’s astute point
of view.
MOBY DICK by Herman Melville
The Pequod rounds Africa and enters the Indian Ocean. A few whales are successfully
caught and processed for their oil. From time to time, the ship encounters other whaling
vessels. Ahab always demands information about Moby Dick from their captains. One of
the ships, the Jeroboam, carries Gabriel, a crazed prophet who predicts doom for anyone
who threatens Moby Dick. His predictions seem to carry some weight, as those aboard
his ship who have hunted the whale have met disaster. While trying to drain the oil from
the head of a captured sperm whale, Tashtego, one of the Pequod’s harpooners, falls
into the whale’s voluminous head, which then rips free of the ship and begins to sink.
Queequeg saves Tashtego by diving into the ocean and cutting into the slowly sinking
head.
During another whale hunt, Pip, the Pequod’s black cabin boy, jumps from a whaleboat
and is left behind in the middle of the ocean. He goes insane as the result of the
experience and becomes a crazy but prophetic jester for the ship. Soon after,
the Pequod meets the Samuel Enderby, a whaling ship whose skipper, Captain Boomer,
has lost an arm in an encounter with Moby Dick. The two captains discuss the whale;
Boomer, happy simply to have survived his encounter, cannot understand Ahab’s lust
for vengeance. Not long after, Queequeg falls ill and has the ship’s carpenter make him
a coffin in anticipation of his death. He recovers, however, and the coffin eventually
becomes the Pequod’s replacement life buoy.
Ahab orders a harpoon forged in the expectation that he will soon encounter Moby Dick.
He baptizes the harpoon with the blood of the Pequod’s three harpooners.
The Pequod kills several more whales. Issuing a prophecy about Ahab’s death, Fedallah
declares that Ahab will first see two hearses, the second of which will be made only
from American wood, and that he will be killed by hemp rope. Ahab interprets these
words to mean that he will not die at sea, where there are no hearses and no hangings.
A typhoon hits the Pequod, illuminating it with electrical fire. Ahab takes this occurrence
as a sign of imminent confrontation and success, but Starbuck, the ship’s first mate,
takes it as a bad omen and considers killing Ahab to end the mad quest. After the storm
ends, one of the sailors falls from the ship’s masthead and drowns—a grim
foreshadowing of what lies ahead.
Ahab’s fervent desire to find and destroy Moby Dick continues to intensify, and the mad
Pip is now his constant companion. The Pequod approaches the equator, where Ahab
expects to find the great whale. The ship encounters two more whaling ships,
the Rachel and the Delight, both of which have recently had fatal encounters with the
whale. Ahab finally sights Moby Dick. The harpoon boats are launched, and Moby Dick
attacks Ahab’s harpoon boat, destroying it. The next day, Moby Dick is sighted again,
and the boats are lowered once more. The whale is harpooned, but Moby Dick again
attacks Ahab’s boat. Fedallah, trapped in the harpoon line, is dragged overboard to his
death. Starbuck must maneuver the Pequod between Ahab and the angry whale.
On the third day, the boats are once again sent after Moby Dick, who once again
attacks them. The men can see Fedallah’s corpse lashed to the whale by the harpoon
line. Moby Dick rams the Pequod and sinks it. Ahab is then caught in a harpoon line and
hurled out of his harpoon boat to his death. All of the remaining whaleboats and men
are caught in the vortex created by the sinking Pequod and pulled under to their deaths.
Ishmael, who was thrown from a boat at the beginning of the chase, was far enough
away to escape the whirlpool, and he alone survives. He floats atop Queequeg’s coffin,
which popped back up from the wreck, until he is picked up by the Rachel, which is still
searching for the crewmen lost in her earlier encounter with Moby Dick.

ANALYSIS:

As Ishmael tries, in the opening pages of Moby-Dick, to offer a simple collection of literary
excerpts mentioning whales, he discovers that, throughout history, the whale has taken on an
incredible multiplicity of meanings. Over the course of the novel, he makes use of nearly every
discipline known to man in his attempts to understand the essential nature of the whale. Each of
these systems of knowledge, however, including art, taxonomy, and phrenology, fails to give an
adequate account. The multiplicity of approaches that Ishmael takes, coupled with his
compulsive need to assert his authority as a narrator and the frequent references to the limits of
observation (men cannot see the depths of the ocean, for example), suggest that human
knowledge is always limited and insufficient. When it comes to Moby Dick himself, this limitation
takes on allegorical significance. The ways of Moby Dick, like those of the Christian God, are
unknowable to man, and thus trying to interpret them, as Ahab does, is inevitably futile and
often fatal.
Little Women
Louisa May Alcott

Alcott prefaces Little Women with an excerpt from John Bunyan’s seventeenth-century

work The Pilgrim’s Progress, an allegorical novel about leading a Christian life. Alcott’s
story begins with the four March girls—Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy—sitting in their living
room, lamenting their poverty. The girls decide that they will each buy themselves a
present in order to brighten their Christmas. Soon, however, they change their minds
and decide that instead of buying presents for themselves, they will buy presents for
their mother, Marmee. Marmee comes home with a letter from Mr. March, the girls’
father, who is serving as a Union chaplain in the Civil War. The letter inspires the girls to
bear their burdens more cheerfully and not to complain about their poverty.
On Christmas morning, the girls wake up to find books, probably copies of The Pilgrim’s
Progress, under their pillows. Later that day, Marmee encourages them to give away
their breakfast to a poor family, the Hummels. Their elderly neighbor, Mr. Laurence,
whom the girls have never met, rewards their charitable activities by sending over a
feast. Soon, Meg and Jo are invited to attend a New Year’s Party at the home of Meg’s
wealthy friend, Sally Gardiner. At the party, Jo retreats to an alcove, and there meets
Laurie, the boy who lives with Mr. Laurence. While dancing, Meg sprains her ankle.
Laurie escorts the sisters home. The Marches regret having to return to their daily
routine after the holiday festivities.
Jo visits Laurie when he is sick, and meets his grandfather, Mr. Laurence. She
inadvertently insults a painting of Mr. Laurence in front of the man himself. Luckily,
Laurie’s grandfather admires Jo’s spunk, and they become friends. Soon, Mr. Laurence
meets all the sisters, and Beth becomes his special favorite. Mr. Laurence gives her his
deceased granddaughter’s piano.

The girls have various adventures. Amy is caught trading limes at school, and the
teacher hits her as punishment. As a result, Mrs. March withdraws her daughter from
school. Jo refuses to let Amy go with her to the theater. In retaliation, Amy burns Jo’s
manuscript, and Jo, in her anger, nearly lets Amy drown while ice-s-kating. Pretty Meg
attends her friend Annie Moffat’s party and, after allowing the other girls to dress her up
in high style, learns that appearances are not everything. While at the party, she hears
that people think she intends to marry Laurie for his money.

That year, the Marches form the Pickwick Club, in which they write a family newspaper.
In the spring, Jo smuggles Laurie into one of the club meetings, and he becomes a
member, presenting his new circle with a postbox. At the beginning of June, the
Marches decide to neglect their housework. At the end of a lazy week, Marmee takes a
day off too. The girls spoil a dinner, but everyone ends up laughing over it. One day,
Laurie has English friends over, and the Marches go on a picnic with them. Later, Jo
gets a story published for the first time.

One dark day, the family receives a telegram saying that Mr. March is sick in the
hospital in Washington, D.C. Marmee goes to tend to him, and Jo sells her hair to help
finance the trip. Chaos ensues in Marmee’s wake, for the girls neglect their chores
again. Only Beth goes to visit the Hummels, and after one of her visits, she contracts
scarlet fever from the Hummel baby. Beth teeters on the brink of death until Marmee
returns. Meanwhile, Amy spends time at Aunt March’s house in order to escape the
disease. Beth recovers, though not completely, and Mr. Brooke, Laurie’s tutor, falls in
love with Meg, much to Jo’s dismay. Mr. Brooke and Meg are engaged by the end of
Part One.

Three years pass before Part Two begins. Mr. March is home from the war, and Laurie
is nearly done with school. Soon, Meg marries and moves into a new home with Mr.
Brooke. One day, Amy decides to have a lunch for her art school classmates, but poor
weather ruins the festivities. Jo gets a novel published, but she must cut it down in order
to please her publishers. Meanwhile, Meg struggles with the duties of keeping house,
and she soon gives birth to twins, Demi and Daisy. Amy gets to go to Paris instead of
Jo, who counted on the trip, because their Aunt Carroll prefers Amy’s ladylike behavior
in a companion.

Jo begins to think that Beth loves Laurie. In order to escape Laurie’s affections for her,
Jo moves to New York so as to give Beth a chance to win his affections. There Jo
meets Professor Bhaer, a poor German language instructor. Professor Bhaer
discourages Jo from writing sensationalist stories, and she takes his advice and finds a
simpler writing style. When Jo returns home, Laurie proposes to her, but she turns him
down. Beth soon dies.

Amy and Laurie reunite in France, and they fall in love. They marry and return home. Jo
begins to hope that Professor Bhaer will come for her. He does, and they marry a year
later. Amy and Laurie have a daughter named Beth, who is sickly. Jo inherits Plumfield,
Aunt March’s house, and decides to turn it into a boarding school for boys. The novel
ends with the family happily gathered together, each sister thankful for her blessings
and for each other.

ANALYSIS:

While on the surface a simple story about the four March girls’ journeys from childhood to
adulthood, Little Women centers on the conflict between two emphases in a young woman’s life
—that which she places on herself, and that which she places on her family. In the novel, an
emphasis on domestic duties and family detracts from various women’s abilities to attend to
their own personal growth. For Jo and, in some cases, Amy, the problem of being both a
professional artist and a dutiful woman creates conflict and pushes the boundaries set by
nineteenth-century American society.
Frankenstein
Mary Shelley

In a series of letters, Robert Walton, the captain of a ship bound for the North Pole, recounts to
his sister back in England the progress of his dangerous mission. Successful early on, the mission
is soon interrupted by seas full of impassable ice. Trapped, Walton encounters Victor
Frankenstein, who has been traveling by dog-drawn sledge across the ice and is weakened by the
cold. Walton takes him aboard ship, helps nurse him back to health, and hears the fantastic tale
of the monster that Frankenstein created.

Victor first describes his early life in Geneva. At the end of a blissful childhood spent in the
company of Elizabeth Lavenza (his cousin in the 1818 edition, his adopted sister in the 1831
edition) and friend Henry Clerval, Victor enters the university of Ingolstadt to study natural
philosophy and chemistry. There, he is consumed by the desire to discover the secret of life and,
after several years of research, becomes convinced that he has found it.

Armed with the knowledge he has long been seeking, Victor spends months feverishly
fashioning a creature out of old body parts. One climactic night, in the secrecy of his apartment,
he brings his creation to life. When he looks at the monstrosity that he has created, however, the
sight horrifies him. After a fitful night of sleep, interrupted by the specter of the monster looming
over him, he runs into the streets, eventually wandering in remorse. Victor runs into Henry, who
has come to study at the university, and he takes his friend back to his apartment. Though the
monster is gone, Victor falls into a feverish illness.

Sickened by his horrific deed, Victor prepares to return to Geneva, to his family, and to health.
Just before departing Ingolstadt, however, he receives a letter from his father informing him that
his youngest brother, William, has been murdered. Grief-stricken, Victor hurries home. While
passing through the woods where William was strangled, he catches sight of the monster and
becomes convinced that the monster is his brother’s murderer. Arriving in Geneva, Victor finds
that Justine Moritz, a kind, gentle girl who had been adopted by the Frankenstein household, has
been accused. She is tried, condemned, and executed, despite her assertions of innocence. Victor
grows despondent, guilty with the knowledge that the monster he has created bears responsibility
for the death of two innocent loved ones.

Hoping to ease his grief, Victor takes a vacation to the mountains. While he is alone one day,
crossing an enormous glacier, the monster approaches him. The monster admits to the murder of
William but begs for understanding. Lonely, shunned, and forlorn, he says that he struck out at
William in a desperate attempt to injure Victor, his cruel creator. The monster begs Victor to
create a mate for him, a monster equally grotesque to serve as his sole companion.

Victor refuses at first, horrified by the prospect of creating a second monster. The monster is
eloquent and persuasive, however, and he eventually convinces Victor. After returning to
Geneva, Victor heads for England, accompanied by Henry, to gather information for the creation
of a female monster. Leaving Henry in Scotland, he secludes himself on a desolate island in the
Orkneys and works reluctantly at repeating his first success. One night, struck by doubts about
the morality of his actions, Victor glances out the window to see the monster glaring in at him
with a frightening grin. Horrified by the possible consequences of his work, Victor destroys his
new creation. The monster, enraged, vows revenge, swearing that he will be with Victor on
Victor’s wedding night.

Later that night, Victor takes a boat out onto a lake and dumps the remains of the second creature
in the water. The wind picks up and prevents him from returning to the island. In the morning, he
finds himself ashore near an unknown town. Upon landing, he is arrested and informed that he
will be tried for a murder discovered the previous night. Victor denies any knowledge of the
murder, but when shown the body, he is shocked to behold his friend Henry Clerval, with the
mark of the monster’s fingers on his neck. Victor falls ill, raving and feverish, and is kept in
prison until his recovery, after which he is acquitted of the crime.

Shortly after returning to Geneva with his father, Victor marries Elizabeth. He fears the
monster’s warning and suspects that he will be murdered on his wedding night. To be cautious,
he sends Elizabeth away to wait for him. While he awaits the monster, he hears Elizabeth scream
and realizes that the monster had been hinting at killing his new bride, not himself. Victor returns
home to his father, who dies of grief a short time later. Victor vows to devote the rest of his life
to finding the monster and exacting his revenge, and he soon departs to begin his quest.

Victor tracks the monster ever northward into the ice. In a dogsled chase, Victor almost catches
up with the monster, but the sea beneath them swells and the ice breaks, leaving an unbridgeable
gap between them. At this point, Walton encounters Victor, and the narrative catches up to the
time of Walton’s fourth letter to his sister.

Walton tells the remainder of the story in another series of letters to his sister. Victor, already ill
when the two men meet, worsens and dies shortly thereafter. When Walton returns, several days
later, to the room in which the body lies, he is startled to see the monster weeping over Victor.
The monster tells Walton of his immense solitude, suffering, hatred, and remorse. He asserts that
now that his creator has died, he too can end his suffering. The monster then departs for the
northernmost ice to die.

ANALYSIS:
Frankenstein is narrated in the first-person (using language like “I”, “my” etc.) by different
characters at different points in the novel. The shifts in narrator and the alternating points of view
are central to the novel’s theme of looking past appearances to reflect on what may lie beneath.
The novel begins with narration from Captain Walton, who is writing a series of letters to his
sister Margaret. The point of view then switches to Victor Frankenstein, who tells Walton about
his life and how he came to be wandering in the Arctic. When Walton first encounters Victor, he
wonders if the stranger is insane, due to his wild appearance and desperate plight. By listening to
Victor’s story Walton comes to appreciate his experiences. When Victor reaches the point in his
story where he describes meeting with monster, the point of view switches yet again, this time to
the monster, who narrates in the first person, describing his experiences. Both Victor and the
reader are set up to expect the monster to be coarse, barbaric, violent, and inhuman, but his
narrative shows him to be intelligent, sensitive, and capable of feeling profound human emotions
like empathy and love. After that, the point of view returns to Victor, who continues his story.
The novel ends with a return to Walton’s point of view and first person narration.

Wuthering Heights
Emily Brontë

In the late winter months of 1801, a man named Lockwood rents a manor house called
Thrushcross Grange in the isolated moor country of England. Here, he meets his dour landlord,
Heathcliff, a wealthy man who lives in the ancient manor of Wuthering Heights, four miles away
from the Grange. In this wild, stormy countryside, Lockwood asks his housekeeper, Nelly Dean,
to tell him the story of Heathcliff and the strange denizens of Wuthering Heights. Nelly consents,
and Lockwood writes down his recollections of her tale in his diary; these written recollections
form the main part of Wuthering Heights.
Nelly remembers her childhood. As a young girl, she works as a servant at Wuthering Heights
for the owner of the manor, Mr. Earnshaw, and his family. One day, Mr. Earnshaw goes to
Liverpool and returns home with an orphan boy whom he will raise with his own children. At
first, the Earnshaw children—a boy named Hindley and his younger sister Catherine—detest the
dark-skinned Heathcliff. But Catherine quickly comes to love him, and the two soon grow
inseparable, spending their days playing on the moors. After his wife’s death, Mr. Earnshaw
grows to prefer Heathcliff to his own son, and when Hindley continues his cruelty to Heathcliff,
Mr. Earnshaw sends Hindley away to college, keeping Heathcliff nearby.

Three years later, Mr. Earnshaw dies, and Hindley inherits Wuthering Heights. He returns with a
wife, Frances, and immediately seeks revenge on Heathcliff. Once an orphan, later a pampered
and favored son, Heathcliff now finds himself treated as a common laborer, forced to work in the
fields. Heathcliff continues his close relationship with Catherine, however. One night they
wander to Thrushcross Grange, hoping to tease Edgar and Isabella Linton, the cowardly,
snobbish children who live there. Catherine is bitten by a dog and is forced to stay at the Grange
to recuperate for five weeks, during which time Mrs. Linton works to make her a proper young
lady. By the time Catherine returns, she has become infatuated with Edgar, and her relationship
with Heathcliff grows more complicated.

When Frances dies after giving birth to a baby boy named Hareton, Hindley descends into the
depths of alcoholism, and behaves even more cruelly and abusively toward Heathcliff.
Eventually, Catherine’s desire for social advancement prompts her to become engaged to Edgar
Linton, despite her overpowering love for Heathcliff. Heathcliff runs away from Wuthering
Heights, staying away for three years, and returning shortly after Catherine and Edgar’s
marriage.
When Heathcliff returns, he immediately sets about seeking revenge on all who have wronged
him. Having come into a vast and mysterious wealth, he deviously lends money to the drunken
Hindley, knowing that Hindley will increase his debts and fall into deeper despondency. When
Hindley dies, Heathcliff inherits the manor. He also places himself in line to inherit Thrushcross
Grange by marrying Isabella Linton, whom he treats very cruelly. Catherine becomes ill, gives
birth to a daughter, and dies. Heathcliff begs her spirit to remain on Earth—she may take
whatever form she will, she may haunt him, drive him mad—just as long as she does not leave
him alone. Shortly thereafter, Isabella flees to London and gives birth to Heathcliff’s son, named
Linton after her family. She keeps the boy with her there.

Thirteen years pass, during which Nelly Dean serves as Catherine’s daughter’s nursemaid at
Thrushcross Grange. Young Catherine is beautiful and headstrong like her mother, but her
temperament is modified by her father’s gentler influence. Young Catherine grows up at the
Grange with no knowledge of Wuthering Heights; one day, however, wandering through the
moors, she discovers the manor, meets Hareton, and plays together with him. Soon afterwards,
Isabella dies, and Linton comes to live with Heathcliff. Heathcliff treats his sickly, whining son
even more cruelly than he treated the boy’s mother.

Three years later, Catherine meets Heathcliff on the moors, and makes a visit to Wuthering
Heights to meet Linton. She and Linton begin a secret romance conducted entirely through
letters. When Nelly destroys Catherine’s collection of letters, the girl begins sneaking out at
night to spend time with her frail young lover, who asks her to come back and nurse him back to
health. However, it quickly becomes apparent that Linton is pursuing Catherine only because
Heathcliff is forcing him to; Heathcliff hopes that if Catherine marries Linton, his legal claim
upon Thrushcross Grange—and his revenge upon Edgar Linton—will be complete. One day, as
Edgar Linton grows ill and nears death, Heathcliff lures Nelly and Catherine back to Wuthering
Heights, and holds them prisoner until Catherine marries Linton. Soon after the marriage, Edgar
dies, and his death is quickly followed by the death of the sickly Linton. Heathcliff now controls
both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. He forces Catherine to live at Wuthering
Heights and act as a common servant, while he rents Thrushcross Grange to Lockwood.

Nelly’s story ends as she reaches the present. Lockwood, appalled, ends his tenancy at
Thrushcross Grange and returns to London. However, six months later, he pays a visit to Nelly,
and learns of further developments in the story. Although Catherine originally mocked Hareton’s
ignorance and illiteracy (in an act of retribution, Heathcliff ended Hareton’s education after
Hindley died), Catherine grows to love Hareton as they live together at Wuthering Heights.
Heathcliff becomes more and more obsessed with the memory of the elder Catherine, to the
extent that he begins speaking to her ghost. Everything he sees reminds him of her. Shortly after
a night spent walking on the moors, Heathcliff dies. Hareton and young Catherine inherit
Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, and they plan to be married on the next New Year’s
Day. After hearing the end of the story, Lockwood goes to visit the graves of Catherine and
Heathcliff.
SHORT STORIES

"CINDERELLA" BY CHARLES PERRAULT

Once upon a time in a land much like yours and mine, lived a young girl named Ella. She was born in a
small house with her mother, Lily, and her father, a hardworking merchant.
Her mother was kind, loving, and patient, and her father was happy. They were a gracious family, who
saw wonderful success. Such success allowed them to move into a large, four thousand-acre estate.
Ella loved the lily gardens around the estate and spent much of her time there. In these gardens she met an
odd, yet charming array of friends: three blind mice, an uncountable number of birds, and a spider
monkey named Zuzu, who had escaped from her wealthy neighbor’s menagerie.
Months after they arrived, however, Ella’s mother fell sick. She died shortly after, leaving a heartbroken
husband.
After her death, he left on business more regularly and left Ella alone to grow into a woman of parallel
kindness to her mother.
During one of his travels, Ella’s father met a woman. By the time he arrived home on the day of Ella’s
16th birthday, he was married once more.
The woman arrived in an extravagant horse-drawn carriage with her two daughters. The three ladies
stepped out head-to-toe in silk, lace, gems, and fur. Ella smiled and greeted her new stepfamily but,
disregarding her kindness, they huffed and hollered at the coachman.
“Goodness me” began the stepmother, “it’s like he purposefully drove over all those potholes.”
“And the rocks! My poor dress! Ruined at the seams!” screeched the eldest stepsister.
“I have bruises ALL over! And my haaair” whined the youngest.
Ella watched wide-eyed as the newcomers spent the next weeks changing everything about the estate.
Walls were painted pink, grass was replaced with stone, and the lily gardens were removed and changed
for rose ones.
As months passed, her father’s business began to decline. He turned solely to trade and was away for
months at sea. While travelling, Ella was Cinderella, a name given to her by her terrible stepfamily. She
cleaned, and cooked, and did everything for them. But when her father came home for short periods of
time, Ella was Ella. She was ignored by her stepsisters but treated with false-kindness by her stepmother.
Ella never dared to tell her father about the wickedness of his new wife. She could not bear to have her
poor father’s heart broken again.
One evening at dinner, her father sat beside his beloved Ella and whispered to her: “I received a letter
today.”
“A letter? Who from?” she whispered back, avoiding the hot glare from her stepmother.
“The King,” he replied, smiling.
“The King!” exclaimed the stepmother.
“What does the King want with her?” screeched the eldest stepsister.
 “Mother! I thought you said nooo animals in the house! Why is that THING in here?” whined the
youngest.
 “Cinder – I mean Ella… darling? Would you please get your monkey off the table?” the stepmother
asked through clenched teeth.
Ella patted her lap and Zuzu hopped down. He grabbed a piece of bread from her plate and ran out of the
large dining hall.
“What does it say?” the stepmother asked.
Ella’s father reached into his tailcoat, pulled out an engraved letter, and handed it to Ella. She read the
handwritten words aloud: “On behalf of the King, Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire,
you are invited to attend the Prince’s Masquerade Ball to be held in a fortnight.”
“Why that’s just two weeks away!” exclaimed the stepmother.
“TWO weeks?” chimed the stepsisters.
For the next two weeks, the women scampered around the house in frenzy; they could not contain their
excitement. Ella took freedom’s opportunity to spend time with her father. They replanted a small lily
garden behind manor.
On his last night at home, Ella’s father brought her a large box with a white ribbon on it.
“For you,” he said.
She opened it to find a pastel pink dress inside. She could, again, feel the glare from her stepmother.
“You must go to bed, dear Ella. We all have a big day tomorrow. The Prince’s decision will be the right
one, I suspect. My eldest is ravishing! And we must all celebrate their soon-to-be marriage at the ball,”
the stepmother exclaimed.
Ella bid a sad farewell to her father, scooped up the three blind mice hiding under her new dress, and ran
up the stairs to her room. Zuzu and the rest of her tiny friends followed her.
“No animals in the –”
Ella shut her door before her stepmother could finish. Sleeping soundly that night, she had wonderful
dreams of the prince and the ball.
The next morning, she awoke to loud shouts and screams.
“Cinderella!” screeched the eldest stepsister.
“Cinderellaaa!” whined the youngest.
Ella was again Cinderella – a slave to her stepfamily.
She swept the floors with the corn broom, washed the walls with the sponge, pruned the gardens with the
cutters, and prepared breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea. The ladies sat out in the rose garden on white
chairs, hidden under an excessively frilly umbrella. Cinderella was called over.
“Bring down that gorgeous dress my dear husband bought,” her stepmother commanded shrewdly.
“The pink gown?” Cinderella asked.
“Correct. Bring it down at once,” she commanded again.
 “Wrap it up in that pretty box!” the eldest quipped with a sly grin at her sister.
“With the WHITE ribbon on top!” the two stepsisters shouted in unison. They fell into a fit of laughter as
their wicked mother sipped her tea indifferently.
For the rest of the day, Cinderella primped the ladies for the ball. The eldest stepsister wore Cinderella’s
pastel pink gown and scolded her for working so slowly.
“Oh, goodness. She is ripe with jealousy, isn’t she?” Cinderella overheard the stepmother remark.
“Isn’t she just? Must be hard to see such a pretty gown look better on someone else,” screeched the eldest.
Cinderella curled their wigs, sewed their masquerade masks, hemmed their dresses, and powdered their
faces.
Then the women left for the ball in the same extravagant horse-drawn carriage they had first arrived in.
Cinderella ran to her room and wept softly on her bed. She heard shuffles beside her and looked up to see
her tiny friends. In front of them lay a mask.
“Did you make this for me?” she asked softly.
Zuzu pushed the mask closer.
She picked up the small mask and held it up to her face. She giggled. The mask was made up of twigs
from the birds’ nests; it had lily petals sewn on – three had been sewn particularly poorly, but Cinderella
knew the blind mice had tried their best.
She looked at her friends, wept, and said:
“If only I could go to the ball and wear your beautiful mask. I truly wish I could.”
Just then, a shower of golden glitter rained from the ceiling.
WHOOSH, WHOOSH, SWIRL, BAM!
“Oopsie! I can never make an entrance. Nice to meet ya lady, I’m your fairy friend. The name’s Fairy but
you can call me… Well, you can call me Fairy. I never did get a nickname. Hah huh!” squealed a high-
pitched little winged woman in a golden gown.
Cinderella and her friends backed away from the odd creature. The fairy whooshed and swirled around
the room.
“Did I hear correctly? You wanna go to that big ball? It’s gonna be a big one! Hah huh! I’ve got just the
dress for you… I do!”
And with one flick of her tiny golden wand Cinderella was dressed in a beautiful blue gown with
gorgeous glass slippers. She grabbed her mask and hurriedly followed Fairy out of the manor.
PHREEEP!
Fairy whistled loudly and motioned Cinderella into the silver carriage.
“Now go, go, go! Or you’re going to be late! Don’t be late! Oopsie! Hah huh! Don’t forget lady, this only
lasts until midnight… on the dot!”
Cinderella waved goodbye to her friends and the odd fairy creature. She held on tight as the silver
carriage zoomed towards the King’s castle.
Once she arrived at the massive stone palace, she was escorted to the banquet hall. Upon entering the
large golden-walled and ruby-floored room, Cinderella felt all eyes on her.
“Oh my!” and “What a wonder!” and “That mask is so strange!” and “Her extravagance is breathtaking!”
were among the comments Cinderella heard as she passed by Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, all
dressed in the finest attire.
Suddenly, a handsome man bowed gently in front of her and asked to dance. His blue eyes glimmered
behind his ruby-encrusted mask as she curtsied and took his outstretched hand.
She danced with him for the entire night. They discussed many things and the man was surprised at her
knowledge about business.
“You enchant me. My grandfather desires that I spend my evening looking for the right woman, but I
seem to have found her already,” the man said.
“Your grandfather?” Cinderella asked.
“Yes, surely you know him,” the man smiled.
Just as she was about to respond, Cinderella heard the large golden clock in the center of the banquet hall
strike midnight. 
        DONG!        DONG!        DONG!
As the clock began to countdown, Cinderella apologized hurriedly and ran as fast as she could out of the
palace. She jumped into the silver carriage, dropping one of her glass slippers. She held on tightly as the
carriage zoomed away from the palace.
Cinderella had a sleepless night, unable to get the image of the man’s blue eyes out of her mind.
The next morning she swept the floors with the corn broom, washed the walls with the sponge, pruned the
gardens with the cutters, and began preparing breakfast. As she set the dining table, she could hear the
wicked ladies complaining.
“Terrible ordeal that was!” screeched the eldest.“QUITE horrid!” whined the youngest.
“The prince was with that woman all night.”“It’s because you wore that uuugly pink dress.”
“Now, now, girls. Come eat your breakfast. And wipe that stunned look off your face, Cinderella. It
doesn’t suit you,” said the stepmother.
Before they could be seated, a loud knock came at the door. The women rushed to the entrance and
squealed at the sight of the royal doorman. Cinderella came behind the ladies slowly.
“Presenting the Prince of the Greatest Land of all Lands,” the doorman shouted. “The woman he seeks to
marry wore this glass slipper,” he continued. The ladies squealed again.
“It’s a glass slipper!” Cinderella called out and moved closer. Her stepmother shoved her away.
“Who said that?” asked a familiar voice.“I did!” the eldest stepsister cried.
Then, she tried the slipper on with no success: the slipper would not fit. Then, the youngest sister tried the
slipper on. Again, no triumph came for her.
Cinderella knew she could not call out again – her stepmother would surely punish her if she did. So, she
grabbed Zuzu and began to walk up the stairs. 
“Who is that?” called the familiar voice. Cinderella turned around and caught a glimpse of the handsome
blue eyes looking up at her. The man from the ball was the Prince.
“Ella,” she replied softly.
“Ella,” the prince repeated. He walked carefully into the manor and greeted her with an outstretched hand.
He gently slipped the glass slipper on her foot: the perfect match.
Without a word, he led her away from her stunned wicked stepfamily and into the royal carriage. She
motioned her tiny friends to follow. The prince looked at all the animals in the carriage and laughed.
“You are enchanting,” he said, looking into Ella’s eyes.
The two were married as soon as they could be and had a daughter, whom Ella named Lily. Once King
and Queen, they disallowed anyone to capture exotic animals for captivity in menageries, set out laws that
allowed the merchant class to prosper, and lived happily ever after.

"GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS"

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She went for a walk in the forest.
Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right
in.
At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She
tasted the porridge from the first bowl.
"This porridge is too hot!" she exclaimed.
So, she tasted the porridge from the second bowl.
"This porridge is too cold," she said.
So, she tasted the last bowl of porridge.
"Ahhh, this porridge is just right," she said happily and she ate it all up.
After she'd eaten the three bears' breakfasts, she decided she was feeling a little tired. So, she
walked into the living room where she saw three chairs. Goldilocks sat in the first chair to rest.
"This chair is too big!" she exclaimed.
So she sat in the second chair.
"This chair is too big, too!" she whined.
So she tried the last and smallest chair.
"Ahhh, this chair is just right," she sighed. But just as she settled down into the chair to rest, it
broke into pieces!
Goldilocks was very tired by this time, she went upstairs to the bedroom. She lay down in the
first bed, but it was too hard. Then she lay in the second bed, but it was too soft. Then she lay
down in the third bed and it was just right. Goldilocks fell asleep.
As she was sleeping, the three bears came home.
"Someone's been eating my porridge," growled the Papa bear.
"Someone's been eating my porridge," said the Mama bear.
"Someone's been eating my porridge and they ate it all up!" cried the Baby bear.
"Someone's been sitting in my chair," growled the Papa bear.
"Someone's been sitting in my chair," said the Mama bear.
"Someone's been sitting in my chair and they've broken it to pieces," cried the Baby bear.
They decided to look around some more and when they got upstairs to the bedroom, Papa bear
growled,
"Someone's been sleeping in my bed.”"Someone's been sleeping in my bed, too" said the Mama
bear."Someone's been sleeping in my bed and she's still there!" exclaimed the Baby bear.
Just then, Goldilocks woke up. She saw the three bears. She screamed, "Help!" And she jumped
up and ran out of the room. Goldilocks ran down the stairs, opened the door, and ran away into
the forest. She never returned to the home of the three bears.
"THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL"
by Hans Christian Andersen
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last
evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was
walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but
what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to
her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled
by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the
other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own.
And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an
old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No
one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The
snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows
lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve.
Yes, she thought of that!

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the
other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but
did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father
would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof
through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and
rags.

Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she
could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one
out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as
she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she
were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How
wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to
warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains
of the burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the
wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table
a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed
gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down
from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the
little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted
another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger
and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the
rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures
like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward
them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as
bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.

"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who
had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to
God.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old
grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.

"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the
match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the
beautiful big Christmas tree!"

And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother
with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight.
Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both
of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither
cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.

But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth,
frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic
figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost
burned.

"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had
seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.
"LOVE YOU FOREVER"
BY ROBERT MUNSCH

A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and
forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years
old, and he ran all around the house. He pulled all the books off the shelves. He pulled
all the food out of the refrigerator and he took his mother's watch and flushed it down
the toilet. Sometimes his mother would say, "this kid is driving me CRAZY!"

But at night time, when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room,
crawled across the floor, looked up over the side of his bed; and if he was really
asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and
forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever, As long as I'm living

I'll like you for always, my baby you'll be.

The little boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was nine
years old. And he never wanted to come in for dinner, he never wanted to take a bath,
and when grandma visited he always said bad words. Sometimes his mother wanted to
sell him to the zoo!
But at night time, when he was asleep, the mother quietly opened the door to his
room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really
asleep, she picked up that nine-year-old boy and rocked him back and forth, back and
forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever, As long as I'm living

I'll like you for always, my baby you'll be.

The boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a teenager.
He had strange friends and he wore strange clothes and he listened to strange music.
Sometimes the mother felt like she was in a zoo!

But at night time, when that teenager was asleep, the mother opened the door to his
room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really
asleep she picked up that great big boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever, As long as I'm living

I'll like you for always, my baby you'll be.

That teenager grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a
grown-up man. He left home and got a house across town. But sometimes on dark
nights the mother got into her car and drove across town.  If all the lights in her son's
house were out, she opened his bedroom window, crawled across the floor, and
looked up over the side of his bed. If that great big man was really asleep she picked
him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she
rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever, As long as I'm living

I'll like you for always, my baby you'll be.

Well, that mother, she got older. She got older and older and older. One day she called
up her son and said, "You'd better come see me because I'm very old and sick." So her
son came to see her. When he came in the door she tried to sing the song. She sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always...

But she couldn't finish because she was too old and sick. The son went to his mother.
He picked her up and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And
he sang this song:
I'll love you forever, As long as I'm living
I'll like you for always, my Mommy you'll be.

When the son came home that night, he stood for a long time at the top of the stairs.
Then he went into the room where his very new baby daughter was sleeping. He
picked her up in his arms and very slowly rocked her back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth. And while he rocked her he sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

"SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS"

by the Brothers Grimm
Once upon a time, long, long ago a king and queen ruled over a distant land.  The queen was
kind and lovely and all the people of the realm adored her.  The only sadness in the queen's life
was that she wished for a child but did not have one. 
One winter day, the queen was doing needle work while gazing out her ebony window at the new
fallen snow.  A bird flew by the window startling the queen and she pricked her finger.  A single
drop of blood fell on the snow outside her window.  As she looked at the blood on the snow she
said to herself, "Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin as white as snow, lips as red
as blood, and hair as black as ebony."  
Soon after that, the kind queen got her wish when she gave birth to a baby girl who had skin
white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.  They named the baby princess Snow
White, but sadly, the queen died after giving birth to Snow White.
Soon after, the king married a new woman who was beautiful, but as well proud and cruel.  She
had studied dark magic and owned a magic mirror, of which she would daily ask, 
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?
Each time this question was asked, the mirror would give the same answer, "Thou, O Queen, art
the fairest of all."  This pleased the queen greatly as she knew that her magical mirror could
speak nothing but the truth.
One morning when the queen asked, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
she was shocked when it answered:
You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
But Snow White is even fairer than you.
The Queen flew into a jealous rage and ordered her huntsman to take Snow White into the woods
to be killed.  She demanded that the huntsman return with Snow White's heart as proof. 
The poor huntsman took Snow White into the forest, but found himself unable to kill the girl. 
Instead, he let her go, and brought the queen the heart of a wild boar.
Snow White was now all alone in the great forest, and she did not know what to do.  The trees
seemed to whisper to each other, scaring Snow White who began to run.  She ran over sharp
stones and through thorns.  She ran as far as her feet could carry her, and just as evening was
about to fall she saw a little house and went inside in order to rest.
Inside the house everything was small but tidy.  There was a little table with a tidy, white
tablecloth and seven little plates.  Against the wall there were seven little beds, all in a row and
covered with quilts.
Because she was so hungry Snow White ate a few vegetables and a little bread from each little
plate and from each cup she drank a bit of milk. Afterward, because she was so tired, she lay
down on one of the little beds and fell fast asleep.
After dark, the owners of the house returned home.  They were the seven dwarves who mined for
gold in the mountains.  As soon as they arrived home, they saw that someone had been there --
for not everything was in the same order as they had left it.
The first one said, "Who has been sitting in my chair?"
The second one, "Who has been eating from my plate?"
The third one, "Who has been eating my bread?"
The fourth one, "Who has been eating my vegetables?"
The fifth one, "Who has been eating with my fork?"
The sixth one, "Who has been drinking from my cup?"
But the seventh one, looking at his bed, found Snow White lying there asleep.  The seven
dwarves all came running up, and they cried out with amazement.  They fetched their seven
candles and shone the light on Snow White. 
"Oh good heaven! " they cried. "This child is beautiful!"
They were so happy that they did not wake her up, but let her continue to sleep in the bed.  The
next morning Snow White woke up, and when she saw the seven dwarves she was frightened. 
But they were friendly and asked, "What is your name?"
"My name is Snow White," she answered.
"How did you find your way to our house?" the dwarves asked further.
Then she told them that her stepmother had tried to kill her, that the huntsman had spared her
life, and that she had run the entire day through the forest, finally stumbling upon their house.
The dwarves spoke with each other for awhile and then said, "If you will keep house for us, and
cook, make beds, wash, sew, and knit, and keep everything clean and orderly, then you can stay
with us, and you shall have everything that you want."
"Yes," said Snow White, "with all my heart."  For Snow White greatly enjoyed keeping a tidy
home.
So Snow White lived happily with the dwarves.  Every morning they went into the mountains
looking for gold, and in the evening when they came back home Snow White had their meal
ready and their house tidy.  During the day the girl was alone, except for the small animals of the
forest that she often played with.
Now the queen, believing that she had eaten Snow White's heart, could only think that she was
again the first and the most beautiful woman of all.  She stepped before her mirror and said:
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
It answered:
You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
But Snow White, beyond the mountains
With the seven dwarves,
Is still a thousand times fairer than you.
This startled the queen, for she knew that the mirror did not lie, and she realized that the
huntsman had deceived her and that Snow White was still alive.  Then she thought, and thought
again, how she could rid herself of Snow White -- for as long as she was not the most beautiful
woman in the entire land her jealousy would give her no rest.
At last she thought of something.  She went into her most secret room -- no one else was allowed
inside -- and she made a poisoned apple.  From the outside it was beautiful, and anyone who saw
it would want it.  But anyone who might eat a little piece of it would die.  Coloring her face, she
disguised herself as an old peddler woman, so that no one would recognize her, traveled to the
dwarves house and knocked on the door.
Snow White put her head out of the window, and said, "I must not let anyone in; the seven
dwarves have forbidden me to do so."
"That is all right with me," answered the peddler woman. "I'll easily get rid of my apples.  Here,
I'll give you one of them."
"No," said Snow White, "I cannot accept anything from strangers."
"Are you afraid of poison?" asked the old woman. "Look, I'll cut the apple in two.  You eat half
and I shall eat half."
Now the apple had been so artfully made that only the one half was poisoned.  Snow White
longed for the beautiful apple, and when she saw that the peddler woman was eating part of it
she could no longer resist, and she stuck her hand out and took the poisoned half.  She barely had
a bite in her mouth when she fell to the ground dead.
The queen looked at her with an evil stare, laughed loudly, and said, "White as snow, red as
blood, black as ebony wood!  The dwarves shall never awaken you."
Back at home she asked her mirror:
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
It finally answered:
You, my queen, are fairest of all.
Then her cruel and jealous heart was at rest, as well as a cruel and jealous heart can be at rest.
When the dwarves came home that evening they found Snow White lying on the ground.  She
was not breathing at all.  She was dead.  They lifted her up and looked at her longingly.  They
talked to her, shook her and wept over her.  But nothing helped.  The dear child was dead, and
she remained dead.  They laid her on a bed of straw, and all seven sat next to her and mourned
for her and cried for three days.  They were going to bury her, but she still looked as fresh as a
living person, and still had her beautiful red cheeks.
They said, "We cannot bury her in the black earth," and they had a transparent glass coffin made,
so she could be seen from all sides.  They laid her inside, and with golden letters wrote on it her
name, and that she was a princess.  Then they put the coffin outside on a mountain, and one of
them always stayed with it and watched over her.  The animals too came and mourned for Snow
White, first an owl, then a raven, and finally a dove.
Now it came to pass that a prince entered these woods and happened onto the dwarves' house,
where he sought shelter for the night .  He saw the coffin on the mountain with beautiful Snow
White in it, and he read what was written on it with golden letters.
Then he said to the dwarves, "Let me have the coffin.  I will give you anything you want for it."
But the dwarves answered, "We will not sell it for all the gold in the world."
Then he said, "Then give it to me, for I cannot live without being able to see Snow White.  I will
honor her and respect her as my most cherished one."
As he thus spoke, the good dwarves felt pity for him and gave him the coffin.  The prince had his
servants carry it away on their shoulders.  But then it happened that one of them stumbled on
some brush, and this dislodged from Snow White's throat the piece of poisoned apple that she
had bitten off.  Not long afterward she opened her eyes, lifted the lid from her coffin, sat up, and
was alive again.
"Good heavens, where am I?" she cried out.
The prince said joyfully, "You are with me."  He told her what had happened, and then said, "I
love you more than anything else in the world.  Come with me to my father's castle.  You shall
become my wife."  Snow White loved him, and she went with him.  Their wedding was planned
with great splendor and majesty.
Snow White's wicked step-mother was invited to the feast, and when she had arrayed herself in
her most beautiful garments, she stood before her mirror, and said:
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
The mirror answered:
You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
But the young queen is a thousand times fairer than you.
Not knowing that this new queen was indeed her stepdaughter, she arrived at the wedding, and
her heart filled with the deepest of dread when she realized the truth - the evil queen was
banished from the land forever and the prince and Snow White lived happily ever after.