Provide an overall analysis of one of the texts given.

You will be given 90 minutes

to do this. Questions to the text from Independent Work (Text Analysis) can guide
you through the procedure of an overall text analysis. Tips given in Lecture 7 are
also helpful. Good luck!

Mistaken Identity
by Mark Twain

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--I am perfectly astonished, a-s-t-o-n-i-s-h-e-d, ladies and

gentlemen--astonished at the way history repeats itself. I find myself situated at this moment exactly
and precisely as I was once before, years ago, to a jot, to a tittle--to a very hair. There isn't a shade
of difference. It is the most astonishing coincidence that ever--but wait. I will tell you the former
instance, and then you will see it for yourself. Years ago I arrived one day at Salamanca, New York,
eastward bound; must change cars there and take the sleeper train. There were crowds of people
there, and they were swarming into the long sleeper train and packing it full, and it was a perfect
purgatory of dust and confusion and gritting of teeth and soft, sweet, and low profanity.
I asked the young man in the ticket-office if I could have a sleeping-section, and he
answered "No," with a snarl that shrivelled me up like burned leather. I went off, smarting under this
insult to my dignity, and asked another local official, supplicatingly, if I couldn't have some poor little
corner somewhere in a sleeping-car; but he cut me short with a venomous "No, you can't; every
corner is full. Now, don't bother me any more"; and he turned his back and walked off. My dignity
was in a state now which cannot be described. I was so ruffled that--well, I said to my companion, "If
these people knew who I am they--"But my companion cut me short there--"Don't talk such folly," he
said; "if they did know who you are, do you suppose it would help your high-mightiness to a vacancy
in a train which has no vacancies in it?"
This did not improve my condition any to speak of, but just then I observed that the colored
porter of a sleeping-car had his eye on me. I saw his dark countenance light up. He whispered to the
uniformed conductor, punctuating with nods and jerks toward me, and straightway this conductor
came forward, oozing politeness from every pore.
"Can I be of any service to you ?" he asked. "Will you have a place in the sleeper?"
"Yes," I said, "and much oblige me, too. Give me anything--anything will answer."
"We have nothing left but the big family state-room," he continued, "with two berths and a
couple of arm-chairs in it, but it is entirely at your disposal. Here, Tom, take these satchels aboard!"
Then he touched his hat and we and the colored Tom moved along. I was bursting to drop
just one little remark to my companion, but I held in and waited. Tom made us comfortable in that
sumptuous great apartment, and then said, with many bows and a perfect affluence of smiles:
"Now, is dey anything you want, sah? Case you kin have jes' anything you wants. It don't
make no difference what it is."
"Can I have some hot water and a tumbler at nine to-night-blazing hot?" I asked. "You know
about the right temperature for a hot Scotch punch?"
"Yes, sah, dat you kin; you kin pen on it; I'll get it myself."
"Good! Now, that lamp is hung too high. Can I have a big coach candle fixed up just at the
head of my bed, so that I can read comfortably?"
 "Yes, sah, you kin; I'll fix her up myself, an' I'll fix her so she'll burn all night. Yes, sah; an' you
can jes' call for anything you want, and dish yer whole railroad'll be turned wrong end up an' inside
out for to get it for you. Dat's so." And he disappeared.
Well, I tilted my head back, hooked my thumbs in my armholes, smiled a smile on my
companion, and said, gently:
"Well, what do you say now?"
My companion was not in the humor to respond, and didn't. The next moment that smiling
black face was thrust in at the crack of the door, and this speech followed: "Laws bless you, sah, I
knowed you in a minute. I told de conductah so. Laws! I knowed you de minute I sot eyes on you."
"Is that so, my boy?" (Handing him a quadruple fee.) "Who am I?"
"Jenuel McClellan," and he disappeared again.
My companion said, vinegarishly, "Well, well! what do you say now?"
Right there comes in the marvellous coincidence I mentioned a while ago --viz., I was
speechless, and that is my condition now. Perceive it?

Daylight and Moonlight by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In broad daylight, and at noon,

Yesterday I saw the moon
Sailing high, but faint and white,
As a schoolboy's paper kite.

In broad daylight, yesterday,

I read a poet's mystic lay;
And it seemed to me at most
As a phantom, or a ghost.

But at length the feverish day

Like a passion died away,
And the night, serene and still,
Fell on village, vale, and hill.

Then the moon, in all her pride,

Like a spirit glorified,
Filled and overflowed the night
With revelations of her light.

And the Poet's song again

Passed like music through my brain;
Night interpreted to me
All its grace and mystery.

Edgar Allan Poe

by The Oval Portrait

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit
me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of
commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact
than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately
abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished
apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and
antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial
trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich
golden arabesque. In these paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces,
but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary--in these
paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I bade Pedro
to close the heavy shutters of the room--since it was already night--to light the tongues of a tall
candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed--and to throw open far and wide the fringed
curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this done that I might resign
myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the perusal of a
small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe
them.
Long--long I read--and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by,
and the deep midnight came. The position of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my
hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so as to throw its rays more
fully upon the book.
But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays of the numerous
candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown
into deep shade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It
was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and
then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception. But while
my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive
movement to gain time for thought--to make sure that my vision had not deceived me--to calm and
subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I again looked
fixedly at the painting.
That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first flashing of the candles
upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses,
and to startle me at once into waking life.
The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a mere head and shoulders,
done in what is technically termed a vignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully.
The arms, the bosom and even the ends of the radiant hair, melted imperceptibly into the vague yet
deep shadow which formed the background of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and
filagreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself. But
it could have been neither the execution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the countenance,
which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my fancy,
shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that the
peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly dispelled such
idea--must have prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon these points,
I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At
length, satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I had found the spell of the
picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which at first startling, finally confounded,
subdued and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former
position. The cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the number which designated the oval
portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow:
"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the
hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and
having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee:
all light and smiles, and frolicksome as the young fawn: loving and cherishing all things: hating only
the Art which was her rival: dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments
which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear
the painter speak of his desire to pourtray even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient,
and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the
pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour
to hour and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild and moody man, who became lost
in reveries; so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastlily in that lone turret withered
the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on,
uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter, (who had high renown,) took a fervid and
burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who
grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its
resemblance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painter
than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew
nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wild with
the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from the canvas rarely, even to regard the countenance of
his wife. And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the
cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weeks had passed, and but little remained to
do, save one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered
up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was
placed; and, for one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought;
but in the next, while he yet gazed he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast and crying with a
loud voice, 'This is indeed Life itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved:--She was dead!"