Prealgebra 5th Edition Lial Solutions Manual

43 Chapter 2 Understanding Variables and Solving Equations 2.1 Introduction to Variables 43

Prealgebra 5th Edition

Lial Solutions Manual
Full download link at:
https://testbankbell.com/ (b) Value Value Expression
of of
product/prealgebra-5th- is
edition-lial-solutions- is
manual/ is
is
6. (a) Multiplying any number by gives a
product of .
CHAPTER 2 UNDERSTANDING Any
VARIABLES AND
SOLVING
EQUATIONS
2.1 Introduction to Variables
2.1 Margin Exercises
1.
times zero
The expression is number
.

The variable is . It represents the class

limit.

•
The constant is
.
(b) Changing the grouping of addends , ,
2. (a) Evaluate the expression when is
does not change the sum.
.

Replace c with 25.

7. (a)
Order books. can be written as • • •
•
is used as a factor times.
(b) Evaluate the expression when is (b) can be written as • • • •
.

(c) can be written as • • • •

Replace c with 60.
(d)
can be written as • • • • • •
8. (a)

means
Order books. • • • •
3. (a) Evaluate the expression when is
feet.
Copyright ©
Copyright
2014 Pearson
© 2014
Education,
Pearson Education,
Inc. Inc.

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44 Chapter 2 Understanding Variables and Solving Equations 2.1 Introduction to Variables 44
Replace y with 5. Multiply left to right.
Replace s with 3 feet. •
•
feet
feet

The perimeter of the square table is (b) means

feet.

(b) Evaluate the expression when is • • Replace r with 6 and s with 3.

miles. •

• • • Multiply left to right.

Replace s with 7
miles.

• miles • •
miles
The perimeter of the square park is •
miles.

4. Evaluate the expression when is (c)

. means Replace x with 4

Replace a with 40. • • •

and y with 3.
Divide. • • • Multiply left to right.

• •
Add.
•

The approximate systolic blood pressure is .

5. (a) Evaluate the expression when is (d) means
and

is .
• • • • Replace c with 2.
Replace with and Multiply left to right.
• • • •
with . Divide.
• • •

• •
•

Your average score is

.

Copyright ©
Copyright
2014 Pearson
© 2014
Education,
Pearson Education,
Inc. Inc.
 45 Chapter 2 Understanding Variables and Solving Equations 2.1 Introduction to Variables 45

2.1 Section Exercises 14. Expression (rule) for degrees:

1. is the (a) is degrees.

variable;

is the constant. (b) is degrees.

2. is the variable; (c) is degrees.
is the constant.
15. Expression (rule) for finding perimeter of an
3. is the variable; equilateral triangle of side length :

is the (a) Evaluate the expression when , the

constant. side length, is inches.
4. is the variable;
is the Replace s with 11.
constant. Follow the rule and multiply.
5. is the variable; •

is the coefficient. inches is the perimeter.

6. is the variable; (b) Evaluate the expression when , the
is the coefficient. side length, is feet.

7. is the Replace s with 3.

variable; Follow the rule and multiply.
is the coefficient. •

is the feet is the perimeter.

constant. 16. Expression (rule) for perimeter:
8. is the
variable; (a) • meters is meters.
is the coefficient.
(b) • inches is inches.
is the constant.

9. Both and are 17. Expression (rule) for ordering brushes:

variables.

10. Both and are (a) Evaluate the expression when , the class size,
variables.

11. is the variable; is .

is the Replace c with 12.
coefficient; Multiply before subtracting.
is the constant. •
12.
is the
variable;

is the coefficient; is the constant.

Copyright ©
Copyright
2014 Pearson
© 2014
Education,
Pearson Education,
Inc. Inc.
 Another random document
un-related content on Scribd:
 And Jones!—don’t be a fool.
Wait till the private watchman
Shall round the corner wind;
He will directly, to inspect
The premises behind.

“There, now, you see,—I told you;

He’s hidden by the wall,
Haste, Jones!—engage him in a chat,—
Insult his capes, or chaff his hat,
Or treat him to some coffee at
The early breakfast stall:
Anything to engage him
For minutes two or three,
By which time he, I dare be bound,
Shall see what he shall see.”

Like telegraphic message

Jones on his errand flies;
And Blatherwick and Simpson
Go with him as allies.
(And, of those last-named heroes
’Tis whisper’d since on town,
They thought the watchman-chaffing game
A less precarious road to fame
Than pulling knockers down).

But Johnson of St. Thomas,

No craven droopings knew;
Up to the frowning knocker,
With tiger spring he flew;
And mirthful e’en in danger,
Said, with a joyous grin,
“Walk up!—the exhibition’s just
A-going to begin!”

Then thrust he through the knocker

His stick of British oak;
But Brown of Charing, from the throng,
Quoting a Social Progress song,
Thus, with a purpose, spoke:
“Just wait a little longer,
There’s work for me as well;
You from its clamps the knocker tear—
I from the door, your fame to share,
Will please to wring the bell.”

But of that gang the stoutest

Felt their hearts sink to see
In progress what, in planning,
Had merely seem’d a “spree;”
And from the dread adventure,
So rashly underta’en,
All shrank, like boys who, ere they strip,
Intend to plunge o’er head and hip
In Father Thames, but when they dip
In his cold flood a toe-nail’s tip,
Scared—dress themselves again.

But meanwhile Jones and Simpson,

And Blatherwick have tried,
In vain, to keep the watchman
Round on the other side.
“Run, Davis! run, Carruthers!”
Loud cried the students all;
“Slope! and to him who hindmost lags,
The usual fate befal!”

Back darted Brown of Charing,

Letting the bell-pull go,
With startling clang, and all the gang
Retreated from the foe;
But when they saw brave Johnson
Still tugging at the door,
Under the very watchman’s nose,
 They would have turn’d once more.

But, with a crash like thunder

(Such thunder as one hears
At minor theatres, when the ghost
Or maniac appears),
Round on its well-used pivot
The watchman’s rattle sprung;
The band set up a frighten’d cry,
And (Jones in front) began to fly,
E’en Brown, averse to saying die,
Scorn’d not to cut and run.

Yet, like himself in practice

(“Teeth drawn for half-a-crown,”
Stands graven on his bus’ness card),
The furious Johnson struggled hard
To wrench the knocker down.
And with Herculean prowess,
At length perform’d the feat;
And oaken splint, and nut and screw,
With bits of paint and dried-up glue,
Flew scatter’d o’er the street.

With one huge stride he bounded

Adown the steps in glee,
Waving his hard-earned prize on high,
But stopp’d—he was compell’d to—by
Policeman “Twenty-three.”
“Off with him!” cried the watchman,
With a smile on his pale face;
“Now blow me!” “Twenty-three” exclaimed;
“This here’s a Brixton case.”

Round turn’d he somewhat stagger’d,

These myrmidons to see,
But he took the watchman’s measure,
And the weight of “Twenty-three.”
And ere “Robinson” you’d summon
He had laid the former low,
By tripping up his heels, and dealt
To “Twenty-three” (above the belt)
A firm left handed blow.

Bereft of speech and breathing,

Awhile was “Twenty-three,”
(For, thanks to kitchen maidens fair,
Who bought his love with viands rare,
Of habit full was he);
And Johnson, by his valour
Freed from judicial grab,
In safety gain’d the neighb’ring stand,
And with the knocker in his hand,
Plung’d headlong in a cab!

Never, I ween, did driver

With such a style of horse,
Urge o’er the stones at such a rate,
To save a patron from the hate
And fury of the Force.
But his sympathies went greatly
With the large heart within,
Who half-a-crown beyond his fare
Had promis’d—and some gin.

And now they near his chambers,

Where, waiting his return,
Stand his false-hearted comrades
Joy’d his escape to learn;
Whom, for their craven conduct,
As from the cab he leaps,
The high-soul’d Johnson scruples not
To stigmatize as “sweeps.”

And now they press around him,

And now they soap him down;
And with emollient sawder
His just reproaches drown;
Now on the back they slap him,
Thumbs in his ribs they stick,
And now they dub him “Trojan,”
And now proclaim him “Brick.”

They gave him songs and speeches,

They drank his health with glee,
And (heedless of the lodgers)
It was done with three times three.
And they took the rifled knocker,
And hung it up on high,
And there it stands in Johnson’s rooms,
To witness if I lie.

And in the nights of winter,

When things are rather slow,
And men (the gardens being shut)
Uncertain where to go;
To Johnson’s humble chambers,
In little knots drop in,
To smoke his soothing birdseye,
And quaff his cheering gin!

When the bottled stout is opened,

And the meerschaum pipe is lit,
And the guests on trunks and tables
(Chairs at a premium) sit,
When flags the conversation,
Revert they to the “go,”
How Johnson tore the knocker down
Of Watkins of Soho.
 S .
A Lay of Modern London, made in the year 1848.
B T. B M .
I.
O’Connor of York Castle
By the Six Points he swore,
That the great English rabble
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Six Points he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And made his underlings go forth,
In third-class trains, from south to north,
To summon his array.
II.
The pickpockets and Chartists
Come pouring in amain,
From many a dirty market-place,
From many a half-choked drain;
From many a lonely alley,
Where, hid from Peeler’s eyen,
In a magmen’s nest—the neighbourhood’s pest—
Grovel the human swine.
III.
There be some scores of delegates,
The noisiest of the land,
Who alway by O’Connor,
In John Street’s building stand;
With dirty hands the delegates
Have turned the papers o’er—
The leaders bright, in black and white,
Of journalistic lore.
IV.
And with one howl the delegates
 This answer forth are slipping,
“Go forth, go forth, dear Feargus,
Go forth, go forth, our pippin!
Go, and return in glory,
To our fine John Street dome,
And hang the tickers of the rich
Round the bare walls of home!”
V.
And now hath every alley
Sent up its batch of men,
The foot are some ten thousand,
The horsemen scarcely ten,
Upon the plain of Kennington
Is met the great array—
A proud man was O’Connor
Upon the trysting day!
VI.
But in the Parks, and Pall Mall,
Was tumult and affright;
And in the Carlton, men looked blue,
And those in Brookes’s white;
And Berkeley Square was shaky,
While some from Mayfair cut;
And girls in pastrycooks were sad
And Quadrant shops were shut.
VII.
Now, from a lofty lamp-post
Could the wan Peelers spy
The dust made by the marching mob,
Like a pall in the sky.
The Ministers in Downing Street
Were nervous all the day,
For every hour a horseman came
With tidings of dismay.
 VIII.
They held a council standing
In Westminster Bridge Road;
Surrounded by sad Specials,
Who evil days forbode;
Out spake Lord Russell roundly,
“The bridge must straight go down,
For now that they’re past the New Cut,
Nought else can save the town.”
IX.
Then out spake brave Sibthorpius,
Up to the council riding,
“I’ll keep the bridge—Chartists be hanged,
I’ll give them a d——d hiding!
Hew down the bridge, Lord Russell!
I’ll let the humbugs see—
What Honourable Member
Will keep the bridge with me?”
X.
“Sibthorpius,” said Lord Russell,
“As thou sayest, so let it be.”
He spoke! two more came forward,
And forth then rushed the Three.
Meanwhile, the Specials round them,
Came each man with an axe,
And Russell gave a mighty blow,
And Morpeth pummelled with a crow
The bridge ’neath which the Thames doth flow,
Resounded with their whacks!
XI.
One Member smote proud Cuffey,
The second rushed at Jones,
Unmoved by Chartist yelling,
Undaunted by the stones.
Sibthorpius at Feargus
Darted one horrid thrust
And the plebian’s puddle blood
Mix’d with Lambeth dust.
XII.
And now the Bridge of Westminster
Trembled ’neath Russell’s blows,—
“Back, back,” he cried, “brave comrades,
Back ere the old bridge goes.”
Then quickly the two members
Ran to the other side—
Then turned and saw Sibthorpius
Alone in all his pride.
XIII.
Then with a crash like thunder,
The old bridge went to pot—
Its ruins down the foaming stream
Rushed hurriedly and hot.
Alone stood brave Sibthorpius,
A moment sternly stood,
Then, with his armour on his back,
He jumped into the flood.
* * * * *
XIV.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And sweepers from the pavement
Are shovelling the snow;
When the crusted port is opened,
And the camphine lamp is lit,
When dessert is on the table,
And around it bright guests sit.
XV.
 When the gay and lively party
Roar at the P - ,
And claret, sparkling like its jokes,
Right joyously doth flow.
When the good-man plays écarté,
And the young lads make a noise;
When the girls are working crochet,
And the children smashing toys.
XVI.
When the good-wife takes her workbox,
And the grandame takes a nap,
When Radicals and Chartists
Grow lively at the tap.
With weeping and with laughter,
Still is the story told,
How well Sibthorpius kept the Bridge,
And how the mob were sold.
From The Puppet-Showman’s Album.
The six points demanded by the Chartists in 1848, were: Universal
Suffrage, Vote by Ballot, Annual Parliaments, Payment of the Members, the
Abolition of the Property Qualification, and Equal Electoral Districts.
Forty years ago these proposals were considered terribly revolutionary,
and when the leaders of the movement—Ernest Jones, Fergus O’Connor,
Vincent and Stephens—proposed to hold a mass meeting at Kennington,
and march to Westminster, it was feared there would be a riot. Special
constables were enrolled in large numbers, and strong measures were taken
by the police, but little actual disturbance occurred. Colonel Sibthorp, a
very eccentric M. P., was especially violent in his denunciations of the
Chartists, but it need scarcely be said that the poem is entirely imaginary as
to the fight at Westminster Bridge, and the part he took in it.
 T F C .
(As told by an ancient Gladiator
to his Great-Grandmother.)
Big Heenan of Benicia,
By ninety-nine gods he swore,
That the bright belt of England
Should grace her sons no more.
By ninety-nine he swore it,
And named the ‘fisting’ day—
‘East and west and south and north,’
Said Richard Mayne, ‘ride forth, ride forth,
‘And summon mine array.’

‘Ride forth by heathy Hampshire,

Of “chalk-stream-studded” dells,
And wake the beaks of Eversley
Where gallant Kingsley dwells;
Spur fast thro’ Berkshire spinneys,
The broad Hog’s Back bestride,
And if the White Horse is scour’d
Mount up amain and ride:
Spur, spur, I say, thro’ England!
The word went flashing by.
Look out for Sayers and Heenan,
Policemen—mind your eye!

Sir Richard’s bold moss-troopers

Looked out uncommon keen,
From park and plain and prairie,
From heath and upland green;
From Essex fens and fallows,
From Hampshire, dale and down,
From Sussex’ hundred leagues of sand,
To Shropshire’s fat and flowery land,
And Cheshire’s wild and wasted strand,
And Yorkshire’s heather brown;—
And so, of course, the fight came oft
A dozen miles from Town.

Then first stept out big Heenan,

Unmatched for breadth and length;
And in his chest it might be guessed;
He had unpleasant strength.
And to him went the Sayers
That looked both small and thin,
But well each practised eye could read
The ‘lion and the bull-dog’ breed,
And from each fearless stander-by
Rang out that genuine British cry,
‘Go in, my boy,—and win!’

And he went in—and smote him

Through mouthpiece and through cheek;
And Heenan smote him back again
Into the ensuing week:
Full seven days thence he smote him,
With one prodigious crack,
And th’ undaunted Champion straight
Discerned that he was five feet eight,
When flat upon his back:—
Whilst a great shout of laughter
Rose from the Yankee pack.

As from the flash the bullet,

Out sprang the Sayers then,
And dealt the huge Benician
A vast thump on the chin;
And thrice and four times sternly
Drove in the shatt’ring blow;
And thrice and four times wavered
The herculean foe;
And his great arms swung wildly,
Like ship-masts two and fro.
And now no sound of laughter
Was heard from either side,
Whilst feint, and draw, and rally,
The cautious Bruisers tried;
And long they sparred and counter’d
Till Heenan sped a thrust
So fierce and quick, it swept away
Th’ opposing guard like sapling spray—,
And for the second time that day
The Champion bit the dust.

Short time lay English Sayers

Upon the earth at length,
Short time his Yankee foeman
Might triumph in his strength!
Sheer from the ground he smote him
And his soul went with the blow—
Such blow no other hand could dash—
Such blow no other arm could smash—
The giant tottered low;
And for a space they sponged his face,
And thought the eye would go.

Time’s up!—Again they battle;

Again the strokes fly free;
But Sayers’ right arm—that arm of pride—
Now dangles pow’rless by his side,
Plain for all eyes to see;
And thro’ that long and desperate shock—
Two mortal hours on the clock—
By sheer indomitable pluck
With his left hand fought he!

With his left hand he fought him,

Though he was sore in pain,—
Full twenty times hurled backward,
Still pressing on again!
With his left hand he fought him,
Till each could fight no more;
Till Sayers could scarcely strike a blow,
Till Heenan could not see his foe—
Such fighting England never knew
Upon her soil before!

They gave him of the standard

Gold coinage of the realm,
As much as one stout guardsman
Could carry in his helm;
They made him an ovation
On the Exchange hard by,—
And they may slap their pockets
In witness if I lie.

And every soul in England

Was glad, both high and low,
And books were voted snobbish,
And ‘gloves’ were all the go;
And each man told the story,
Whilst ladies’ hearts would melt,
How Sayers, the British Champion,
Did battle for the belt.

Yet honour to the vanquished!

(If vanquished then he were)
Let the harp strike a bolder string
And the Bird of Freedom clap his wing
For the fight so free and fair.
And forge another girdle
That shall belt as brave a breast
As ever sailed to English shore
From the broad lands of the West.

And when some sterner battle

Shall shake along the line,
The Lion flag of Liberty
 In Freedom’s cause to shine,—
To fence its ancient honour,
And guard it safe from harms,
May two such Champions hand in hand—
Twin brethren of the Saxon land—
Be found together to withstand
A universe in arms.
H. C -P .

This excellent parody has appeared in numerous editions of Puck on

Pegasus (published by Chatto and Windus, London), it is here given by
special permission, and with corrections and additions recently made by the
author.
The desperate fight it describes took place at Farnborough on April 17,
1860. Tom Sayers, the Champion of England, stood only about 5 feet 8
inches high, whilst John Heenan, the “Benicia Boy” was upwards of 6 feet
in height. Both men showed great courage and endurance, but Sayers
displayed the most science, and had not the fight been interrupted, he
would, in all probability, have been victorious, as Heenan’s eyes were fast
closing up from the punishment he had received. As the fight was a draw, a
silver belt was afterwards presented to each of the men. Punch also had a
very long parody on the subject, from which a few verses may be quoted.
T F S H .
A Lay of Ancient London.
(Supposed to be recounted to his Great Grand-Children,
April 17th, . . 1920, by an Ancient Gladiator.)
Close round my chair, my children,
And gather at my knee,
The while your mother poureth
The Old Tom in my tea;
The while your father quaffeth
His rot-gut Bordeaux wine,—
’Twas not on such potations
Were reared these thews o’ mine.
Such drinks came in the very year
—Methinks I mind it well—
That the great fight of H
With S befell.
These knuckles then were iron;
This biceps like a cord;
This fist shot from the shoulder
A bullock would have floored.
Crawleius his Novice,
They used to call me then,
In the Domus Savilliana,
Among the sporting men.
There, on benefit occasions,
The gloves I oft put on,
Walking round to show my muscles
When the set-to was done;
While ringing in the arena
The showered denarii fell,
That told Crawleius, Novice
Had used his mauleys well.
’Tis but some sixty years since
The times whereof I speak,
And yet the words I’m using
Will sound to you like Greek.

What know ye, race of milksops,

Untaught of the P. R.,
What stopping, lunging, countering,
Fibbing, or rallying are?
What boots to use the lingo,
When you have not the thing?
How paint to you the glories
Of B ,C , or S ,—
To you, whose sire turns up his eyes
At mention of the Ring?

Yet, in despite of all the jaw

 And gammon of the time,
That brands the art of self-defence
—Old England’s art—as crime,
From off mine ancient memories
The rust of time I’ll shake,
Your youthful bloods to quicken
And your British pluck to wake.
Then gather to your grandsire’s knee,
The while his tale is told,
How S and H
Milled in the days of old.
* * * * *
The stakes are pitched, the ropes are tied,
The men have ta’en their stand;
H wins the toss for place,
And takes the eastward hand.
C and M
Upon the Boy attend;
S owns B ,
And J W for friend.
And each upon the other now,
A curious eye may throw,
As from the seconds’ final rub
In buff at length they show,
And from their corners to the scratch
Move stalwartly and slow.

Then each his hand stretched forth to grasp,

His foemen’s fives in friendly clasp;
Each felt his balance trim and true,—
Each up to square his mauleys threw;
Each tried his best to draw his man—
The feint, the dodge, the opening plan,
Till left and right S tried;
H ’ grin proclaimed him wide;
He shook his nut, a lead essayed,
Nor reached S ’ watchful head.
At length each left is sudden flung,
We heard the ponderous thud,
And from each tongue the news was rung,
S hath “First blood!”
Adown H ’ Roman nose
Freely the tell-tale claret flows,
While stern S ’ forehead shows
That in the interchange of blows
H ’ aim was good!
Again each iron mauley swung,
And loud the counter-hitting rung,
Till breathless all and wild with blows,
Fiercely they grappled, for a close;
A moment in close hug they swing
Hither and thither, round the ring,
Then from H ’ clinch of brass
S , smiling, slips to grass!

I trow mine ancient breath would fail

To follow through the fight,
Each gallant round’s still changing tale,
Each feat of left and right.
How nine times in that desperate Mill
H , in his strength,
Knocked stout S off his pins,
And laid him all at length;

But how in each succeeding round

S smiling came,
With head as cool, and wind as sound,
As his first moment on the ground,
Still confident, and game.
How from H ’ sledge-like fist,
Striving a smasher to resist,
S ’ stout right arm gave way,
Yet the maim’d hero still made play,
And when in-fighting threatened ill,
Was nimble in out-fighting still,
Did still his own maintain—
In mourning put H ’ glims,
Till blinded eyes and helpless limbs,
The chances squared again.
How blind H in despite
Of bleeding mug and waning sight
So gallantly kept up the fight,
That not a man could say
Which of the two ’twere wise to back,
Or on which side some random crack
Might not decide the day:
And leave us—whoso won the prize,—
Victor and vanquished, in all eyes,
An equal meed to pay.

Two hours and more the fight had sped,

Near unto ten it drew,
But still opposed-one-armed to blind,—
They stood, the dauntless two.
Ah, me, that I have lived to hear
Such men as ruffians scorned,
Such deeds of valour brutal called,
Canted, preached down and mourned!
Ah, that these old eyes ne’er again
A gallant Mill shall see!
No more behold the ropes and stakes,
With colours flying free!
But I forget the combat—
How shall I tell the close,
That left the Champion’s Belt in doubt
Between those well-matched foes?
Fain would I shroud the tale in night,—
The meddling blues that thrust in sight,—
The ring-keepers o’erthrown;—
The broken ring,—the cumbered fight,—
 H ’ sudden, blinded flight,—
S pausing, as he might,
Just when ten minutes used aright
Had made the fight his own!

Alas! e’en in those brighter days

We still had Beaks and Blues,—
Still, canting rogues, their mud to fling
On self-defence and on the Ring,
And fistic arts abuse!
And ’twas such varmint had the power
The Champion’s fight to stay,
And leave unsettled to this hour
The honours of the day!
But had those honours rested
Divided as was due,
S and H
Had cut the Belt in two.
Punch. April 28, 1860.