Test Bank For Illustrated Course Guide Microsoft Office 365 and Access 2016 Intermediate Spiral Bound Version 1st Edition Friedrichsen 1305878477 9781305878471

Name: Class: Date:
Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms
Test Bank for Illustrated Course Guide Microsoft Office 365 and
Access 2016 Intermediate Spiral bound Version 1st Edition
Friedrichsen 1305878477 9781305878471
Full link download
Test Bank:
https://testbankpack.com/p/test-bank-for-illustrated-course-guide-microsoft-office-
365-and-access-2016-intermediate-spiral-bound-version-1st-edition-friedrichsen-
1305878477-9781305878471/
Solution Manual:
https://testbankpack.com/p/solution-manual-for-illustrated-course-guide-microsoft-
office-365-and-access-2016-intermediate-spiral-bound-version-1st-edition-
friedrichsen-1305878477-9781305878471/
True / False
1. Design View of a form is devoted to productively entering and editing data.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: Access 164
Use Form Design View
QUESTION TYPE: True / False
HAS VARIABLES: False
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.111 - Create a form in Form Design View
DATE CREATED: 2/26/2016 8:22 PM
DATE MODIFIED: 2/26/2016 8:22 PM
2. A form that contains a subform is called the master form.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
Add Subforms
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.112 - Add a subform to a form
Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 1
Name: Class: Date:

3. Generally there is a one-to-many relationship between the record in the main form and the records in a subform.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Add Subforms
4. By default, subforms display their controls the same way in both Design View and Form View.
a. True
b. False

Name: Class: Date:

ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
Add Subforms
5. A subform allows you to work with records related to the record in the main form.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Add Subforms
6. By default, the Default View property of a subform is Datasheet.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Add Subforms
7. Aligning the edges of controls generally makes them easier to read and use.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Align Control Edges

Name: Class: Date:

LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.113 - Align the edges of controls
8. The title bar of the Property Sheet indicates the control with which you are working.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Add a Combo Box for Data Entry
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.114 - Modify combo box properties
DATE MODIFIED: 5/24/2016 11:18 AM
9. Fields with Lookup properties are automatically created as combo boxes on new forms.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.115 - Add a combo box to a form
10. A combo box is a combination of the text box and command button controls.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.115 - Add a combo box to a form
Name: Class: Date:

11. It is useful to add a command button to a form that will print the current record.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Add Command Buttons
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.116 - Add a command button to a form
12. One or more option buttons can be chosen at the same time within an option group.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
Add Option Groups
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: ENHA.FRIE.16.117 - Use option buttons to edit data
13. You can click the Build button in the Record Source property to edit a query as the record source for a form.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
Use Form Design View
DATE CREATED: 5/24/2016 10:21 AM
DATE MODIFIED: 5/24/2016 10:22 AM
14. Shape effects provide a special visual impact to command buttons.

a. True
b. False

Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
⭘ ‘Ruin Wrought by Rum’
⭘ ‘To a Skeleton’
⭘ ‘Pledge with Wine’
⭘ ‘Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua’
⭘ ‘The Crabbed Man’
⭘ ‘Putting up O’ the Stove’
⭘ ‘The Poor Indian!’
⭘ ‘Jenkins Goes to a Picnic’
⭘ ‘Sewing on a Button’
⭘ ‘Casey at the Bat’
⭘ ‘The Magical Isle’
⭘ ‘Stray Bits of Character’
FAMOUS AMERICAN
AUTHORS.
WHOSE WRITINGS, BIOGRAPHIES AND PORTRAITS
APPEAR IN THIS VOLUME.
Abbott, Lyman.
Adams, Charles Follen, (Yawcob Strauss).
Adams, Wm. T., (Oliver Optic).
Alcott, Louisa May.
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey.
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Anthony, Susan B.
Artemus Ward, (Charles F. Browne).
Austin, Jane Goodwin.
Bancroft, George H.
Barr, Amelia E.
Beecher, Henry Ward.
Bellamy, Edward.
Bill Nye (Edgar Wilson Nye).
Browne, Charles F., (Artemus Ward). ¹
Bryant, William Cullen.
♦Burdette, Robert J.
♦ ‘Burdett’ replaced with ‘Burdette’
Burnett, Frances Hodgson.
Cable, George W.
Carleton, Will.
Cary, Alice.
Cary, Phoebe.
Child, Lydia Maria. ¹
Clay, Henry.
Clemens, Samuel L., (Mark Twain).
Cooper, James Fenimore.
Craddock, Charles Egbert, (Mary N. Murfree).
Crawford, Francis Marion.

Dana, Charles A.
Davis, Richard Harding.
Depew, Chauncey M.
Dickinson, Anna Elizabeth.
Dodge, Mary Abigail, (Gail Hamilton). ¹
Dodge, Mary Mapes. ¹
Eggleston, Edward.
Ellis, Edward.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo.
Everett, Edward.
Field, Eugene.
Finley, Martha.
Fiske, John. ¹
French, Alice, (Octave Thanet).
Gail Hamilton, (Mary Abigail Dodge). ¹
Gilder, Richard Watson.
Gough, John B.
Grady, Henry W.
Greeley, Horace.
Grace Greenwood, (Sarah J. Lippincott).
Hale, Edward Everett.
Halstead, Murat.
Harris, Joel Chandler, (Uncle Remus).
Harte, Bret.
Hawthorne, Julian.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel.
Hay, John.
Henry, Patrick.
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth.
Holley, Marietta, (Josiah Allen’s Wife). ¹
Holmes, Oliver Wendell.
Howe, Julia Ward.
Howells, William Dean.
Ik Marvel, (Donald G. Mitchell).
Irving, Washington.
Jackson, Helen Hunt.
Joaquin Miller (Cincinnatus Heine Miller).
Josiah Allen’s Wife, (Marietta Holly). ¹

Josh Billings, (Henry W. Shaw). ¹
Larcom, Lucy.
Lippincott, Sarah Jane, (Grace Greenwood).
Livermore, Mary A.
Lockwood, Belva Ann.
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth.
Lowell, James Russell.
Mabie, Hamilton W.
Mark Twain, (Samuel L. Clemens).
Marion Harland, (Mary V. Terhune).
McMaster, John B.
Miller, Cincinnatus Heine, (Joaquin).
Mitchell, Donald Grant (Ik Marvel).
Motley, John L.
Moulton, Louise Chandler.
Murfree, Mary N., (Chas. Egbert Craddock).
Nye, Edgar Wilson, (Bill Nye).
Oliver Optic, (William T. Adams).
Octave Thanet, (Alice French).

Page, Thomas Nelson.
Parkman, Francis. ¹
Parton, James.
Phillips, Wendell.
Poe, Edgar Allen. ¹
Prescott, William.
Reid, Whitelaw.
Riley, James Whitcomb.
Roe, Edward Payson.
Shaw, Albert.
Shaw, Henry W., (Josh Billings).
Sigourney, Lydia H.
Smith, Elizabeth Oakes.
Stanton, Elizabeth Cady.
Stedman, Edmund Clarence.
Stockton, Frank.
Stoddard, Richard Henry.
Stowe, Harriet Beecher.
Taylor, Bayard. ¹
Terhune, Mary Virginia.
Thompson, Maurice. ¹
Wallace, General Lew. ¹
Ward, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.
Warner, Charles Dudley.
Watterson, Henry.
Webster, Daniel.
Whitman, Walt.
Whittier, John Greenleaf.
Willard, Frances E.
Willis, Nathaniel Parker.
Whitcher, Mrs. (The Widow Bedott). ¹
¹ No Portrait.
“U
T .”
Longfellow.
GREAT POETS OF
AMERICA.
WELL KNOWN AMERICAN POETS
N. P. WILLIS
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH • WALT WHITMAN
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD
RICHARD WATSON GILDER • COL. JOHN HAY
WILLIAM CULLEN
BRYANT.
.
T is said that “genius always manifests itself

before its possessor reaches manhood.”
Perhaps in no case is this more true than in that
of the poet, and William Cullen Bryant was no
exception to the general rule. The poetical
fancy was early displayed in him. He began to write verses at
nine, and at ten composed a little poem to be spoken at a public
school, which was published in a newspaper. At fourteen a
collection of his poems was published in 12 mo. form by E. G.
House of Boston. Strange to say the longest one of these, entitled
“The Embargo” was political in its character setting forth his
reflections on the Anti-Jeffersonian Federalism prevalent in New
England at that time. But it is said that never after that effort did
the poet employ his muse upon the politics of the day, though the
general topics of liberty and independence have given occasion
to some of his finest efforts. Bryant was a great lover of nature.
In the Juvenile Collection above referred to were published an
“Ode to Connecticut River” and also the lines entitled “Drought”
which show the characteristic observation as well as the style in
which his youthful muse found expression. It was written July,
1807, when the author was thirteen years of age, and will be
found among the succeeding selections.
“Thanatopsis,” one of his most popular poems, (though he

himself marked it low) was written when the poet was but little
more than eighteen years of age. This production is called the
beginning of American poetry.
William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, Hampshire
Co., Mass., November 3rd, 1784. His father was a physician, and
a man of literary culture who encouraged his son’s early ability,
and taught him the value of correctness and compression, and
enabled him to distinguish between true poetic enthusiasm and
the bombast into which young poets are apt to fall. The feeling
and reverence with which Bryant cherished the memory of his
father whose life was
“Marked with some act of goodness every day,”
is touchingly alluded to in several of his poems and directly

spoken of with pathetic eloquence in the “Hymn to Death”
written in 1825:
Alas! I little thought that the stern power
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus
Before the strain was ended. It must cease—
For he is in his grave who taught my youth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely! when thy reason in its strength,
Ripened by years of toil and studious search
And watch of Nature’s silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days,
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth

Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes,
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou
Shalt not, as wont, o’erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave—this—and the hope
To copy thy example.
Bryant was educated at Williams College, but left with an

honorable discharge before graduation to take up the study of
law, which he practiced one year at Plainfield and nine years at
Great Barrington, but in 1825 he abandoned law for literature,
and removed to New York where in 1826 he began to edit the
“Evening Post,” which position he continued to occupy from that
time until the day of his death. William Cullen Bryant and the
“Evening Post” were almost as conspicuous and permanent
features of the city as the Battery and Trinity Church.
In 1821 Mr. Bryant married Frances Fairchild, the loveliness

of whose character is hinted in some of his sweetest productions.
The one beginning
“O fairest of the rural maids,”
was written some years before their marriage; and “The Future
Life,” one of the noblest and most pathetic of his poems, is
addressed to her:—
“In meadows fanned by Heaven’s life-breathing wind,
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere

And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
“Will not thy own meek heart demand me there,—
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given?
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
And wilt thou never utter it in heaven?”
Among his best-known poems are “A Forest Hymn,” “The

Death of the Flowers,” “Lines to a Waterfowl,” and “The
Planting of the Apple-Tree.” One of the greatest of his works,
though not among the most popular, is his translation of Homer,
which he completed when seventy-seven years of age.
Bryant had a marvellous memory. His familiarity with the

English poets was such that when at sea, where he was always
too ill to read much, he would beguile the time by reciting page
after page from favorite authors. However long the voyage, he
never exhausted his resources. “I once proposed,” says a friend,
“to send for a copy of a magazine in which a new poem of his
was announced to appear. ‘You need not send for it,’ said he, ‘I
can give it to you.’ ‘Then you have a copy with you?’ said I.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I can recall it,’ and thereupon proceeded
immediately to write it out. I congratulated him upon having
such a faithful memory. ‘If allowed a little time,’ he replied, ‘I
could recall every line of poetry I have ever written.’”
His tenderness of the feelings of others, and his earnest

desire always to avoid the giving of unnecessary pain, were very
marked. “Soon after I began to do the duties of literary editor,”
writes an associate, “Mr. Bryant, who was reading a review of a
little book of wretchedly halting verse, said to me: ‘I wish you
would deal very gently with poets, especially the weaker ones.’”
Bryant was a man of very striking appearance, especially in

age. “It is a fine sight,” says one writer, “to see a man full of
years, clear in mind, sober in judgment, refined in taste, and
handsome in person.... I remember once to have been at a lecture
where Mr. Bryant sat several seats in front of me, and his finely-
sized head was especially noticeable.... The observer of Bryant’s
capacious skull and most refined expression of face cannot fail
to read therein the history of a noble manhood.”
The grand old veteran of verse died in New York in 1878 at

the age of eighty-four, universally known and honored. He was
in his sixth year when George Washington died, and lived under
the administration of twenty presidents and had seen his own
writings in print for seventy years. During this long life—though
editor for fifty years of a political daily paper, and continually
before the public—he had kept his reputation unspotted from the
world, as if he had, throughout the decades, continually before
his mind the admonition of the closing lines of “Thanatopsis”
written by himself seventy years before.
THANATOPSIS. ¹
The following production is called the beginning of American poetry.
That a young man not yet 19 should have produced a poem so lofty in conception, so full of
chaste language and delicate and striking imagery, and, above all, so pervaded by a noble and
cheerful religious philosophy, may well be regarded as one of the most remarkable examples of
early maturity in literary history.
¹ The following copyrighted selections from Wm. Cullen Bryant are inserted
by permission of D. Appleton & Co., the publishers of his works.
O him who, in the love of Nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice.—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more

In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish’d thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone,—nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb’d and ancient as the sun,—the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;

The venerable woods,—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour’d round all,
Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca’s desert sands,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save its own dashings,—yet—the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men—
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall, one by one, be gather’d to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustain’d and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

WAITING BY THE GATE.
ESIDES the massive gateway built up in years gone
by,
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow lie,
While streams the evening sunshine on the quiet wood and lea,
I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for me.
The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze’s flight,
A soft soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night;
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow descant more,
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o’er.
Behold the portals open and o’er the threshold, now,
There steps a wearied one with pale and furrowed brow;
His count of years is full, his ♦allotted task is wrought;
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not.
In sadness, then, I ponder how quickly fleets the hour
Of human strength and action, man’s courage and his power.
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the golden day,
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away.
Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing throws
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes;

A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair,
Moves wonderfully away from amid the young and fair.
Oh, glory of our race that so suddenly decays!
Oh, crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we gaze!
Oh, breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air
Scatters a moment’s sweetness and flies we know not where.
I grieve for life’s bright promise, just shown and then

withdrawn;
But still the sun shines round me; the evening birds sing on;
And I again am soothed, and beside the ancient gate,
In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait.
Once more the gates are opened, an infant group go out,
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly

shout.
Oh, frail, frail tree of life, that upon the greensward strews
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that blows!
So from every region, so enter side by side,
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride,
Steps of earth’s greatest, mightiest, between those pillars gray,
And prints of little feet, that mark the dust away.
And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with
fear,
And some whose temples brighten with joy are drawing near,
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die.
I mark the joy, the terrors; yet these, within my heart,
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart;
And, in the sunshine streaming of quiet wood and lea,
I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for me.
♦ ‘alloted’ replaced with ‘allotted’
“BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.”

DEEM not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.
There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;

And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.
And thou, who, o’er thy friend’s low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.
Nor let the good man’s trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,—
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.
For God hath marked each sorrowing day,
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven’s long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

ERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the

ground
Was never touch’d by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungather’d. It is sweet

To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks and winds
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass
A fragrance from the cedars thickly set
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades—
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of Liberty.
OF ! thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crown’d his slave,
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Arm’d to the teeth, art thou: one mailed hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr’d
With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs
Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch’d
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven.
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep,

And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain; yet while he deems thee bound,
The links are shiver’d, and the prison walls
Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile,
And shoutest to the nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.
Thy birth-right was not given by human hands:
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields,
While yet our race was few, thou sat’st with him,
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,
And teach the reed to utter simple airs.
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf,
His only foes: and thou with him didst draw
The earliest furrows on the mountain side,
Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself,
The enemy, although of reverend look,
Hoary with many years, and far obey’d,
Is later born than thou; and as he meets
The grave defiance of thine elder eye,

The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.
Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,
But he shall fade into a feebler age;
Feebler, yet subtler; he shall weave his snares,
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap
His wither’d hands, and from their ambush call
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send
Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien,
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words
To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread,
That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms
With chains conceal’d in chaplets. Oh! not yet
Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by
Thy sword, nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids
In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps.
And thou must watch and combat, till the day
Of the new Earth and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,
These old and friendly solitudes invite
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees

Were young upon the unviolated earth,
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.
TO A WATERFOWL.
HITHER, ’midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of

day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly limn’d upon the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek’st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—
The desert and illimitable air,—

Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fann’d,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o’er thy shelter’d nest.
Thou’rt gone; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallow’d up thy form; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
ROBERT OF LINCOLN.
ERRILY swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,
Wearing a bright black wedding coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note:
Look what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings,
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers, while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.
Modest and shy as a nun is she,
One weak chirp is her only note,
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Never was I afraid of man;
Catch me, cowardly knaves if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.

Test Bank For Illustrated Course Guide Microsoft Office 365 and Access 2016 Intermediate Spiral Bound Version 1st Edition Friedrichsen 1305878477 9781305878471

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Test Bank For Illustrated Course Guide Microsoft Office 365 and Access 2016 Intermediate Spiral Bound Version 1st Edition Friedrichsen 1305878477 9781305878471

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Name: Class: Date:

Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms

1. Design View of a form is devoted to productively entering and editing data.

2. A form that contains a subform is called the master form.

Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms

Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 2

Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms

6. By default, the Default View property of a subform is Datasheet.

Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 3

Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms

Access 2016 - Module 7: Enhancing Forms

14. Shape effects provide a special visual impact to command buttons.

Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 5

Adams, Charles Follen, (Yawcob Strauss).

Adams, Wm. T., (Oliver Optic).

Alcott, Louisa May.

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey.

Alger, Horatio, Jr.

Artemus Ward, (Charles F. Browne).

Austin, Jane Goodwin.

Bill Nye (Edgar Wilson Nye).

Browne, Charles F., (Artemus Ward). ¹

Bryant, William Cullen.

♦ ‘Burdett’ replaced with ‘Burdette’

Burnett, Frances Hodgson.

Child, Lydia Maria. ¹

Clemens, Samuel L., (Mark Twain).

Cooper, James Fenimore.

Craddock, Charles Egbert, (Mary N. Murfree).

Crawford, Francis Marion.

Davis, Richard Harding.

Dickinson, Anna Elizabeth.

Dodge, Mary Abigail, (Gail Hamilton). ¹

Dodge, Mary Mapes. ¹

Emerson, Ralph Waldo.

French, Alice, (Octave Thanet).

Gail Hamilton, (Mary Abigail Dodge). ¹

Gilder, Richard Watson.

Hale, Edward Everett.

Harris, Joel Chandler, (Uncle Remus).

Higginson, Thomas Wentworth.

Holley, Marietta, (Josiah Allen’s Wife). ¹

Holmes, Oliver Wendell.

Howe, Julia Ward.

Howells, William Dean.

Ik Marvel, (Donald G. Mitchell).

Jackson, Helen Hunt.

Joaquin Miller (Cincinnatus Heine Miller).

Josiah Allen’s Wife, (Marietta Holly). ¹

Lippincott, Sarah Jane, (Grace Greenwood).

Lockwood, Belva Ann.

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth.

Lowell, James Russell.

Mark Twain, (Samuel L. Clemens).

Marion Harland, (Mary V. Terhune).

Miller, Cincinnatus Heine, (Joaquin).

Mitchell, Donald Grant (Ik Marvel).

Moulton, Louise Chandler.

Murfree, Mary N., (Chas. Egbert Craddock).

Nye, Edgar Wilson, (Bill Nye).

Oliver Optic, (William T. Adams).

Octave Thanet, (Alice French).

Poe, Edgar Allen. ¹