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CALCULUS
Seventh Edition
Aaron D. Wootton
University of Portland
Coordinated by
Elliot J. Marks
We dedicate this book to Andrew M. Gleason.
His brilliance and the extraordinary kindness and dignity with
which he treated others made an enormous difference to us, and to
many, many people. Andy brought out the best in everyone.
Deb Hughes Hallett
for the Calculus Consortium
ACQUISITIONS EDITOR Shannon Corliss
VICE PRESIDENT AND Laurie Rosatone
DIRECTOR
DEVELOPMENT EDITOR Adria Giattino
FREELANCE Anne Scanlan-Rohrer/Two Ravens
DEVELOPMENTAL EDITOR Editorial
MARKETING MANAGER John LaVacca
SENIOR PRODUCT David Dietz
DESIGNER
SENIOR PRODUCTION Laura Abrams
EDITOR
COVER DESIGNER Maureen Eide
COVER AND CHAPTER © Patrick Zephyr/Patrick Zephyr
OPENING PHOTO Nature Photography
This book was set in Times Roman by the Consortium using TEX,
Mathematica, and the package ASTEX, which was written by Alex
Kasman. It was printed and bound by Quad Graphics/Versailles. The
cover was printed by Quad Graphics/Versailles
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Founded in 1807, John Wiley & Sons, Inc. has been a valued source
of knowledge and understanding for more than 200 years, helping
people around the world meet their needs and fulfill their
aspirations. Our company is built on a foundation of principles that
include responsibility to the communities we serve and where we live
and work. In 2008, we launched a Corporate Citizenship Initiative, a
global effort to address the environmental, social, economic, and
ethical challenges we face in our business. Among the issues we are
addressing are carbon impact, paper specifications and procurement,
ethical conduct within our business and among our vendors, and
community and charitable support. For more information, please
visit our website: www.wiley.com/go/citizenship.
Copyright © 2017, 2013, 2009, 2005, 2001, and 1998 John Wiley &
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
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Evaluation copies are provided to qualified academics and
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at: www.wiley.com/go/returnlabel. If you have chosen to adopt this
textbook for use in your course, please accept this book as your
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contact your local sales representative.
Content
This content represents our vision of how calculus can be taught. It is
flexible enough to accommodate individual course needs and
requirements. Topics can easily be added or deleted, or the order
changed.
Changes to the text in the Seventh Edition are in italics. In all
chapters, problems were added and others were updated. In total,
there are more than 1300 new problems.
Chapter 1: A Library of Functions
This chapter introduces all the elementary functions to be used in the
book. Although the functions are probably familiar, the graphical,
numerical, verbal, and modeling approach to them may be new. We
introduce exponential functions at the earliest possible stage, since
they are fundamental to the understanding of real-world processes.
The content on limits and continuity in this chapter has been revised
and expanded to emphasize the limit as a central idea of calculus.
Section 1.7 gives an intuitive introduction to the ideas of limit and
continuity. Section 1.8 introduces one-sided limits and limits at
infinity and presents properties of limits of combinations of
functions, such as sums and products. The new Section 1.9 gives a
variety of algebraic techniques for computing limits, together with
many new exercises and problems applying those techniques, and
introduces the Squeeze Theorem. The new online Section 1.10
contains the ε, δ definition of limit, previously in Section 1.8.
Chapter 7: Integration
This chapter includes several techniques of integration, including
substitution, parts, partial fractions, and trigonometric substitutions;
others are included in the table of integrals. There are discussions of
numerical methods and of improper integrals.
Appendices
There are online appendices on roots, accuracy, and bounds;
complex numbers; Newton's method; and vectors in the plane. The
appendix on vectors can be covered at any time, but may be
particularly useful in the conjunction with Section 4.8 on parametric
equations.
ConcepTests
ConcepTests, modeled on the pioneering work of Harvard physicist
Eric Mazur, are questions designed to promote active learning
during class, particularly (but not exclusively) in large lectures. Our
evaluation data show students taught with ConcepTests
outperformed students taught by traditional lecture methods 73%
versus 17% on conceptual questions, and 63% versus 54% on
computational problems.
Table 1.1 Daily snowfall in inches for Boston, January 27 to February 9, 2015
You may not have thought of something so unpredictable as daily snowfall as being a function, but
it is a function of day, because each day gives rise to one snowfall total. There is no formula for the
daily snowfall (otherwise we would not need a weather bureau), but nevertheless the daily snowfall
in Boston does satisfy the definition of a function: Each day, t, has a unique snowfall, S, associated
with it.
We define a function as follows:
A function is a rule that takes certain numbers as inputs and assigns to each a definite output
number. The set of all input numbers is called the domain of the function and the set of
resulting output numbers is called the range of the function.
The input is called the independent variable and the output is called the dependent variable. In the
snowfall example, the domain is the set of days {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14} and the
range is the set of daily snowfalls {0, 0.2, 0.7, 0.8, 0.9, 1.3, 7.4, 14.8, 16.2, 22.1}. We call the function
f and write S = f(t). Notice that a function may have identical outputs for different inputs (Days 8
and 9, for example).
Some quantities, such as a day or date, are discrete, meaning they take only certain isolated values
(days must be integers). Other quantities, such as time, are continuous as they can be any number.
For a continuous variable, domains and ranges are often written using interval notation:
The set of numbers t such that a ≤ t ≤ b is called a closed interval and written [a, b].
The set of numbers t such that a < t < b is called an open interval and written (a, b).
But Death had not yet claimed Bomba for his own.
The water broke and the lad’s face appeared, ghastly drawn and
white. He was not yet conquered. He would make one more
supreme effort.
He drew the blessed air into his lungs. The veins stood out on his
neck, the great muscles in his shoulders were ridged like whipcords
as he strained to throw the last of the imprisoning branches from his
chest.
If it had not been for his awful desperation, even his great strength
would not have been equal to the task. As it was, there was a
ripping, tearing sound, and slowly the grip of the branches relaxed,
slowly Bomba forced himself upward, his face suffused with blood,
his breath coming in short gasps of agony.
Then a great joy flooded his heart. The mass upon his chest yielded.
He sat upright in the pool. Now he could use his shoulders as well as
his arms to free the lower part of his body. And he had escaped
those greedy waters that a moment before had been sucking at his
breath.
He rested for a while, for the effort had exhausted him; rested, while
he drew great draughts of air into his lungs, luxuriously expanding
the chest that had been so cruelly imprisoned.
He flexed his arms and felt his body carefully to make sure no bones
were broken.
Everything all right there! But his legs were yet held captive, and
there was no feeling in them. They might be broken, crushed. He
could not tell.
He could work faster now, for the strength of his back and shoulders
went into the quick, sharp strokes of the machete. One by one the
boughs yielded to his vigorous attacks and were thrown aside.
The water was still creeping upward in the pool, but it would be a
long time now before it could reach the danger point. The rain was
slackening too.
Stealing a precious moment to glance upward at the sky, Bomba
saw that the clouds were breaking and the sun beginning faintly to
shine through. The wind had sunk to a gentle murmuring, and the
last rumblings of the thunder were dying away in the distance.
Now a foot and leg were free. With more heart, Bomba worked at the
other, and soon cleared away the last of the branches.
He could see more clearly now what had happened to him. A great
tree, torn loose by that last cyclonic burst of wind, had fallen,
sweeping him along with its branches and imprisoning him in the
pool.
Lucky for him, thought Bomba, that the boughs had caught him
instead of the trunk. In the latter case, there would have been no
escape. His life would have paid toll to the storm.
He felt of his legs, raising them tentatively and working them till the
blood flowed back in their veins again. To his joy, he established the
fact that no bones were broken, though ligaments and muscles had
been cruelly strained.
Trying to drag himself to his feet, Bomba found that he could not
bear his weight upon them, and was forced at last to drag himself on
hands and knees out of the pool and onto higher ground.
The jungle was friendly again. Far above, the sun streamed out
through broken clouds. Monkeys chattered, parrots screamed, and
the timid small creatures once more ventured out from their hiding
places.
In Bomba’s heart was a great thankfulness for his escape. Yet at the
same time he bemoaned the hurt to his legs, since he could not
hasten as quickly as he had hoped to the rescue of Casson, Pipina
and little Pirah.
He dragged himself to his feet, slowly and painfully, resting half his
weight against the trunk of a tree. He looked down at his legs and
found they were torn and bleeding in a dozen places from contact
with the thorny twigs. The rest of his body was badly bruised and cut.
He would rub himself with river mud, his sovereign remedy, as soon
as he could walk.
It took some time for the strength to return to his bruised limbs. And
even when he could move and bear his weight upon them, his gait
was no more than an uncertain wobble.
He was furiously impatient of this infirmity. In this condition he was
as helpless as a wounded tapir. How easily he could become the
prey of any beast of the jungle that might happen to come across
him!
Bomba shifted his machete from his right hand to the left and felt for
his bow and arrows. They were gone, torn from him, probably, as the
tree fell upon him.
This was a serious loss, and his heart was filled with consternation.
He made a careful search of the vicinity, but could find no trace of
them.
It was another illustration of the saying that misfortunes never come
singly. First he had been robbed of his revolver. Now he had lost his
bow and arrows. Only his machete was left to meet the manifold
dangers by which he was surrounded and for use against the wily
Nascanora and his braves. He wondered grimly how long even his
machete would be left to him.
But he had to make the best of it. Perhaps he would meet some
friendly natives who would trade him a bow and some arrows for the
meat of the peccary. If not, he would have to shape the weapons
himself with his knife, if he could find suitable material.
Meanwhile he had returned to the pool. There, scooping up great
handfuls of mud, he rubbed it over his torn and bleeding flesh. Then,
impatient of further delay, he started off through the jungle in the
direction of the Giant Cataract.
He realized at last that he was very hungry, and, thinking that his
weakness was partly due to this, he took from his pouch some of the
roasted meat and ate with a relish.
He felt refreshed after this, and proceeded at a much better pace.
His limbs still pained him greatly, and he was forced to stop at
frequent intervals to rest. But he was getting stronger, and his
confidence was returning to him.
His chief concern was the loss of his weapons. At any moment he
might be called upon to use them in defence. His knife, to be sure,
was a terrible weapon at close quarters. Even at some distance he
could hurl it with great precision, as he had on the night when he had
sent it whizzing through the air and buried it in the throat of the
jaguar that was leaping at the white rubber hunters.
But he saved that as a last resort. His main dependence had been
the bow and arrows, that might enable him to make a stand even if
attacked by several enemies at the same time.
They were essential, too, in hunting game for food. But that thought
just now gave him little concern. He could always find jaboty eggs in
the jungle or catch fish in any stream he might encounter. And at
present he was well supplied with dried meat.
If he had been superstitious, he might have thought that a malign
fate had been following him ever since he set out on his journey.
There was the loss of his revolver and harmonica, the enforced
return to the hut when Hondura’s braves had come upon him, the
further loss of his bow and arrows, his submergence in the pool
when the tree had trapped him.
A native would have interpreted these things as evidence that the
gods frowned on his undertaking, and would have turned back. But
they only increased Bomba’s determination to play the game out to
the end. He thrived on opposition. What were obstacles for but to be
surmounted?
He traveled on for perhaps an hour. Then he came to a clearing
among the dense underbrush. He welcomed this as enabling him to
make more rapid progress.
Suddenly he stepped back, startled. There before him, grazing
placidly beneath the heat of the tropical sun, was a great drove of
peccaries, the fierce wild pigs of the jungle.
Ordinarily, Bomba would have been able to circle that grazing drove
so silently and swiftly that before they had caught the scent of
human presence he would have been far beyond their reach.
And that was the most intense desire in Bomba’s mind at that
moment! He had seen natives after the peccaries had finished with
them, and shuddered at the sight. If they should get at him in the
open, his life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. This would
be true even if he had his weapons. How much more certain would
be his fate under present conditions!
But Bomba now had not as full control of his limbs as usual, and he
made a slight noise as he stepped back into the forest fringe.
The peccary nearest him lifted up its wicked, blunt-nosed head and
sniffed the air. Then, with a snort of rage, it turned in the direction of
the sound and started straight toward Bomba. The rest of the drove
automatically followed their leader.
There was only one thing to be done. Quick as thought, Bomba
leaped for the limb of the tree nearest him, swinging his body clear of
the ground just as the first peccary reached the spot where he had
been. The others followed with such headlong speed that many of
them struck against the trunk of the tree and shook it with their
impact.
Not a second too soon, thought Bomba, as he swung himself from
branch to branch until he reached a fork, where he ensconced
himself.
Below him at the base of the tree the peccaries were acting like
things demented. They ran around and around in circles, snorting
viciously and stumbling over one another in their fury.
Bomba was thankful that pigs were not like monkeys or jaguars, who
were as much at home among the branches of a tree as they were
on the ground.
The peccaries could not climb, and so were powerless to vent their
rage on Bomba. He was safe for the present and could smile grimly
as they gnashed their tusks, those terrible tusks that were like so
many knives and which could so easily slash him to bits.
The boy was filled with resentment against these ferocious
creatures. They could not harm him, but they were delaying him in
his pursuit of Nascanora. For all he knew, they might keep him treed
for days. And in the meantime what might be happening to the
captives? His heart was wrung with anguish at the thought.
An hour passed—another. Then the fury of the peccaries began to
abate. They were short-sighted, and used to holding their heads
down as no longer gazing at their enemy, they soon forgot they
grazed. It tired them to look up. And, his existence. With the stupid
peccary, out of sight was out of mind.
They began to drift away at last, moving aimlessly as though they
had forgotten all about Bomba and the reason for their ferocious
attack.
But Bomba’s forced rest had brought renewed strength to his limbs,
and he felt more like his own strong, active self.
Still the lad did not dare start his descent until all of them had
vanished from sight. Then, slowly and cautiously, making as little
noise as possible, he slipped downward through the heavy
branches.
He had reached the lowest bough when something bade him pause.
Something was watching him from the jungle, something that he
could not see but could feel!
CHAPTER XII
THE JAGUARS ATTACK