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Questions 1 through 4 refer to the following excerpt.
WHAT DID PRESIDENT LINCOLN LOOK LIKE? I saw him on his return, at three o’clock, after the performance [inauguration] was over. He was in his plain two-horse barouche, and looked very much worn and tired; the lines, indeed, of vast responsibilities, intricate questions, and demands of life and death cut deeper than ever upon his dark brown face; yet all the old goodness, tenderness, sadness, and canny shrewdness underneath the furrows. (I never see that man without feeling that he is one to become personally attached to for his combination of purest, heartiest tenderness, and native Western form of manliness.) I saw Mr. Lincoln, dressed all in black, with white kid gloves and a clawhammer coat, receiving, as in duty bound, shaking hands, looking very disconsolate and as if he would give anything to be somewhere else. Probably the reader has seen [faces] (often old farmers, sea captains and such) that, behind their homeliness or even ugliness, held superior points so subtle, yet so palpable, making the real life of their faces almost as impossible to depict as a wild perfume or fruit taste, or a passionate tone of the living voice . . . such was Lincoln’s face—the peculiar color, the lines of it, the eyes, the mouth, expression. Of technical beauty it had nothing—but to the eye of a great artist it furnished a rare study, a feast, and fascination. Walt Whitman, "The Inauguration," from Specimen Days, 1892
Questions 5 and 6 refer to the following excerpt.
WHO ARE THE LATIN AMERICAN STRING QUARTET? Clad in T-shirts and sneakers, the sandy-haired violinist arches a bow over his instrument and nods to three bearded companions. Suddenly the air is filled with the lilting strains of a Brahms string quartet. Smiles quickly replace the looks of concentration when they finish playing, and the four young musicians talk easily with the crowd that lingers to glean a few musical insights. "You must not be afraid of the music," advises Arón Bitrán. His listeners take careful note, for despite their casual dress, these are no street musicians entertaining noontime passersby. Indeed, the foursome is Mexico’s internationally acclaimed Latin American String Quartet, and they are teaching a master’s class at a leading U.S. university. . . . The Latin American String Quartet surely has come a long way in a few short years, but they prefer to think more about future challenges than past successes. "We’d like to be known someday for our own style of playing," says cellist Alvaro Bitrán. The rest of the group nods in agreement, thinking of the time when other aspiring musicians will study their technique the way they, themselves, have studied the world’s greatest string quartets. One gets the impression they will not have that long to wait.Kathryn Shaw, "Musicians on the Move," Américas, May/June 1986
Clad in T-shirts and sneakers, the sandy-haired violinist arches a bow over his instrument and nods to three bearded companions. Suddenly the air is filled with the lilting strains of a Brahms string quartet. Smiles quickly replace the looks of concentration when they finish playing, and the four young musicians talk easily with the crowd that lingers to glean a few musical insights.
"You must not be afraid of the music," advises Arón Bitrán. His listeners take careful note, for despite their casual dress, these are no street musicians entertaining noontime passersby. Indeed, the foursome is Mexico’s internationally acclaimed Latin American String Quartet, and they are teaching a master’s class at a leading U.S. university. . . .
The Latin American String Quartet surely has come a long way in a few short years, but they prefer to think more about future challenges than past successes. "We’d like to be known someday for our own style of playing," says cellist Alvaro Bitrán. The rest of the group nods in agreement, thinking of the time when other aspiring musicians will study their technique the way they, themselves, have studied the world’s greatest string quartets.
One gets the impression they will not have that long to wait.
Kathryn Shaw, "Musicians on the Move," Américas, May/June 1986
Questions 7 through 10 refer to the following excerpt.
HOW DO YOU TELL A STORY? There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind—the humorous. . . . The humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling; the comic story and the witty story upon the matter. The humorous story is strictly a work of art—high and delicate art—and only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous story—understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print—was created in America, and has remained at home. The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it; but the teller of the comic story tells you beforehand that it is one of the funniest things he has ever heard, then tells it with eager delight, and is the first person to laugh when he gets through. And sometimes, if he has had good success, he is so glad and happy that he will repeat the "nub" of it and glance around from face to face, collecting applause, and then repeat it again. It is a pathetic thing to see. Very often, of course, the rambling and disjointed humorous story finishes with a nub, point, snapper, or whatever you like to call it. Then the listener must be alert, for in many cases the teller will divert attention from that nub by dropping it in a carefully casual and indifferent way, with the pretense that he does not know it is a nub. . . . But the teller of the comic story does not slur the nub; he shouts it at you—every time. Mark Twain, "How to Tell a Story," 1895