150 Million Years of Marsupial Evolution

You wouldnt know it from their relatively paltry numbers today, but marsupials (the kangaroos, koalas, wombats, etc. of Australia, as well as the opossums of the western hemisphere) have a rich evolutionary history. As far as paleontologists can tell, the distant ancestors of modern opossums diverged from the distant ancestors of modern placental mammals about 160 million years ago, during the late Jurassic period (when pretty much all mammals were the size of mice), and the first true marsupial appeared during the early Cretaceous, about 35 million years later. (Heres a gallery of prehistoric marsupial pictures and profiles and a list of recently extinct marsupials.) Before we go any further, its worthwhile to review what sets marsupials apart from the mainstream of mammalian evolution. The vast majority of mammals on earth today are placental: fetuses are nurtured in their mothers wombs, by means of a placenta, and theyre born in a relatively advanced state of development. Marsupials, by contrast, give birth to undeveloped, fetus-like young, which then must spend helpless months suckling milk in their mothers pouches. (Theres also a third, much smaller group of mammals, the egg-laying monotremes, typified by platypuses and echidnas.) The First Marsupials Because the mammals of the Mesozoic Era were so small--and because soft tissues dont preserve well in the fossil record--scientists cant directly examine the reproductive systems of animals from the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods. What they can do, though, is examine and compare these mammals teeth, and by that criterion, the earliest identified marsupial was Sinodelphys, from early Cretaceous Asia. The giveaway is that prehistoric marsupials possessed four pairs of molars in each of their upper and lower jaws, while placental mammals had no more than three. For tens of millions of years after Sinodelphys, the marsupial fossil record is frustratingly scattered and incomplete. We do know that early marsupials (or metatherians, as theyre sometimes called by paleontologists) spread from Asia to North and South America, and then from South America to Australia, by way of Antarctica (which was much more temperate at the end of the Mesozoic Era). By the time the evolutionary dust had cleared, by the end of the Eocene epoch, marsupials had disappeared from North America and Eurasia  but prospered in South America and Australia. The Marsupials of South America For most of the Cenozoic Era, South America was a gigantic island continent, completely separated from North America until the emergence of the Central American isthmus about three million years ago. During these eons, South Americas marsupials--technically known as sparassodonts, and technically classified as a sister group to the true marsupials--evolved to fill every available mammalian ecological niche, in ways that uncannily mimicked the lifestyles of their placental cousins elsewhere in the world. Examples? Consider Borhyaena, a slouching, 200-pound predatory marsupial that looked and acted like an African hyena; Cladosictis, a small, sleek metatherian that resembled a slippery otter; Necrolestes, the grave robber, which behaved a bit like an anteater; and, last but not least, Thylacosmilus, the marsupial equivalent of the Saber-Tooth Tiger (and equipped with even bigger canines). Unfortunately, the opening of the Central American isthmus during the Pliocene epoch spelled the doom of these marsupials, as they were completely displaced by better-adapted placental mammals from up north. The Giant Marsupials of Australia In one respect, the marsupials of South America have long since disappeared--but in another, they continue to live on in Australia. Its likely that all of the kangaroos, wombats, and wallabies Down Under are descendants of a single marsupial species that inadvertently rafted over from Antarctica about 55 million years ago, during the early Eocene epoch. (One candidate is a distant ancestor of the Monito del Monte, or little bush monkey, a tiny, nocturnal, tree-dwelling marsupial that today lives in the bamboo forests of the southern Andes mountains.) From such unprepossessing origins, a mighty race grew. A few million years ago, Australia was home to such monstrous marsupials as Diprotodon, aka the Giant Wombat, which weighed upwards of two tons; Procoptodon, the Giant Short-Faced Kangaroo, which stood 10 feet tall and weighed twice as much as an NFL linebacker; Thylacoleo, the 200-pound marsupial lion; and the Tasmanian Tiger (genus Thylacinus), a fierce, wolf-like predator that only went extinct in the 20th century. Sadly, like most megafauna mammals worldwide, the giant marsupials of Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand went extinct after the last Ice Age, survived by their much more petite descendants.

Jane Eyre s The Rigid Class System - 1504 Words

The 19th century strict victorian hierarchy places a colossal importance on one’s social standing. Wealth and status prevail over one’s virtue, as an aristocrat is taught to associate poverty and the lower class with inferiority and ignorance. As she grows up a penniless orphan in a wealthy estate, Jane Eyre’s social mobility between classes allows her to endure prejudice as well as display it. Jane lives with her affluent cousins and aunt, and despite her own lack of wealth, Jane is taught that the poor are despicable and unworthy people. As Jane grows and matures throughout her lifetime, she must make her own judgements regarding caste. Throughout her novel, Charlotte Bronte of Jane Eyre criticizes the rigid class system and exposes†¦show more content†¦Jane’s lack of wealth results in her lack of human identity, and categorizes her in the most demeaning manner possible. Jane once again faces this same lack of respect later in life when he r employer, Mr Rochester, entertains a group of aristocratic guests who are prejudiced against her due to her position as a governess. Blanche Ingram, a wealthy friend of Rochester’s, makes it evident that she cares little for the governess position when she says, â€Å"Mary and I have had, I should think, a dozen at least in our day; haf of them detestable and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi–were they not, mamma† (209). Although Ingram depicts her staff as being loathsome, it becomes apparent that her judgment is flawed; she and her brother mistreated their governesses with detestable behavior. However, they did not view this as problematic given their higher social status. Essentially, Blanche Ingram reveals that in the victorian era, wealth triumphs over character. Although Jane herself endures prejudice because of her low position in the social hierarchy, she also displays intolerance for her own class as she has been taught that the poor are repreh ensible. Jane admits she would prefer to live with the Reeds despite the mistreatment she endures, than a kind but poor family. Jane’s perception of the lower class has been warped by the narrow-minded people she has grown up around. She imagines that life in poverty isShow MoreRelatedEssay on Jane Eyre - Challenging Victorian Beliefs1028 Words   |  5 PagesJane Eyre - Challenging Victorian Beliefs Charlotte Brontà « challenges the view that men are emotionally, socially and intellectually superior to women. Just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at Gods feet, equal - as we are! The 19th century was a period of oppression for women. The patriarchal system that dominated the Victorian period in Englands history, was one during which Charlotte Brontà « wrote and set the novel, Jane Eyre. Brontà « denounces the persecutionRead MoreThe Great Gatsby, And Huckleberry Finn?1759 Words   |  8 PagesTaylor Term Paper: How Does Class Effect the Moral Integrity of Character in The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre, and Huckleberry Finn? Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby, and Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn all explore the effects of wealth and class on society. On closer inspection, a common strand seems to form between these three classic novels. The idea that wealth (and the social class that comes with it) determines a person is refuted via the use of deep characterizationRead MoreJane Eyre : A Critique Of Strict Social Class Hierarchy1991 Words   |  8 Pages ‘Jane Eyre’ highlights the ways in which the proletariat is oppressed by the bourgeoisie. As such, the novel could be regarded as a critique of the strict social class hierarchy in Victorian England, particularly in terms of the despicable mistreatment of Jane at the hands of her supposed â€Å"social superior† John Reed. Reed violently torments and oppresses Jane, reminds her constantly of being an ‘orphan’,a ‘dependent’ of the Reed family. Thus, Reed exemplifies the upper class oppressingRead MoreStatement of Purpose23848 Words   |  96 PagesPage 1 and used the statement of purpose for borderline decisions. However, of liberal arts faculty who responded, approximately half valued the essays as much as other parts of the application package. ï‚ · Determine the importance of the mentor system. The importance of the statement of purpose increases, as Robert M. Brown notes, at institutions with strong mentoring programs ―because it is the only place where an applicant can elaborate a research interest to the extent that faculty members can

The Lost Duke of Wyndham Chapter One Free Essays

Grace Eversleigh had been the companion to the dowager Duchess of Wyndham for five years, and in that time she had learned several things about her employer, the most pertinent of which was this: Under her grace’s stern, exacting, and haughty exterior did not beat a heart of gold. Which was not to say that the offending organ was black. Her grace the dowager Duchess of Wyndham could never be called completely evil. We will write a custom essay sample on The Lost Duke of Wyndham Chapter One or any similar topic only for you Order Now Nor was she cruel, spiteful, or even entirely mean-spirited. But Augusta Elizabeth Candida Debenham Cavendish had been born the daughter of a duke, she had married a duke, and then given birth to another. Her sister was now a member of a minor royal family in some central European country whose name Grace could never quite pronounce, and her brother owned most of East Anglia. As far as the dowager was concerned, the world was a stratified place, with a hierarchy as clear as it was rigid. Wyndhams, and especially Wyndhams who used to be Debenhams, sat firmly at the top. And as such, the dowager expected certain behavior and deference to be paid. She was rarely kind, she did not tolerate stupidity, and her compliments were never falsely given. (Some might say they were never given at all, but Grace had, precisely twice, borne witness to a curt but honest â€Å"well done† – not that anyone believed her when she mentioned it later.) But the dowager had saved Grace from an impossible situation, and for that she would always possess Grace’s gratitude, respect, and most of all, her loyalty. Still, there was no getting around the fact that the dowager was something less than cheerful, and so, as they rode home from the Lincolnshire Dance and Assembly, their elegant and well-sprung coach gliding effortlessly across the midnight-dark roads, Grace could not help but be relieved that her employer was fast asleep. It had been a lovely night, truly, and Grace knew she should not be so uncharitable. Upon arrival, the dowager had immediately retired to her seat of honor with her cronies, and Grace had not been required to attend to her. Instead, she had danced and laughed with all of her old friends, she had drunk three glasses of punch, she had poked fun at Thomas – always an entertaining endeavor; he was the current duke and certainly needed a bit less obsequiousness in his life. But most of all she had smiled. She had smiled so well and so often that her cheeks hurt. The pure and unexpected joy of the evening had left her body humming with energy, and she was now perfectly happy to grin into the darkness, listening to the soft snore of the dowager as they made their way home. Grace closed her eyes, even though she did not think herself sleepy. There was something hypnotic about the motion of the carriage. She was riding backwards – she always did – and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves was making her drowsy. It was strange. Her eyes were tired, even though the rest of her was not. But perhaps a nap would not be such a misplaced endeavor – as soon as they returned to Belgrave, she would be required to aid the dowager with – Crack! Grace sat up straight, glancing over at her employer, who, miraculously, had not awakened. What was that sound? Had someone – Crack! This time the carriage lurched, coming to a halt so swiftly that the dowager, who was facing front as usual, was jerked off her seat. Grace immediately dropped to her knees next to her employer, her arms instinctively coming around her. â€Å"What the devil?† the dowager snapped, but fell silent when she caught Grace’s expression. â€Å"Gunshots,† Grace whispered. The dowager’s lips pursed tightly, and then she yanked off her emerald necklace and thrust it at Grace. â€Å"Hide this,† she ordered. â€Å"Me?† Grace practically squeaked, but she shoved the jewels under a cushion all the same. And all she could think was that she would dearly like to smack a little sense into the esteemed Augusta Wyndham, because if she were killed because the dowager was too cheap to hand over her jewels – The door was wrenched open. â€Å"Stand and deliver!† Grace froze, still crouched on the floor next to the dowager. Slowly, she lifted her head to the doorway, but all she could see was the silvery end of a gun, round and menacing, and pointed at her forehead. â€Å"Ladies,† came the voice again, and this time it was a bit different, almost polite. The speaker then stepped forward out of the shadows, and with a graceful motion swept his arm in an arc to usher them out. â€Å"The pleasure of your company, if you will,† he murmured. Grace felt her eyes dart back and forth – an exercise in futility, to be sure, as there was clearly no avenue of escape. She turned to the dowager, expecting to find her spitting with fury, but instead she had gone white. It was then that Grace realized she was shaking. The dowager was shaking. Both of them were. The highwayman leaned in, one shoulder resting against the door frame. He smiled then – slow and lazy, and with the charm of a rogue. How Grace could see all of that when half of his face was covered with his mask, she did not know, but three things about him were abundantly clear: He was young. He was strong. And he was dangerously lethal. â€Å"Ma’am,† Grace said, giving the dowager a nudge. â€Å"I think we should do as he says.† â€Å"I do love a sensible woman,† he said, and smiled again. Just a quirk this time – one devastating little lift at the corner of his mouth. But his gun remained high, and his charm did little to assuage Grace’s fear. And then he extended his other arm. He extended his arm. As if they were embarking at a house party. As if he were a country gentleman, about to inquire about the weather. â€Å"May I be of assistance?† he murmured. Grace shook her head frantically. She could not touch him. She did not know why, precisely, but she knew in her bones that it would be utter disaster to put her hand in his. â€Å"Very well,† he said with a small sigh. â€Å"Ladies today are so very capable. It breaks my heart, really.† He leaned in, almost as if sharing a secret. â€Å"No one likes to feel superfluous.† Grace just stared at him. â€Å"Rendered mute by my grace and charm,† he said, stepping back to allow them to exit. â€Å"It happens all the time. Really, I shouldn’t be allowed near the ladies. I have such a vexing effect on you.† He was mad. That was the only explanation. Grace didn’t care how pretty his manners were, he had to be mad. And he had a gun. â€Å"Although,† he mused, his weapon rock steady even as his words seemed to meander through the air, â€Å"some would surely say that a mute woman is the least vexing of all.† Thomas would, Grace thought. The Duke of Wyndham – who had years ago insisted that she use his given name at Belgrave after a farcical chorus of your grace, Miss Grace, your grace – had no patience for chitchat of any sort. â€Å"Ma’am,† she whispered urgently, tugging on the dowager’s arm. The dowager did not say a word, nor did she nod, but she took Grace’s hand and allowed herself to be helped down from the carriage. â€Å"Ah, now that is much better,† the highwayman said, grinning widely now. â€Å"What good fortune is mine to have stumbled upon two ladies so divine. Here I thought I’d be greeted by a crusty old gentleman.† Grace stepped to the side, keeping her eyes trained on his face. He did not look like a criminal, or rather, her idea of a criminal. His accent screamed education and breeding, and if he was not recently washed, well, she could not smell it. â€Å"Or perhaps one of those dreadful young toads, stuffed into a waistcoat two sizes too small,† he mused, rubbing his free hand thoughtfully against his chin. â€Å"You know the sort, don’t you?† he asked Grace. â€Å"Red face, drinks too much, thinks too little.† And to her great surprise, Grace found herself nodding. â€Å"I thought you would,† he replied. â€Å"They’re rather thick on the ground, sadly.† Grace blinked and just stood there, watching his mouth. It was the only bit of him she could watch, with his mask covering the upper portion of his face. But his lips were so full of movement, so perfectly formed and expressive, that she almost felt she could see him. It was odd. And mesmerizing. And more than a little unsettling. â€Å"Ah, well,† he said, with the same deceptive sigh of ennui Grace had seen Thomas utilize when he wished to change the subject. â€Å"I’m sure you ladies realize that this isn’t a social call.† His eyes flicked toward Grace, and he let loose a devilish smile. â€Å"Not entirely.† Grace’s lips parted. His eyes – what she could see of them through the mask – grew heavy-lidded and seductive. â€Å"I do enjoy mixing business and pleasure,† he murmured. â€Å"It’s not often an option, what with all those portly young gentlemen traveling the roads.† She knew she should gasp, or even spit forth a protest, but the highwayman’s voice was so smooth, like the fine brandy she was occasionally offered at Belgrave. There was a very slight lilt to it, too, attesting to a childhood spent far from Lincolnshire, and Grace felt herself sway, as if she could fall forward, lightly, softly, and land somewhere else. Far, far from here. Quick as a flash his hand was at her elbow, steadying her. â€Å"You’re not going to swoon, are you?† he asked, his fingers offering just the right amount of pressure to keep her on her feet. Without letting her go. Grace shook her head. â€Å"No,† she said softly. â€Å"You have my heartfelt thanks for that,† he replied. â€Å"It would be lovely to catch you, but I’d have to drop my gun, and we couldn’t have that, could we?† He turned to the dowager with a chuckle. â€Å"And don’t you go thinking about it. I would be more than happy to catch you as well, but I don’t believe either of you would wish to leave my associates in charge of the firearms.† It was only then that Grace realized there were three other men. Of course there had to be – he could not have orchestrated this by himself. But the rest of them had been so silent, choosing to remain in the shadows. And she had not been able to take her eyes off their leader. â€Å"Has our driver been harmed?† Grace asked, mortified that she was only now thinking of his welfare. Neither he nor the footman who had served as an outrider were anywhere in sight. â€Å"Nothing that a spot of love and tenderness won’t cure,† the highwayman assured her. â€Å"Is he married?† What was he talking about? â€Å"I – I don’t think so,† Grace replied. â€Å"Send him to the public house, then. There is a rather buxom maid there who – Ah, but what am I thinking? I am among ladies.† He chuckled. â€Å"Warm broth, then, and perhaps a cold compress. And then after that, a day off to find that spot of love and tenderness. The other fellow, by the way† – he flicked his head toward a nearby cluster of trees – â€Å"is over there. Perfectly unharmed, I assure you, although he might find his bindings tighter than he prefers.† Grace flushed, and she turned to the dowager, amazed that she wasn’t giving the highwayman a dressing down for such lewd talk. But the dowager was still as pale as sheets, and she was staring at the thief as if she’d seen a ghost. â€Å"Ma’am?† Grace said, instantly taking her hand. It was cold and clammy. And limp. Utterly limp. â€Å"Ma’am?† â€Å"What is your name?† the dowager whispered. â€Å"My name?† Grace repeated in horror. Had she suffered an apoplexy? Lost her memory? â€Å"Your name,† the dowager said with greater force, and it was clear this time that she was addressing the highwayman. But he only laughed. â€Å"I am delighted by the attentions of so lovely a lady, but surely you do not think I would reveal my name during what is almost certainly a hanging offense.† â€Å"I need your name,† the dowager said. â€Å"And I’m afraid that I need your valuables,† he replied. He motioned to the dowager’s hand with a respectful tilt of his head. â€Å"That ring, if you will.† â€Å"Please,† the dowager whispered, and Grace’s head snapped around to face her. The dowager rarely said thank you, and she never said please. â€Å"She needs to sit down,† Grace said to the highwayman, because surely the dowager was ill. Her health was excellent, but she was well past seventy and she’d had a shock. â€Å"I don’t need to sit down,† the dowager said sharply, shaking Grace off. She turned back to the highwayman, yanked off her ring, and held it out. He plucked it from her hand, rolling it about in his fingers before depositing it in his pocket. Grace held silent, watching the exchange, waiting for him to ask for more. But to her surprise, the dowager spoke first. â€Å"I have another reticule in the carriage,† she said – slowly, and with a strange and wholly uncharacteristic deference. â€Å"Please allow me to retrieve it.† â€Å"As much as I would like to indulge you,† he said smoothly, â€Å"I must decline. For all I know, you’ve two pistols hidden under the seat.† Grace swallowed, thinking of the jewels. â€Å"And,† he added, his manner growing almost flirtatious, â€Å"I can tell you are that most maddening sort of female.† He sighed with dramatic flair. â€Å"Capable. Oh, admit it.† He gave the dowager a subversive little smile. â€Å"You are an expert rider, a crack shot, and you can recite the complete works of Shakespeare backwards.† If anything, the dowager grew even more pale at his words. â€Å"Ah, to be twenty years older,† he said with a sigh. â€Å"I should not have let you slip away.† â€Å"Please,† the dowager begged. â€Å"There is something I must give to you.† â€Å"Now that’s a welcome change of pace,† he remarked. â€Å"People so seldom wish to hand things over. It does make one feel unloved.† Grace reached for the dowager. â€Å"Please let me help you,† she insisted. The dowager was not well. She could not be well. She was never humble, and did not beg, and – â€Å"Take her!† the dowager suddenly cried out, grabbing Grace’s arm and thrusting her at the highwayman. â€Å"You may hold her hostage, with a gun to the head if you desire. I promise you, I shall return, and I shall do it unarmed.† Grace swayed and stumbled, the shock of the moment rendering her almost insensible. She fell against the highwayman, and one of his arms came instantly around her. The embrace was strange, almost protective, and she knew that he was as stunned as she. They both watched as the dowager, without waiting for his acquiescence, climbed quickly into the carriage. Grace fought to breathe. Her back was pressed up against him, and his large hand rested against her abdomen, the tips of his fingers curling gently around her right hip. He was warm, and she felt hot, and dear heaven above, she had never – never – stood so close to a man. She could smell him, feel his breath, warm and soft against her neck. And then he did the most amazing thing. His lips came to her ear, and he whispered, â€Å"She should not have done that.† He sounded†¦ gentle. Almost sympathetic. And stern, as if he did not approve of the dowager’s treatment of her. â€Å"I am not used to holding a woman such,† he murmured in her ear. â€Å"I generally prefer a different sort of intimacy, don’t you?† She said nothing, afraid to speak, afraid that she would try to speak and discover she had no voice. â€Å"I won’t harm you,† he murmured, his lips touching her ear. Her eyes fell on his gun, still in his right hand. It looked angry and dangerous, and it was resting against her thigh. â€Å"We all have our armor,† he whispered, and he moved, shifted, really, and suddenly his free hand was at her chin. One finger lightly traced her lips, and then he leaned down and kissed her. Grace stared in shock as he pulled back, smiling gently down at her. â€Å"That was far too short,† he said. â€Å"Pity.† He stepped back, took her hand, and brushed another kiss on her knuckles. â€Å"Another time, perhaps,† he murmured. But he did not let go of her hand. Even as the dowager emerged from the carriage, he kept her fingers in his, his thumb rubbing lightly across her skin. She was being seduced. She could barely think – she could barely breathe – but this, she knew. In a few minutes they would part ways, and he would have done nothing more than kiss her, and she would be forever changed. The dowager stepped in front of them, and if she cared that the highwayman was caressing her companion, she did not speak of it. Instead, she held forth a small object. â€Å"Please,† she implored him. â€Å"Take this.† He released Grace’s hand, his fingers trailing reluctantly across her skin. As he reached out, Grace realized that the dowager was holding a miniature painting. It was of her long-dead second son. Grace knew that miniature. The dowager carried it with her everywhere. â€Å"Do you know this man?† the dowager whispered. The highwayman looked at the tiny painting and shook his head. â€Å"Look closer.† But he just shook his head again, trying to return it to the dowager. â€Å"Might be worth something,† one of his companions said. He shook his head and gazed intently at the dowager’s face. â€Å"It will never be as valuable to me as it is to you.† â€Å"No!† the dowager cried out, and she shoved the miniature toward him. â€Å"Look! I beg of you, look! His eyes. His chin. His mouth. They are yours.† Grace sucked in her breath. â€Å"I am sorry,† the highwayman said gently. â€Å"You are mistaken.† But she would not be dissuaded. â€Å"His voice is your voice,† she insisted. â€Å"Your tone, your humor. I know it. I know it as I know how to breathe. He was my son. My son.† â€Å"Ma’am,† Grace interceded, placing a motherly arm around her. The dowager would not normally have allowed such an intimacy, but there was nothing normal about the dowager this evening. â€Å"Ma’am, it is dark. He is wearing a mask. It cannot be he.† â€Å"Of course it’s not he,† she snapped, pushing Grace violently away. She rushed forward, and Grace nearly fell with terror as every man steadied his weapon. â€Å"Don’t hurt her!† she cried out, but her plea was unnecessary. The dowager had already grabbed the highwayman’s free hand and was clutching it as if he was her only means of salvation. â€Å"This is my son,† she said, her trembling fingers holding forth the miniature. â€Å"His name was John Cavendish, and he died twenty-nine years ago. He had brown hair, and blue eyes, and a birthmark on his shoulder.† She swallowed convulsively, and her voice fell to a whisper. â€Å"He adored music, and he could not eat strawberries. And he could†¦he could†¦Ã¢â‚¬  The dowager’s voice broke, but no one spoke. The air was thick and tense with silence, every eye on the old woman until she finally got out, her voice barely a whisper, â€Å"He could make anyone laugh.† And then, in an acknowledgment Grace could never have imagined, the dowager turned to her and added, â€Å"Even me.† The moment stood suspended in time, pure, silent, and heavy. No one spoke. Grace wasn’t even sure if anyone breathed. She looked at the highwayman, at his mouth, at that expressive, devilish mouth, and she knew that something was not right. His lips were parted, and more than that, they were still. For the first time, his mouth was without movement, and even in the silvery light of the moon she could tell that he’d gone white. â€Å"If this means anything to you,† the dowager continued with quiet determination, â€Å"you may find me at Belgrave Castle awaiting your call.† And then, as stooped and shaking as Grace had ever seen her, she turned, still clutching the miniature, and climbed back into the carriage. Grace held still, unsure of what to do. She no longer felt in danger – strange as that seemed, with three guns still trained on her and one – the highwayman’s, her highwayman’s – resting limply at his side. But they had turned over only one ring – surely not a productive haul for an experienced band of thieves, and she did not feel she could get back into the carriage without permission. She cleared her throat. â€Å"Sir?† she said, unsure of how to address him. â€Å"My name is not Cavendish,† he said softly, his voice reaching her ears alone. â€Å"But it once was.† Grace gasped. And then, with movements sharp and swift, he leaped atop his horse and barked, â€Å"We are done here.† And Grace was left to stare at his back as he rode away. How to cite The Lost Duke of Wyndham Chapter One, Essay examples

Hamlet Act free essay sample

At father first, Hamlet’s trusting friend Horatio is wary about the truth of a ghost appearing but to his horror to the truth is apparent through the change of his tone. â€Å"It harrows me with fear and wonder† (Page 5). Horatio and Marcellus debacle about the figure concluding it may be the late King Hamlet, ruler of Demark. The ghost itself is a motif that foreshadows trouble for Denmark. The confronting image of the ghost was shocking to the audience as it was believed within the Elizabethan era to be consequential. Marcellus and Horatio discuss the events of Denmark’s preparation for war as a result of invasion by Fortinbras of Norway. It was said to be that King Hamlet killed Fortinbras’ father attaining land that Fortinbras now desires to retrieve. The natural order was disrupted with King Hamlet’s sudden death impacting the Danish society that was evident in the Elizabethan era. It was important to have a structured society and have a strict hierarchy of class whom Shakespeare had incorporated into his paly. Act 1, Scene 2, introduces the prominent character Hamlet and the flaws of his troublesome family. The scene begins with Claudius – brother of King Hamlet – addressing the grief of Denmark with the sudden death followed by his marriage to Gertrude – King Hamlet’s wife. â€Å"Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen† (Page 15) was outrageous towards the audience as the Elizabethan society could not condone to incest behaviour. â€Å"With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage† (Page 15) contradicts Claudius through the oxymoron where his anguish appears false. However, Hamlet’s grief and misery is manifest and apparent to others. The metaphor, â€Å"How is it that the clouds still hang on you? , (Page 19) spoken by Claudius expresses Hamlet’s immense grief. Hamlet suggests to continue his study in Wittenberg, however, his mother, Gertrude and surprisingly Claudius urge him to remain together. Although, Claudius does not pledge for Hamlet to stay out of love but political motivation fearing the popular prince will be a reminder of Denmark’s unfortunate loss. Hamlet’s soliloquy portrays his inner depression causing his contemplation of death. This soliloquy questioned the unthinkable wishing bitterly that God had not made suicide as sin. The Elizabethan period was against this criminal act shocked with Hamlet’s quires about the reason of life. â€Å"’tis an unweeded garden† (Page 23) continues to illustrate Hamlet’s depression through a metaphor of seeing the worst in everything. King Hamlet had an important influence over his son being compared to as â€Å"Hyperion†, (Page 23) a sun god through mythological allusion. To the contrary, Gertrude, is compared as â€Å"Like Niobe† who should have mounded but wedded instead reconciling with Hamlet’s feelings of betrayal. Hamlet’s virtue and gentleness is displayed with his kindness to others who are beneath him. Horatio and Marcellus enter explaining to Hamlet the events that have unfolded where he has faith that it is true. The deception, betrayal and covered truth among these characters demonstrates a dysfunctional family and unstable monarchy. Act 1, Scene 3, discovers a sub plot within the play of a family who have a diverse influence and impact within the play Hamlet. Before leaving on his travels, Laertes sincerely cares for his younger sister, Ophelia, by giving a warning of her compassionate feelings towards Hamlet. â€Å"A violet in the youth of primy nature,/Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting† (Page 31). Through comparison, Laertes expresses that Hamlet is merely exploring his youth driven by his developing hormones and fears that Ophelia will be overcome when he causes her misfortune. Within a monarchy and as within Elizabethan society, royalty are forbidden to freely choose who they wish to be wedded to. Similarly, Hamlet of royal and noble blood will first have to consider what is beneficial and constructive for the state rather than himself. Laertes is considered a ‘foil’ of Hamlet as they both continue to contrast each other emphasising distinct characteristics of another character. Within this scene, the reoccurring motif of family advising each other is apparent when Polonius instructs both Laertes and Ophelia to behave in certain ways. Polonius demands Ophelia to abandon her relationship with Hamlet, using a simile, â€Å"like a green girl† (Page 37) to validate her foolishness. Ophelia, as any woman in the Elizabethan society abides to her father’s wishers, â€Å"I shall obey, my lord† (Page 37). Within Act 1, Scene 4, Hamlet is confronted with his desperate emotions of consulting the ghost choosing to follow him to the forest. The air bites shrewdly, it is very cold† (Page 39) creates imagery of the scenery which Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus are enduring to encounter the ghost. Their preparation for the supernatural is driven into conversation with the sound of trumpets signally Claudius’ celebrations demonstrating Hamlet’s thoughts of his uncle as hateful and intolerable. Hamlet expresses himself about the traditio ns of the Danish not being accustomed or agreeing to it. He further discusses human nature and the tragic flaw of humans when ironically the ghost appears. The ghost beckons for Hamlet to follow him as he debacles whether it is truly his father. Marcellus concluding with a metaphor, â€Å"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark† (Page 43) validates the ghost’s intentions are negative as feared in Elizabethan society. Act 1 Scene 5, the ghost commands Hamlet to revenge revealing the secret of the King’s unnatural death. The Catholic religion states that purgatory is a temporary place that is reached for those who have not been condemned for past sins and need to be cleansed before continuing. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder† (Page 45). The ghost pressures Hamlet to acknowledge that Claudius killed his father and he is to avenge him. The King’s spirit explains to him that as he slept in his garden, a villain poured poison into his ear and states that Claudius has corrupted both Denmark and Gertrude, seducing her by lust. â€Å"Leave her to heaven† (Page 49). The King’s spirit instructs Hamlet to allow fate to punish his mother for all her faults and mistakes that will remain within her conscious. â€Å"O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! (Page 51). Hamlet detests Claudius’ behaviour of containing no sympathy and sadness. Horatio and Marcellus enter and swear on Hamlet’s sword that they will remain silent about what has happened. Hamlet’s plot is uncovered where he will pretend he is a madman. Act 1 of Hamlet is the first step of a revenge tragedy – the exposition stage. The plot was effectively outlined and established for the audience where the secrets and mysteries of different characters within Hamlet are identified leading to Hamlet’s road of revenge.