Practice 1
Read the following passage from Chapter 2 of The Scarlet Letter,
“The Market-Place,” and choose the best answer to each question.
1 The grass-plot before the jail, in Prison Lane, on a certain summer morning,
not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by a pretty large number of the
inhabitants of Boston, all with their eyes intently fastened on the iron-clamped
oaken door. Amongst any other population, or at a later period in the history of
New England, the grim rigidity that petrified the bearded physiognomies of these
good people would have augured some awful business in hand. It could have
betokened nothing short of the anticipated execution of some noted culprit, on
whom the sentence of a legal tribunal had but confirmed the verdict of public
sentiment. But, in that early severity of the Puritan character, an inference of
this kind could not so indubitably be drawn. It might be that a sluggish bond-
servant, or an undutiful child, whom his parents had given over to the civil
authority, was to be corrected at the whipping-post. It might be, that an
Antinomian, a Quaker, or other heterodox religionist was to be scourged out of
the town, or an idle and vagrant Indian, whom the white man’s fire-water had
made riotous about the streets, was to be driven with stripes into the shadow of
the forest. It might be, too, that a witch, like old Mistress Hibbins, the bitter-
tempered widow of the magistrate, was to die upon the gallows. In either case,
there was very much the same solemnity of demeanor on the part of the
spectators; as befitted a people amongst whom religion and law were almost
identical, and in whose character both were so thoroughly interfused, that the
mildest and the severest acts of public discipline were alike made venerable and
awful. Meagre, indeed, and cold was the sympathy that a transgressor might
look for from such by-standers, at the scaffold. On the other hand, a penalty,
which, in our days, would infer a degree of mocking infamy and ridicule, might
then be invested with almost as stern a dignity as the punishment of death itself.
2 It was a circumstance to be noted, on the summer morning when our story
begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several in the crowd,
appeared to take a particular interest in whatever penal infliction might be
expected to ensue. The age had not so much refinement, that any sense of
impropriety restrained the wearers of petticoats and farthingale from stepping
forth into the public ways, and wedging their not unsubstantial persons, if
occasion were, into the throng nearest to the scaffold at an execution. Morally,
as well as materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens of old
English birth and breeding, than in their fair descendants, separated from them
by a series of six or seven generations; for, throughout that chain of ancestry,
every successive mother has transmitted to her child a fainter bloom, a more
delicate and briefer beauty, and a slighter physical frame, if not a character of
less force and solidity, than her own. The women who were now standing about
the prison-door stood within less than half a century of the period when the man-
like Elizabeth had been the not altogether unsuitable representative of the sex.
They were her country-women; and the beef and ale of their native land, with a
moral diet not a whit more refined, entered largely into their composition. The
bright morning sun, therefore, shone on broad shoulders and well-developed
busts, and on round and ruddy cheeks, that had ripened in the far-off island, and
had hardly yet grown paler or thinner in the atmosphere of New England. There
was, moreover, a boldness and rotundity of speech among these matrons, as
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