Test Bank for Chemistry The Central Science, 10th Edition: Brown

Chemistry, 10e (Brown)

Chapter 1: Introduction: Matter and Measurement

Chemistry The Central Science, 10th Edition: Brown

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Multiple Choice and Bimodal

1) Solids have a __________ shape and are not appreciably __________.

A) definite, compressible
B) definite, incompressible
C) indefinite, compressible
D) indefinite, incompressible
E) sharp, convertible
Answer: A
Diff: 1 Page Ref: Sec. 1.2

2) __________ is the chemical symbol for elemental sodium.

A) S
B) W
C) So
D) Na
E) Sn
Answer: D
Diff: 1 Page Ref: Sec. 1.2

3) If matter is uniform throughout, cannot be separated into other substances by physical processes, but can be
decomposed into other substances by chemical processes, it is called a (an) __________.
A) heterogeneous mixture
B) element
C) homogeneous mixture
D) compound
E) mixture of elements
Answer: D
Diff: 4 Page Ref: Sec. 1.2

4) The symbol for the element potassium is __________.

A) Pt
B) P
C) K
D) S
E) Ca
Answer: C
Diff: 1 Page Ref:Sec. 1.2

5) The symbol for the element magnesium is __________.

A) Rb
B) Mn
C) Ne
D) Si
E) Mg
Answer: E
Diff: 1 Page Ref:Sec. 1.2

Visit TestBankBell.com to get complete for all chapters

6) The initial or tentative explanation of an observation is called a(n) __________.
A) law
B) theory
C) hypothesis
D) experiment
E) test
Answer: C
Diff: 2 Page Ref:Sec. 1.3

2
7) A concise verbal statement or mathematical equation that summarizes a broad variety of observations and
experiences is called a(n) __________.
A) law
B) theory
C) hypothesis
D) experiment
E) test
Answer: A
Diff: 2 Page Ref:Sec. 1.3

8) A separation process that depends on differing abilities of substances to form gases is called __________.
A) filtration
B) solvation
C) distillation
D) chromatography
E) all of the above are correct
Answer: C
Diff: 3 Page Ref:Sec. 1.3

9) The SI unit for mass is __________.

A) kilogram
B) gram
C) pound
D) troy ounce
E) none of the above
Answer: A
Diff: 1 Page Ref:Sec. 1.4

10) A one degree of temperature difference is the smallest on the __________ temperature scale.
A) Kelvin
B) Celsius
C) Fahrenheit
D) Kelvin and Celsius
E) Fahrenheit and Celsius
Answer: C
Diff: 3 Page Ref:Sec. 1.4

11) A common English set of units for expressing velocity is miles/hour. The SI unit for velocity is __________?
A) km/hr
B) km/s
C) m/hr
D) m/s
E) cm/s
Answer: D
Diff: 3 Page Ref:Sec. 1.4

3
 Another random document
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 T B B .
Great Lawrence, erst a builder,
By Gog and Magog swore
That he would rule the Livery
And be Lord Mayor once more.
By Gog and Magog swore it,
And named the polling day,
And bade the Liverymen go forth
To all the wards, East, West, and North,
To summon his array.

I see the long type galleys,

I see the molten lead,
I see the wondrous matrix—
The bright type leaves its bed.
He casts the grim black-letter,
For battle he is ripe,
Thus ever rides our Besley,
Lord of the Founts of Type.

Now hath each polling district

Sent up her tale of men,
And Besley counts by hundreds,
And Lawrence scarcely ten.
But a mighty boast he uttered
“Right soon the Queen shall ride
To Blackfriars Bridge, and where looks down
The viaduct o’er London town,
And Lawrence by her side.”

The harvest of the title,

This year shall Lawrence reap;
This year the London urchins
At Queen Victoria peep.
This year the crowds shall gather
To London, like the foam
That gathers on the Tiber
 That rolls beside old Rome.

And now the warfare’s over,

And who shall say who’s won,
Our Besley rules the Aldermen,
The civic fight is done.
But Lawrence, cool and cunning,
No shock of war would stand,
He yields the power, but wins the prize;
Henceforth, before the nation’s eyes,
He wears the Bloody Hand!

And in the nights of winter

When many a bottle’s floor’d,
And gormandizing aldermen
Gloat o’er the groaning board,
Between the punch and turtle,
The tale they still shall tell:
How Lawrence jockey’d Besley—
How Gladstone managed well.
The Period. 1869.

The new Blackfriars Bridge was opened by the Queen on November 6,

1869, during the mayoralty of Alderman James C. Lawrence, who wished
to be twice Lord Mayor of London, but he was beaten by Mr. Robert
Besley.
 AL A S .
Qucealy, the avenger,
By the nine points he swore
That the great Tichborne Claimant
Should suffer wrong no more:
By the nine points he swore it,
And ere the polling day
He straightway rose and gat him forth,
And taking tickets for the North,
He sped him on his way.

Full rapidly yet surely,

The Midland train runs fast,
Until the town of potteries
Is safely gained at last!
Woe to the vile traducer
Who treats it as a joke,
For Qucealy the avenger
Is on the march for Stoke.

There be many whom the franchise

Makes voters in the land,
Who always by the public house,
Both morn and evening stand.
Evening and morn they linger
About the open door;
While each man’s little finger
Is lifted o’er and o’er.

And with one voice the voters

Have their glad answers given
“Go forth, go forth, Qucealy!
Go forth, beloved of Heaven.”
Or, in the plain vernacular
Of these simple men of Stoke,
“We’ll stick to you, Qucealy!
Go in and win, old bloke!”
I wis in all the Commons,
When came the Doctor’s night,
There was not e’en a vacant seat
For none would miss the sight.
Forthwith uprose the Premier,
Uprose the Members all:
Full speedily they seized their hats,
And hied them to the hall.

The Doctor’s brow is knit,

And the Doctor’s speech is low,
And frequently is heard “Ha, ha!”
And now and then “Oh, oh!”
But he flings aside their taunts,
As when bounding o’er the plain,
The lion shakes the dewdrops
From off his tawny mane.

“Ye honorable members

Jeer on as best ye may;
But I with two to help me
Will keep you all at bay.
A Jesuitical device
May well be checked by three:
Now who will stand on either hand
To crush conspiracy?”

Then out spake valiant Whalley,

From Peterborough he,
“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And give my voice with thee.”
And outspake bould O’Gorman,
Of Celtic blood was he,
“Whack philliloo! I’m wid you too.
Acushla gra machree!”

The speeches now are ended,

And lo! the ranks divide,
 And outsteps brave O’Gorman,
With elephantine stride.
And many fear what he may say,
And at the thought grow pale!
“Is there any of yiz here would like
To trid upon my tale?”

Never I ween did member

In any former case,
In solitary grandeur walk
Back to his ’customed place.
With a mighty cheer they greet him,
As he marches on alone,
And the tellers say the members be
Four hundred odd to one.

When the “ancient Tom” is opened,

And the farthing dip is lit:
When the elders whack the youngers,
And the kid howls when he’s hit:
When old and young together
Around the quartern close:
When the girls are cracking cobnuts
And the lads are mixing “goes:”

When the goodwife rubs her elbow,

After contact with the broom:
When the goodman’s “highlows” merrily
Are flying round the room!
Amid these gay distractions,
Still doth the story run,
How Qucealy lost his motion by
Four hundred odd to one.
The Figaro (London). July 7. 1875.

Dr. E. V. Kenealy, counsel for the Tichborne Claimant in the great trial,
was afterwards elected M.P. for Stoke.
 T R -M D
S ,
Sir V. O. Verandah of Sludgebro’
On his Tate racket swore
That the marshy town he dwelt in,
Should know defeat no more:
On his Tate racket swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers go forth,
To Dryburgh in the far off North,
And challenge it to play.

On bicycles to the far off North

The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
And hill and vale are passed.
And continuous rotation
Of the never-wearied wheel
Brings them to where, near Dryburgh’s hill,
Flows Pepperhanger’s rapid rill;
To where the whilom victors dwell,
And play the game they love so well,
Foes worthy of their steel.
* * * * *
From the towers of stately Ballchester
Drives in young Tennyslorne,
From Pleycyngbury comes the heir,
And the young de Vorley’s horn
Is heard behind his spanking four
As he drives to the Pavilion door,
And nods to each a friendly greeting
Assembled for the special meeting,
Just called on Dryburgh’s lawn.
They held a council standing
By the Pavilion gate;
There wasn’t much necessity
 For musing or debate.
And they read the Sludgebro’ challenge
“That another match they’d play;”
And they all agreed on the Sludgeborough mead
To meet on the trysting day.
* * * * *
Quick are the strokes as lightning
From Charley Pleycynge’s racket,
And hot must be the game that makes
De Vorley doff his jacket;
And the two said, “We will play them
A return-match, if they will.
That they may regain on Sludgeboro’ plain
What they lost on Dryburgh’s hill.”
But the maidens fair of Dryburgh
Must do without their beaux,
While young Pleycynge and de Vorley
Go forth to fight the foes;
To fight them where in Sludgeboro’s lakes
The pike at their quarry dash,
And the silver moon on the deep lagoon
Sees the wild fowl dive and splash.
And now on the Sludgebro’ tennis-lawn
Is met a surging crowd,
And “play” is called by the umpire skill’d.
In accents clear and loud:
And forth steps the great Verandah
With the warrior Biscoe bold,
Whose doughty feats upon these sheets
Could never enough be told.
And the Dryburgh pair so dauntless
Step forth on that humid lawn,
From which the lake-weed and the sedge
Have recently been shorn:
With their Tate-made rackets in their hands
And their dark blue flannel coats;
And the referee and the umpire skill’d
Lay to, hard by, in their boats.

Then the great Sir V. O. Verandah

Served his over-handed stroke,
And the crowd was hushed in silence,
And never a word was spoke:
But it came back down the side-lines,
And made the whitening fly,
And the warrior barely saw it,
As it swiftly whistled by.
Then all gazed on young de Vorley,
As he smashed with wondrous knack;
And some in front cried “Volley,”
And some said “play it back;”
But the Marshers looked despondent,
As the umpire called the score,
While all this time the rain poured down
As usual in Sludgeboro’ town.
* * * * *
At length a sound of triumph
From the Dryburgh players rose,
“Three sets to love, and Dryburgh wins
Once more against her foes.”
And many a muttered curse was heard
From the Marshers in goloshes,
And folks in boats were heard to swear,
And the Sludgeboro’ people tore their hair,
And their looks were those of grim despair,
As they clutched their mackintoshes.

But then a sullen murmur

Through the angry Marshers ran,
And the word was passed from mouth to mouth,
Till it reached from rear to van:
“Seize on those haughty Dryburghers,
 And duck them in our lake,
And their jackets blue, and their rackets too,
From those proud ones let us take.”
* * * * *
Then forthwith Charley Pleycynge raised
Aloft his Tate-made racket;
Sternly his partner buttoned up
His dark blue Christ Church jacket;
And the surging crowd pressed forward,
And the shout of “Drown them!” rose,
But the two stood calm and silent,
And gazed upon their foes.
* * * * *
Was none who would be foremost
To lead this fell attack?
No: those behind cried “forward!”
And those in front cried “back!”
And backward now and forward
Wavered the deep array,
Till, all at once, the warrior bold
And Kander, shepherd of the fold,
And the country correspondent too,
With fright all shivering cold and blue,
Turned tail and ran away.

And the great Sir V. O. Verandah,

With all his Sludgeboro’ men,
Fled for their lives and safety
Through marsh and lake and fen;
Nor paused to look behind them,
All pale and white with fear,
Till they had reached the furthest shores
Of the gloomy Sludgeboro’ mere.
* * * * *
And in future generations,
 In Dryburgh’s lofty town,
When we, and our great grandchildren
By time have been cut down,
In the freezing nights of winter,
When the blinding snow-storm falls,
And the boys are making tennis-nets,
And the girls are washing balls,

When the good man mends his racket,

And tightens up the strings,
When the good wife plies her needle,
And mends her winter things,
Will children gather round the fire,
And the story will be told,
How well their champions fought the fight
On Sludgeboro’ marsh, on Dryburgh height
In the famous days of old.
From Pastime. September 28, 1883.

This parody was afterwards reprinted in Tennis Cuts and Quips. Field
and Tuer. London.
T B A ’B .
Triangle Equilateral
By Algebra he swore,
That his good friend, Isosceles,
Should suffer wrong no more.
By Algebra he swore it,
And named a fighting day,
And bade his angles hurry forth—
East and west and south and north—
To summon to the fray.

East and west, and north and south,

The angles hurry fast.
And problem old and Theorem
 Have heard the trumpet blast.
Shame on the Point that has no parts
The Circle that would quake,
When Equilateral has sworn
The Asses’ Bridge to take.
* * * * *
And now they are assembled,
The tale of fighting men,
The Decimals in hundreds are,
The Units one to ten.
Equations all quadratical,
Drawn out in long array;
Oh, proud was Equilateral
Upon the fighting day!

But on the Bridge of Asses

Was tumult and affright,
For all the lines below the base
Were stricken at the sight.
They held a council standing,
Upon the narrow ridge,
Hard lines I wis in times like this
’Twould take to save the Bridge.

Then outspake gallant Alpha,

On the Apex full in view,
“A Dog they say shall have his day,
A Bridge must have it too;
And how can man die better,
When things come to this pass,
Than fighting as first letter
In the sacred name of ASS?”

“Know then, false Equilateral,

“No Bridge thou’lt take to-day;
I, with two more to help me,
Will keep ye all at bay.
In these five lines a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
Now who will stand on either hand
And keep the Bridge with me?

Then outspake gallant Beta,

Of Grecian blood was he,
“Lo! I will stand on thy right hand,
And keep the Bridge with thee.”
And spake a stout Centurion,
A Roman, surnamed C,
“I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the Bridge with thee.”

The three stood calm and silent,

And watched the foeman’s line,
As from its right stepped out to fight
Theta’s well-known Co-sine.
And Vector the Quaternion—
Vector, whose fourfold power
Had puzzled many a weary head,
And kept it aching out of bed
Long past the midnight hour.

C went at once for Vector

And with a deadly blow,
Of his good blade he quickly laid
The great Quaternion low:
For in that hour had Vector’s power
Been risen to the tenth.
Little cared C I ween for he
Had smote him to the Nth.

Next Beta marked how Theta

Advanced against his line,
So with his trusty tangent he
Bisected the Co-sine.
“Lie there,” he cried, “fell tyrant!
 No longer shalt thou mark
How Girton’s gold-haired graduates sigh
With vain endeavours to descry
The variable length of Pi
In thine accursed Arc.”

Then X on his Equation

Advanced, and all were mute,
For in his hand he waved his brand,
A knotty old cube root;
Thrice round his head he waved it,
And then the weapon sprung
Like bolt from bow, a mighty blow,
On Alpha’s crest it rung.

He reeled, and first on Beta

Leaned, for a breathing space,
Then dashed his Co-efficient
In the Equation’s face:
And loud he cried, “No more thy pride
My inmost soul shall vex;”
Then with a stroke, ’twould cleave an oak,
Eliminated X.
* * * * *
They gave him out of Euclid
Ten cuts so erudite,
Not thrice ten senior wranglers
Could solve ’twixt morn and night;
They gave a square, it still is there,
And every dunce derides,
With twice the double ratio
Of its homologous sides.

And on the square they raised him

A vast triangle high,
His name is on the Apex
To witness if I lie,
 And underneath is written,
In letters all of brass,
How well brave Alpha held the Bridge,
That’s sacred to the ASS.
J. M. L .

This parody first appeared in “The Keys at Home,” published about four
years since by Field and Tuer, at the Leadenhall Press, London. It has since
been included in an interesting collection of Poems, entitled “A Book of
Jousts,” edited by Mr. James M. Lowry, also published by Field and Tuer,
of London.
H D .
Harcourtius of Derbiæ,
In Right’s great name he swore
That the crass hordes of Bumble
Should hold Guildhall no more.
In Right’s great name he swore it,
And with good heart and will
Made ready for the desperate fight—
That is to say, he named a night
For bringing in his Bill,
And when the night (’twas Tuesday)
In order due came round,
In serried ranks the Liberals
Were in their places found;
And with a mighty shouting
Their gallant chief they cheered:
In sooth, those present on that day
Declare ’twas good to hear the way
They ardently “Hear-hear’d!”

But ’mongst the City Fathers

Was turmoil and affright,
For they had right good reason
To dread the coming fight;
And as they filled the lobby,
And locomotion stopped,
An awesome thing it was to hear
The h’s that they dropp’d!
For many a City Father,
With far-protruding vest,
And City Knight, who should have worn
A soup-tureen as crest;
Vulgares Consiliarii—
In short, they all were there,
Who, having passed the bottle,
Soon hoped to “pass the Chair!”

They held a council standing

About the Lobby floor,
In groups to which fierce Auceps
In turns his presence bore;
But, after hot discussion
Of this and that design,
They, to a man, agreed their plan
Should be to go and dine!
* * * * *
Then out spoke brave Harcourtius,
Commencing the debate,
“To every Government on earth
Defeat comes soon or late,
And how can one fall better
Than fighting Bumbles’ swarm,
For the sake of London’s future
And Municipal Reform?
For the sake of every citizen,
Be he or high or low,
And dwelleth he at Kensington,
Or Bermondsey, or Bow,
For the sake of every citizen
Who payeth heavy rates,
And to save them from the jobbery
That Bumble’s rule creates.

“I’m ready, Mr. Speaker,

With all the haste I may,
To pass the sweeping measure
That I bring in to-day.
Too long has Gog been fancied
Invincible to be;
Now, who will stand on either hand
And back this Bill with me?”
Then out spake Gee-O-Emius,
A Grand Old Man was he,
“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand
And back this Bill with thee!”
And out spake Chelsæ Firthius,
A legal “friend” was he,
“I will, with pride, by thee abide,
And fight the Bill with thee!”

Meanwhile the Civic forces,

Despite their recent meal,
Are, in their hearts, so much afraid,
That all the blatant noise they made
Could not their fear conceal.
In vain did Magnus Blockus
His snuff-box pass around,
In vain did Auceps try to cheer
His followers, or far or near,
By his loud “Yah, Yah’s” sound.
And far above the arena,
More City Fathers sat;
Smug, dense, and dull and vulgar,
Crass, fatuous, and fat.
And full of dread foreboding
Lest, if the Bill were past,
Of civic jobs and shuffles
 They’d seen the very last.

For none was for the City,

Though all “managed” its estates;
And the Liveries robbed the poor man,
And the Council jobbed the rates.
Most trusts were misdirected,
And endowments misapplied,
When Harcourtius and Firthius
Stood out boldly side by side.
Stout Firthius sprang on Auceps,
And in a moment’s space
He hurled, with crushing ardour,
A Blue-book in his face,
He saw, too, McArturus,
With soup-nerved vengeance burn,
And with one shot upset him,
Fired from a new “Return.”

Then Cardenus of Barum,

On Gee-o-Emius rushed;
Cardenus, who, neath cab or ’bus
So frequently is crushed;
And Gee-O-Emius met his dash
With a compelling frown,
Then, with a force like Pickford’s van,
Bore his assailant down.
’Twas Firthius smote down Luskus,
Statistics laid him low;
And to Cottoniensis’ heart
Harcourtius sent a blow;
Owdenus muttered curses,
And ’midst the rising din
Was heard the voice of him who sits
For Farringdon Within.

But hark, they cry, “Randolphus!”

 And ’midst a deep’ning roar
The spry “Quaternian” leader
Sprang out upon the floor.
He smiled at those before him,
A smile serenely sly;
He eyed the Bumbles near him,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, “In my existence
I never yet did know
So very just a measure,
So very mean a foe,
The City Corporation!
Bah! tell me what is that?
A mass of vulgar ignorance,
Of fussiness and fat!”

Then, snatching up a Blue-book,

He turned him left and right,
And hurled most damning extracts
With all his well-known might!
’Twas vain for poor Northcotus
To shrewishly protest;
In vain for Sclater-Boothius
To beat his massive chest.
And when the perky Crossius
To Bumble brought his aid,
’Twas fun to see how quickly he
Upon his back was laid.

Meantime, the “whips” their office

Persistently had plied,
And all the air was vocal
With cries of “‘vide,’ ‘vide,’ ‘vide!”
With one more bound Harcourtius
At Auceps sternly leapt,
Then like a stream that bursts its banks,
In currents twain the rival ranks.
 On to the lobbies swept.
* * * * *
No sound of joy or sorrow
Rose from the crowded floor,
But friends and foes in mute surmise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing at the door,
And when, from ’mongst the members
That surged about the Bar,
They saw the Liberal Whips appear,
There rose a most stupendous cheer,
Repeated near and far.

The stricken City Fathers,

Disgusted, slink away,
But round great Gee-O-Emius
The jocund victors stay,
Until, midst shouts and laughter,
And cheering long and loud,
He passes from the Forum,
Hailed by the joyous crowd.
They gave him and Harcourtius
A banquet straightaway,
And passed of votes of thanks, at least,
A score or so a day.
And they made a graven image
Of both these statesmen good,
And set them up where hitherto
The Civic Griffin stood.

And still their names are music

Wherever they are heard;
Still by the daring deeds they did,
The City’s pulse is stirred.
And its wives still pray for offspring
With hearts and will as bold