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C#
C#
Audience
This tutorial has been prepared for the beginners to help them understand basics of
c# Programming.
Prerequisites
C# programming is very much based on C and C++ programming languages, so if
you have a basic understanding of C or C++ programming, then it will be fun to learn
C#.
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Point (I) Pvt. Ltd. The user of this e-book is prohibited to reuse, retain, copy,
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i
C#
Contents
About the Tutorial ...................................................................................................................................... i
Audience..................................................................................................................................................... i
Prerequisites............................................................................................................................................... i
Contents .................................................................................................................................................... ii
1. OVERVIEW............................................................................................................................. 1
2. ENVIRONMENT...................................................................................................................... 3
3. PROGRAM STRUCTURE.......................................................................................................... 5
C# Keywords ............................................................................................................................................ 10
4. BASIC SYNTAX...................................................................................................................... 12
Comments in C#....................................................................................................................................... 14
Member Functions................................................................................................................................... 14
Identifiers ................................................................................................................................................ 15
C# Keywords ............................................................................................................................................ 15
5. DATA TYPES......................................................................................................................... 17
ii
C#
String Type............................................................................................................................................... 19
7. VARIABLES........................................................................................................................... 24
Defining Variables.................................................................................................................................... 24
Initializing Variables................................................................................................................................. 25
Integer Literals......................................................................................................................................... 28
Character Constants................................................................................................................................. 29
String Literals........................................................................................................................................... 30
Defining Constants................................................................................................................................... 31
9. OPERATORS......................................................................................................................... 33
Arithmetic Operators............................................................................................................................... 33
Relational Operators................................................................................................................................ 35
Logical Operators..................................................................................................................................... 38
iii
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The image of bright Venus; all is still
Too near home to be boasted. They sound
In a far traveller’s ear,
Like the reports of those, that beggingly
Have put out on returns from Edinburgh,
Paris, or Venice; or perhaps Madrid,
Whither a Millaner may with half a nose
Smell out his way; and is not near so difficult,
As for some man in debt, and unprotected,
To walk from Charing Cross to the Old Exchange.
No, I will pitch no neare than the Antipodes;
That which is furthest distant; foot to foot
Against our region.
Lady. What, with their heels upwards?
Bless us, how ’scape they breaking of their necks?
Doct. They walk upon firm earth, as we do here;
And have the firmament over their heads,
As we have here.
Lady. And yet just under us!
Where is Hell then? if they, whose feet are toward us
At the lower part of the world, have Heaven too
Beyond their heads, where’s Hell?
Doct. You may find that
Without enquiry.
Fath. Private conference! a new-coined word for borrowing of money. I tell you,
your very face, your countenance, tho’ it be glossed with knighthood, looks so
borrowingly, that the best words you give me are as dreadful as Stand and Deliver.
—Your riotousness abroad, and her long night-watchings at home, shortened my
daughter’s days, and cast her into her grave; and ’twas not long before all her
estate was buried too.
Fath. Nor mourn’d more justly, it is your only wearing; you have just none
other; nor have had any means to purchase better any time these seven years, I
take it; by which means you have got the name of the Mourning Knight.
Timothy Hoyden, the Yeoman’s Son, desires to be made a
Gentleman. He consults with his friends.
Moneylack. Well, Sir, we will take the speediest course with you.
Hoyd. But must I bleed?
Mon. Yes, you must bleed; your father’s blood must out.
He was but a Yeoman, was he?
Hoyd. As rank a Clown (none dispraised) as any in Somersetshire.
Mon. His foul rank blood of bacon and pease porritch
Must out of you to the last dram—
Springe. Fear nothing, Sir. Your blood shall be taken out by degrees; and your
veins replenished with pure blood still, as you lose the puddle.
Hoyd. I was bewitch’d, I think, before I was begot, to have a Clown to my
father. Yet my mother said she was a Gentlewoman.
Spr. Said! what will not women say?
Mon. Be content, Sir; here’s half a labour saved: you shall bleed but of one
side. The Mother vein shall not be pricked.
To the Editor.
Morley, near Leeds, July, 1827.
Sir,—On surveying the plays and pastimes of children, in these
northern parts especially, it has often struck me with respect to
some of them, that if traced up to their origin, they would be found
to have been “political satires to ridicule such follies and corruptions
of the times, as it was, perhaps, unsafe to do in any other manner.”
In this conjecture I have lately been confirmed, by meeting with a
curious paper, copied from another periodical work by a contributor
to the old London Magazine, vol. for 1738, p. 59. It is an article
which many would doubtless be glad to find in the Table Book, and
nobody more so than myself, as it would be a capital
accompaniment to my present remarks.
To come at once to the point; we have, or rather had, a few
years ago, a game called the “bear and tenter,” (or bear and bear
warden, as it would be called in the south,) which seems, certainly,
to have been one of the sort alluded to. A boy is made to crawl as a
bear upon his hands and knees, round whose neck is tied a rope
which the keeper holds at a few yards’ distance. The bystanders
then buffet the bear, who is protected only by his keeper, who, by
touching any of the assailants, becomes liberated; the other is then
the bear, and the buffeted bear becomes the keeper, and so on. If
the “tenter” is sluggish or negligent in defence of his charge, it is
then that the bear growls, and the blows are turned upon the
guardian, wholly or partially, as the bearbaiters elect.
Now, my conjecture as to the origin of the game of “bear and
tenter” is this.—Our English youths and their tutors, or companions,
were formerly distinguished in foreign countries by the names of the
bear and the bear leader, from the absurd custom of sending out the
former, (a boisterous, ungovernable set,) and putting them under
the care of persons unfit to accompany them. These bears were at
first generally sprigs of royalty or nobility, as headstrong as need be;
and the tutor was often some needy scholar, a Scotsman, or a
courtier, who knew little more of the world than his pupil; but who,
when he had put on his bag-wig and sword, was one of the most
awkward and ridiculous figures imaginable. While these people were
abroad, there can be no doubt that they were formerly the dupes
and laughingstocks of those who dealt with them; and that, in
exchange for the cash out of which they were cheated, they brought
home a stock of exotic follies, sufficient to render them completely
preposterous characters in the eyes of their own countrymen.
Considering therefore how much good English gold was wasted and
lost in these travels, how hurtful to the national pride the practice
was, and how altered for the worse were both guardian and ward, it
is not to be wondered at if the middling and lower classes of
Englishmen were highly incensed or disgusted. But as complaints
would, at least, be unavailing when such persons as “Baby Charles”
and “Stenny” Buckingham were the “bear and tenter,” the people
revenged themselves, as far as they dared, by the institution of this
game, in which they displayed pretty well what hard knocks, ill
treatment, derision, and scorn, awaited those who forsook their
homes to wander in a land of strangers. And not only so, but they
illustrated, at the same time, the contamination which ensued the
touch of bad tutors, and the general character of the parties
ridiculed.
I am well aware, Mr. Editor, that there was formerly a pastime of
buffeting the bear; but that, as I apprehend, was a very different
sport from that of “bear and tenter,” and had not a political origin.
That this had, I am well assured, from the game being kept up in
these parts, where the Stuarts were ever almost universally
execrated; where patriotism once shone forth in meridian splendour,
and the finest soldiers that the world ever saw, were arranged under
the banners of Cromwell, of Fairfax, or of Lambert.
I remain, yours respectfully,
N. S.
ARUM—CUCKOO-PINT—STARCH-WORT.
Old John Gerard, who was some time gardener to Cecil lord
Burleigh, in the reign of queen Elizabeth, says, in his “Herbal,” that
“beares, after they have lien in their dens forty dayes without any
manner of sustenance, but what they get with licking and sucking
their owne feet, do, as soon as they come forth, eate the herbe
Cuckoo-pint, through the windie nature whereof the hungry gut is
opened, and made fit againe to receive sustenance.”
Gerard further tells, that “the most pure and white starch is made
of the roots of Cuckow-pint; but is most hurtful to the hands of the
laundresse that hath the handling of it, for it choppeth, blistereth,
and maketh the hands rough and rugged, and withall smarting.”
From this ancient domestic use of the arum, it was called “Starch-
wort:” it bore other and homelier names, some of them displeasing
to a modern ear.
Gerard likewise relates of the arum, medically, that after being
sodden in two or three waters, whereby it may lose its acrimony,
and fresh put to, being so eaten, it will cut thick and tough humours
in the chest and lungs; “but, then, that Cuckow-pint is best that
biteth most—but Dragon’s is better for the same purpose.”
I know not whether I have fallen in with the sort of arum “that
biteth most,” but, a summer or two ago, walking early in the
afternoon through the green lanes to Willsden, and so to Harrow on
the Hill, its scarlet granulations among the way-side browse and
herbage, occasioned me to recollect the former importance of its
root to the housewife, and from curiosity I dug up one to taste. The
piece I bit off was scarcely the size of half a split pea, yet it gave out
so much acrid milk, that, for more than an hour, my lips and tongue
were inflamed and continued to burn, as if cauterized by hot iron;
nor did the sensation wholly cease till after breakfast the next
morning. Gerard says that, according to Dioscorides, “the root hath a
peculiar virtue against the gout,” by way of cataplasm, blister-wise.
Hervey introduces the flower of the Cuckoo-pint as one of the
beautiful products of the spring. “The hawthorn in every hedge is
partly turgid with silken gems, partly diffused into a milk-white
bloom. Not a straggling furze, nor a solitary thicket on the heath, but
wears a rural nosegay. Even amidst that neglected dike the arum
rises in humble state: most curiously shrouded in her leafy
tabernacle, and surrounded with luxuriant families, each
distinguished by a peculiar livery of green.” I am almost persuaded
that I have seen the fruited arum among the ornaments of gothic
architecture, surmounting pinnacles of delicate shrine-work.
*
To the Editor.
Sir,—The anecdote of Keats, which appeared in a late number of
your Table Book,[356] recalled his image to my “mind’s eye” as
vividly, through the tear of regret, as the long-buried pictures on the
walls of Pompeii appear when water is thrown over them; and I
turned to reperuse the written record of my feelings, at hearing him
spoken of a few months since. These lines I trouble you with,
thinking they may gratify the feelings of some one of his friends, and
trusting their homeliness may be pardoned for the sake of the
feeling which dictated them.
I should also be glad of this opportunity to express the wishes of
many of his admirers for a portrait of Keats. There are two in
existence; one, a spirited profile sketch by Haydon; the other, a
beautiful miniature by his friend Severn; but neither have been
engraved. Mr. Severn’s return to England will probably produce some
memorial of his “span of life,” and a more satisfactory account of his
last moments than can be gleaned from report. The opportunity that
would thus be afforded of giving to the world the posthumous
remains of his genius, will, it is to be hoped, not be neglected. Such
a volume would be incomplete without a portrait; which, if seen by
the most prejudiced of his literary opponents, would turn the laugh
of contempt into a look of thoughtful regret. Hoping my rhymes will
not frustrate my wishes, I remain, sir,
Your obliged correspondent,
and humble servant,
Sept. 13, 1827. Gaston.
Extemporaneous Lines, suggested by some thoughts and recollections of
John Keats, the Poet.
Thy name, dear Keats, is not forgotten quite
E’en in this dreary pause—Fame’s dark twilight—
The space betwixt death’s starry-vaulted sky,
And the bright dawn of immortality.
That time when tear and elegy lie cold
Upon the barren tomb, and ere enrolled
Thy name upon the list of honoured men,
In the world’s volume writ with History’s lasting pen.
No! there are some who in their bosom’s haven
Cherish thy mem’ry—on whose hearts are graven
The living recollections of thy worth—
Thy frank sincerity, thine ardent mirth;
That nobleness of spirit, so allied
To those high qualities it quick descried
In others’ natures, that by sympathies
It knit with them in friendship’s strongest ties—
Th’ enthusiasm which thy soul pervaded—
The deep poetic feeling, which invaded
The narrow channel of thy stream of life,
And wrought therein consuming, inward strife.—
All these and other kindred excellencies
Do those who knew thee dwell upon, and thence is
Derived a cordial, fresh remembrance
Of thee, as though thou wert but in a trance.
I, too, can think of thee, with friendship’s glow,
Who but at distance only didst thee know;
And oft thy gentle form flits past my sight
In transient day dreams, and a tranquil light,
Like that of warm Italian skies, comes o’er
My sorrowing heart—I feel thou art no more—
Those mild, pure skies thou long’st to look upon,
Till friends, in kindness, bade thee oft “Begone
To that more genial clime, and breathe the air
Of southern shores; thy wasted strength repair.”
Then all the Patriot burst upon thy soul;
Thy love of country made thee shun the goal
(As thou prophetically felt ’twould be,)
Of thy last pilgrimage. Thou cross’d the sea,
Leaving thy heart and hopes in England here,
And went as doth a corpse upon its bier!
Still do I see thee on the river’s strand
Take thy last step upon thy native land—
Still feel the last kind pressure of thy hand
Still feel the last kind pressure of thy hand.
A calm dejection in thy youthful face,
To which e’en sickness lent a tender grace—
A hectic bloom—the sacrificial flower,
Which marks th’ approach of Death’s all-withering power.
Oft do my thoughts keep vigils at thy tomb
Across the sea, beneath the walls of Rome;
And even now a tear will find its way,
Heralding pensive thoughts which thither stray.—
How must they mourn who feel what I but know?
What can assuage their poignancy of woe,
If I, a stranger, (save that I had been
Where thou wast, and thy gentleness had seen,)
Now feel mild sorrow and a welcome sadness
As then I felt, whene’er I saw thee, gladness?—
Mine was a friendship all upon one side;
Thou knewest me by name and nought beside.
In humble station, I but shar’d the smile
Of which some trivial thought might thee beguile!
Happy in that—proud but to hear thy voice
Accost me: inwardly did I rejoice
To gain a word from thee, and if a thought
Stray’d into utterance, quick the words I caught.
I laid in wait to catch a glimpse of thee,
And plann’d where’er thou wert that I might be.
I look’d on thee as a superior being,
Whom I felt sweet content in merely seeing:
With thy fine qualities I stor’d my mind;
And now thou’rt gone, their mem’ry stays behind.
Mixt admiration fills my heart, nor can
I tell which most to love—the Poet or the Man.
Gaston.
November, 1826.
FUNERALS IN CUMBERLAND.
To the Editor.
Sir,—It is usual at the funeral of a person, especially of a
householder, to invite persons to attend the ceremony; and in Carlisle,
for instance, this is done on the day of interment by the bellman, who,
in a solemn and subdued tone of voice, announces, that “all friends
and neighbours of ——, deceased, are requested to take notice, that
the body will be lifted at —— o’clock, to be interred at —— church.”
On this occasion the relatives and persons, invited by note, repair to
the dwelling of the deceased, where they usually partake of a cold
collation, with wine, &c.; and at the outside of the door a table is set
out, bountifully replenished with bread and cheese, ale and spirits,
when “all friends and neighbours” partake as they think proper. When
the preparations for moving are completed, the procession is
accompanied by those persons who are disposed to pay their last
mark of respect to the memory of the deceased. This custom, it has
been remarked, gives an opportunity for “that indulgence which ought
to belong to the marriage feast, and that it is a practice savouring of
the gothic and barbarous manners of our unpolished ancestors.” With
deference to the writer’s opinion, I would say that the custom is
worthy of imitation, and that the assembling together of persons who
have only this opportunity of expressing their respect for the memory
of the deceased, cannot fail to engage the mind to useful reflections,
and is a great contrast to the heartless mode of conducting interments
in many other places, where the attendants frequently do not exceed
half a dozen.
The procession used often to be preceded by the parish clerk and
singers, who sang a portion of the Psalms until they arrived at the
church. This part of the ceremony is now, I understand, seldom
performed.
I am,
Newcastle upon Tyne, Yours, &c.
August, 1827. W. C.
BIDDEN WEDDINGS
In Cumberland.
Discoveries
OF THE
RELIQUIÆ THOMSONIANA.
To the Editor.
Sir,—The article relating to Thomson, in a recent number of the
Table Book, cannot fail to have deeply interested many of your
readers, and in the hope that further similar communications may be
elicited, I beg to offer the little I can contribute.
The biographical memoranda, the subject of the conversation in
the article referred to, are said to have been transmitted to the earl of
Buchan by Mr. Park. It is not singular that no part of it appears in his
lordship’s “Essays on the Lives and Writings of Fletcher of Saltoun, and
the Poet Thomson, 1792.” 8vo. Mr. Park’s communication was clearly
too late for the noble author’s purpose. The conversation professes to
have been in October, 1791; to my own knowledge the volume was
finished and ready for publication late in the preceding September,
although the date 1792 is affixed to the title.
Thomson, it is believed, first tuned his Doric reed in the porter’s
lodge at Dryburgh, more recently the residence of David Stuart
Erskine, earl of Buchan; hence the partiality which his lordship evinced
for the memory of the poet. At p. 194 of the Essays are verses to Dr.
De (la) Cour, in Ireland, on his Prospect of Poetry, which are there
ascribed to Thomson, and admitted as such by Dr. Thomson, who
directed the volume through the press; although it is certain that
Thomson in his lifetime disavowed them. The verses to Dr. De la Cour
appeared in the Daily Journal for November 1734; and Cave, the
proprietor and editor of the Gentleman’s Magazine, at the end of the
poetical department in that miscellany for August, 1736, states himself
“assured, from Mr. Thomson, that, though the verses to Dr. De la Cour
have some lines from his Seasons, he knew nothing of the piece till he
saw it in the Daily Journal.”
The appellation of the “oily man of God,” in the Essays, p. 258, was
intended by the earl of Buchan for Dr. Murdoch, who was
subsequently a biographer of Thomson. Such designations would
puzzle a conjuror to elucidate, did not contemporary persons exist to
afford a clue to them.
The recent number of the Table Book is not at hand, but from
some MS. papers now before me,—James Robertson, surgeon to the
household at Kew, who married the sister of Amanda, was the bosom
friend of Thomson for more than twenty years. His conversation is
said to have been facetious and intelligent, and his character
exemplarily respectable. He died at his residence on Richmond Green
after four days’ illness, 28th October, 1791, in his eighty-fourth year.
The original MS. of the verses to Miss Young, the poet’s Amanda,
on presenting her with his “Seasons,” printed in the Essays, p. 280,
were communicated by a Mr. Ramsay, of Ocherlyne, to his lordship.
Some other presentation lines, with the Seasons, to the poet Lyttleton,
were transcribed from a blank leaf of the book at Hagley, by
Johnstone, bishop of Worcester, and transmitted by his son to the earl
of Buchan in 1793 or 1794, consequently too late for publication. They
follow here:—
Go, little book, and find our friend,
Who Nature and the Muses loves;
Whose cares the public virtues blend,
With all the softness of the groves.
A fitter time thou can’st not choose
His fostering friendship to repay:—
Go then, and try, my rural muse,
To steal his widowed hours away.
Among the autograph papers which I possess of Ogle, who
published certain versifications of Chaucer, as also a work on the Gems
of the Ancients, are some verses by Thomson, never yet printed; and
their transcripts, Mr. Editor, make their obeisance before you:—
Come, gentle god of soft desire!
Come and possess my happy breast;
Not fury like, in flames and fire,
In rapture, rage, and nonsense drest.
These are the vain disguise of love,
And, or bespeak dissembled pains,
Or else a fleeting fever prove,
The frantic passion of the veins.
But come in Friendship’s angel-guise,
Yet dearer thou than friendship art,
More tender spirit at thine eyes,
More sweet emotions at thy heart.
Oh come! with goodness in thy train;
With peace and transport, void of storm.
And would’st thou me for ever gain?
Put on Amanda’s waning form.
The following, also original, were written by Thomson in
commendation of his much loved Amanda:—
Sweet tyrant Love, but hear me now!
And cure while young this pleasing smart,
Or rather aid my trembling vow,
And teach me to reveal my heart.
Tell her, whose goodness is my bane,
Whose looks have smil’d my peace away,
Oh! whisper how she gives me pain,
Whilst undesigning, frank, and gay.
’Tis not for common charms I sigh,
For what the vulgar, beauty call;
’Tis not a cheek, a lip, an eye,
But ’tis the soul that lights them all.
For that I drop the tender tear,
For that I make this artless moan;
Oh! sigh it, Love, into her ear,
And make the bashful lover known.
In the hope that the present may draw forth further reliquiæ of the
poet of the “Seasons” in your excellent publication, I beg leave to
subscribe myself,
Sir, &c.
Will O’ The Wisp.
Sept. 17, 1827.
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