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How to Write a Research Report and Give a Presentation 




Things to Remember When Starting A Presentation 

•      Start with something to get your audience’s attention.
•      Tell your audience what your argument will be.
•      Tell your audience how you are going to develop that argument.  Presentation Outline Writing a Research Report 
•      Getting started and planning
•      Sections of a typical report
•      Presentation of text, maps, and illustrations
•      Referencing Presenting Your Research
•      Strategies for presentation
•      Designing visuals for your presentation
                                       
                                                 Writing a Research Report:  
   
                                                           Getting Started 
•      Your Report Should 

–   Report on the research project
–   Use research findings to develop some conclusions
 –   Develop an argument about your findings

                                                Writing a Research Report: 

                                                         Getting Started

•      Questions your report should address

 –    What was the research problem?
 –    Why is this problem important?
 –    How does the project fit into the context of other research?
 –    How did you investigate the research problem?
 –    What are your findings?
 –    What do these findings tell you?
 –    What do you conclude? 

                                                  Writing a Research Report: 
           
                                                            Getting Started 

•      Writing is an iterative process.

–   Therefore you do not have to start at the beginning!

•      Whatever you do….

                                                           Just start writing!
                     
                                                 Writing a Research Report:  
     
                                                            Getting Started 

•      Additional Tips

–   The value of reflective free writing
–   Discovering new insights while writing
–   Don’t seek perfection
–   Be prepared to junk whole sections

                                                      Writing a Research Report:  
   
                                                                Getting Started

•      Steps in writing 

–   Free writing
–   Develop an overall argument (Try writing a thesis statement or abstract.)
–   Develop an outline
–   Write
–   Revise, Revise, Revise, Revise
            •   Go back and rewrite introduction if necessary

                                                    Writing a Research Report:
                         
                                                            Getting Started 
 •      Developing an argument

–   Link theory with research to justify your conclusions
–   An argument should link sections of your report into a coherent story.
                                               
                                                       Writing a Research Report:

                                                               General Format 

•      Front matter 

–   Title Page
–   Acknowledgements page
–   Abstract
–   Table of Contents
–   List of Tables
–   List of Figures
               

                                                     Writing a Research Report:

                                                             General Format 

•      Body of the report
–   Introduction
–   Literature review
–   Methodology
–   Results
–   Discussion
–   Conclusions

                                                       Writing a Research Report:

                                                                General Format 

•      End matter

–   Appendices
–   Endnotes
–   Reference list
               •   Save time and develop your reference list as you write!

                                                       Writing a Research Report:
                                                   
                                                           Sections of the Report 

•      Title 

–   Keep it short
–   Use a subtitle if necessary
–   Interesting or amusing titles are better
             
                                                      Writing a Research Report:

                                                         Sections of the Report 

•      Abstract 

–   A 200-300 word non-technical summary of your research project. 
–   Questions to answer:
               •   What is the research problem and why is it important?
               •   What did you do and why?
               •   What did you find?
               •   What do your findings mean?
   
                                                    Writing a Research Report: 
 
                                                       Sections of the Report 

•      Introduction 

–   Address the topic in the first sentence
–   Introduce the topic by means of an example to illustrate theoretical points
–   Outline your general argument and your paper


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                              The Fly 
By Katherine Mansfield 


"Y'are very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green-leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his...stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed....Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and staring almost greedily at the boss, who rolled in his office chair, stout, rosy, five years older than he, and still going strong, still at the helm. It did one good to see him.
Wistfully, admiringly, the old voice added, "It's snug in here, upon my word!"
"Yes, it's comfortable enough," agreed the boss, and he flipped the Financial Times with a paper-knife. As a matter of fact he was proud of his room; he liked to have it admired, especially by old
Woodifield. It gave him a feeling of deep, solid satisfaction to be planted there in the midst of it in full view of that frail old figure in the muffler.
"I've had it done up lately," he explained, as he had explained for the past -- how many? -- weeks. "New carpet," and he pointed to the bright red carpet with a pattern of large white rings. "New furniture," and he nodded towards the massive bookcase and the table with legs like twisted treacle. "Electric heating!" He waved almost exultantly towards the five transparent, pearly sausages glowing so softly in the tilted copper pan.
But he did not draw old Woodifield's attention to the photograph over the table of a grave-looking boy in uniform standing in one of those spectral photographers' parks with photographers' storm-clouds behind him. It was not new. It had been there for over six years.
"There was something I wanted to tell you," said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remembering. "Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out this morning." His hands began to tremble, and patches of red showed above his beard.
Poor old chap, he's on his last pins, thought the boss. And, feeling kindly, he winked at the old man, and said jokingly, "I tell you what. I've got a little drop of something here that'll do you good before you go out into the cold again. It's beautiful stuff. It wouldn't hurt a child." He took a key off his watch-chain, unlocked a cupboard below his desk, and drew forth a dark, squat bottle. "That's the medicine," said he. "And the man from whom I got it told me on the strict Q.T. it came from the cellars at Windor Castle."
Old Woodifield's mouth fell open at the sight. He couldn't have looked more surprised if the boss had produced a rabbit.
"It's whisky, ain't it?" he piped feebly.
The boss turned the bottle and lovingly showed him the label. Whisky it was.
"D'you know," said he, peering up at the boss wonderingly, "they won't let me touch it at home." And he looked as though he was going to cry.
"Ah, that's where we know a bit more than the ladies," cried the boss, swooping across for two tumblers that stood on the table with the water-bottle, and pouring a generous finger into each. "Drink it down. It'll do you good. And don't put any water with it. It's sacrilege to tamper with stuff like this. Ah!" He tossed off his, pulled out his handkerchief, hastily wiped his moustaches, and cocked an eye at old Woodifield, who was rolling his in his chaps.
The old man swallowed, was silent a moment, and then said faintly, "It's nutty!"
But it warmed him; it crept into his chill old brain -- he remembered.
"That was it," he said, heaving himself out of his chair. "I thought you'd like to know. The girls were in Belgium last week

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short story The Duchess and the Jeweller free download

The Duchess and the Jeweller
by Virginia Woolf 

Oliver Bacon lived at the top of a house overlooking the Green Park. He had a flat; chairs jutted out at the right angles—chairs covered in hide. Sofas filled the bays of the windows—sofas covered in tapestry. The windows, the three long windows, had the proper allowance of discreet net and figured satin. The mahogany sideboard bulged discreetly with the right brandies, whiskeys and liqueurs. And from the middle window he looked down upon the glossy roofs of fashionable cars packed in the narrow straits of Piccadilly. A more Central position could not be imagined. And at eight in the morning he would have his breakfast brought in on a tray by a manservant: the manservant would unfold his crimson dressing-gown; he would rip his letters open with his long pointed nails and would extract thick white cards of invitation upon which the engraving stood up roughly from duchesses, countesses, viscountesses and Honourable Ladies. Then he would wash; then he would eat his toast; then he would read his paper by the bright burning fire of electric coals. “Behold Oliver,” he would say, addressing himself. “You who began life in a filthy little alley, you who . . .” and he would look down at his legs, so shapely in their perfect trousers; at his boots; at his spats. They were all shapely, shining; cut from the best cloth by the best scissors in Savile Row. But he dismantled himself often and became again a little boy in a dark alley. He had once thought that the height of his ambition—selling stolen dogs to fashionable women in Whitechapel. And once he had been done. “Oh, Oliver,” his mother had wailed. “Oh, Oliver! When will you have sense, my son?” . . . Then he had gone behind a counter; had sold cheap watches; then he had taken a wallet to Amsterdam. . . . At that memory he would churckle—the old Oliver remembering the young. Yes, he had done well with the three diamonds; also there was the commission on the emerald. After that he went into the private room behind the shop in Hatton Garden; the room with the scales, the safe, the thick magnifying glasses. And then . . . and then . . . He chuckled. When he passed through the knots of jewellers in the hot evening who were discussing prices, gold mines, diamonds, reports from South Africa, one of them would lay a finger to the side of his nose and murmur, “Hum—m—m,” as he passed. It was no more than a murmur; no more than a nudge on the shoulder, a finger on the nose, a buzz that ran through the cluster of jewellers in Hatton Garden on a hot afternoon—oh, many years ago now! But still Oliver felt it purring down his spine, the nudge, the murmur that meant, “Look at him—young Oliver, the young jeweller—there he goes.” Young he was then. And he dressed better and better; and had, first a hansom cab; then a car; and first he went up to the dress circle, then down into the stalls. And he had a villa at Richmond, overlooking the river, with trellises of red roses; and Mademoiselle used to pick one every morning and stick it in his buttonhole. “So,” said Oliver Bacon, rising and stretching his legs. “So . . .” And he stood beneath the picture of an old lady on the mantelpiece and raised his hands. “I have kept my word,” he said, laying his hands together, palm to palm, as if he were doing homage to her. “I have won my bet.” That was so; he was the richest jeweller in England; but his nose, which was long and flexible, like an elephant’s trunk, seemed to say by its curious quiver at the nostrils (but it seemed as if the whole nose quivered, not only the nostrils) that he was not satisfied yet; still smelt something under the ground a little further off. Imagine a giant hog in a pasture rich with truffles; after unearthing this truffle and that, still it smells a bigger, a blacker truffle under the ground further off. So Oliver snuffed always in the rich earth of Mayfair another truffle, a blacker, a bigger further off. Now then he straightened the pearl in his tie, cased himself in his smart blue overcoat; took his yellow gloves and his cane; and swayed as he descended the stairs and half snuffed, half sighed
through his long sharp nose as he passed out into Piccadilly. For was he not still a sad man, a dissatisfied man, a man who seeks something that is hidden, though he had won his bet? He swayed slightly as he walked, as the camel at the zoo sways from side to side when it walks along the asphalt paths laden with grocers and their wives eating from paper bags and throwing little bits of silver paper crumpled up on to the path. The camel despises the grocers; the camel is dissatisfied with its lot; the camel sees the blue lake and the fringe of palm trees in front of it. So the great jeweller, the greatest jeweller in the whole world, swung down Piccadilly, perfectly dressed, with his gloves, with his cane; but dissatisfied still, till he reached the dark little shop, that was famous in France, in Germany, in Austria, in Italy, and all over America—the dark little shop in the street off Bond Street. As usual, he strode through the shop without speaking, though the four men, the two old men, Marshall and Spencer, and the two young men, Hammond and Wicks, stood straight behind the counter as he passed and looked at him, envying him. It was only with one finger of the ambercoloured glove, waggling, that he acknowledged their presence. And he went in and shut the door of his private room behind him. Then he unlocked the grating that barred the window. The cries of Bond Street came in; the purr of the distant traffic. The light from reflectors at the back of the shop struck upwards. One tree waved six green leaves, for it was June. But Mademoiselle had married Mr. Pedder of the local brewery—no one stuck roses in his buttonhole now. “So,” he half sighed, half snorted, “so. . .” Then he touched a spring in the wall and slowly the panelling slid open, and behind it were the steel safes, five, no, six of them, all of burnished steel. He twisted a key; unlocked one; then another. Each was lined with a pad of deep crimson velvet; in each lay jewels—bracelets, necklaces, rings, tiaras, ducal coronets; loose stones in glass shells; rubies, emeralds, pearls, diamonds. All safe, shining, cool, yet burning, eternally, with their own compressed light. “Tears!” said Oliver, looking at the pearls. “Heart’s blood!” he said, looking at the rubies. “Gunpowder!” he continued, rattling the diamonds so that they flashed and blazed. “Gunpowder enough to blow Mayfair—sky high, high, high!” He threw his head back and made a sound like a horse neighing as he said it. The telephone buzzed obsequiously in a low muted voice on his table. He shut the safe. “In ten minutes,” he said. “Not before.” And he sat down at his desk and looked at the heads of the Roman emperors that were graved on his sleeve links. And again he dismantled himself and became once more the little boy playing marbles in the alley where they sell stolen dogs on Sunday. He became that wily astute little boy, with lips like wet cherries. He dabbled his fingers in ropes of tripe; he dipped them in pans of frying fish; he dodged in and out among the crowds. He was slim, lissome, with eyes like licked stones. And now—now—the hands of the clock ticked on. One, two, three, four . . . The Duchess of Lambourne waited his pleasure; the Duchess of Lambourne, daughter of a hundred Earls. She would wait for ten minutes on a chair at the counter. She would wait his pleasure. She would wait till he was ready to see her. He watched the clock in its shagreen case. The hand moved on. With each tick the clock handed him—so it seemed—pâté de foie gras, a glass of champagne, another of fine brandy, a cigar costing one guinea. The clock laid them on the table beside him as the ten minutes passed. Then he heard soft slow footsteps approaching; a rustle in the corridor. The door opened. Mr. Hammond flattened himself against the wall. Her Grace!” he announced. And he waited there, flattened against the wall.

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Story The diamond necklace free download

The Necklace

BY Guy de Maupassant
    She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.

     She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The sight of the little Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined silent antechambers, heavy with Oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings.

     When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken.

     She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.

     She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery.
*
One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand.

     "Here's something for you," he said.

     Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words:

     "The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the evening of Monday, January the 18th."

     Instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring:

     "What do you want me to do with this?"

     "Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this is a great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the really big people there."

     She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what do you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"

     He had not thought about it; he stammered:

     "Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It looks very nice, to me . . ."

     He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.

     "What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he faltered.

     But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks:

     "Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go to this party. Give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than I shall."

     He was heart-broken.

     "Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. "What would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?"

     She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.

     At last she replied with some hesitation:

     "I don't know exactly, but I think I could do it on four hundred francs."


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A passion in the desert free download

A PASSION IN THE DESERT

“The whole show is dreadful,” she cried coming out of the menagerie of M. Martin. She had just been looking at that daring speculator “working with his hyena,”—to speak in the style of the programme.

“By what means,” she continued, “can he have tamed these animals to such a point as to be certain of their affection for——”

“What seems to you a problem,” said I, interrupting, “is really quite natural.”

“Oh!” she cried, letting an incredulous smile wander over her lips.

“You think that beasts are wholly without passions?” I asked her. “Quite the reverse; we can communicate to them all the vices arising in our own state of civilization.”

She looked at me with an air of astonishment.

“But,” I continued, “the first time I saw M. Martin, I admit, like you, I did give vent to an exclamation of surprise. I found myself next to an old soldier with the right leg amputated, who had come in with me. His face had struck me. He had one of those heroic heads, stamped with the seal of warfare, and on which the battles of Napoleon are written. Besides, he had that frank, good-humored expression which always impresses me favorably. He was without doubt one of those troopers who are surprised at nothing, who find matter for laughter in the contortions of a dying comrade, who bury or plunder him quite light-heartedly, who stand intrepidly in the way of bullets;—in fact, one of those men who waste no time in deliberation, and would not hesitate to make friends with the devil himself. After looking very attentively at the proprietor of the menagerie getting out of his box, my companion pursed up his lips with an air of mockery and contempt, with that peculiar and expressive twist which superior people assume to show they are not taken in. Then, when I was expatiating on the courage of M. Martin, he smiled, shook his head knowingly, and said, ‘Well known.’

“‘How “well known”?’ I said. ‘If you would only explain me the mystery, I should be vastly obliged.’

“After a few minutes, during which we made acquaintance, we went to dine at the first restauranteur’s whose shop caught our eye. At dessert a bottle of champagne completely refreshed and brightened up the memories of this odd old soldier. He told me his story, and I saw that he was right when he exclaimed, ‘Well known.’”

When she got home, she teased me to that extent, was so charming, and made so many promises, that I consented to communicate to her the confidences of the old soldier. Next day she received the following episode of an epic which one might call “The French in Egypt.”

During the expedition in Upper Egypt under General Desaix, a Provencal soldier fell into the hands of the Maugrabins, and was taken by these Arabs into the deserts beyond the falls of the Nile.

In order to place a sufficient distance between themselves and the French army, the Maugrabins made forced marches, and only halted when night was upon them. They camped round a well overshadowed by palm trees under which they had previously concealed a store of provisions. Not surmising that the notion of flight would occur to their prisoner, they contented themselves with binding his hands, and after eating a few dates, and giving provender to their horses, went to sleep.

When the brave Provencal saw that his enemies were no longer watching him, he made use of his teeth to steal a scimiter, fixed the blade between his knees, and cut the cords which prevented him from using his hands; in a moment he was free. He at once seized a rifle and a dagger, then taking the precautions to provide himself with a sack of dried dates, oats, and powder and shot, and to fasten a scimiter to his waist, he leaped on to a horse, and spurred on vigorously in the direction where he thought to find the French army. So impatient was he to see a bivouac again that he pressed on the already tired courser at such speed, that its flanks were lacerated with his spurs, and at last the poor animal died, leaving the Frenchman alone in the desert. After walking some time in the sand with all the courage of an escaped convict, the soldier was obliged to stop, as the day had already ended. In spite of the beauty of an Oriental sky at night, he felt he had not strength enough to go on. Fortunately he had been able to find a small hill, on the summit of which a few palm trees shot up into the air; it was their verdure seen from afar which had brought hope and consolation to his heart. His fatigue was so great that he lay down upon a rock of granite, capriciously cut out like a camp-bed; there he fell asleep without taking any precaution to defend himself while he slept. He had made the sacrifice of his life. His last thought was one of regret. He repented having left the Maugrabins, whose nomadic life seemed to smile upon him now that he was far from them and without help. He was awakened by the sun, whose pitiless rays fell with all their force on the granite and produced an intolerable heat—for he had had the stupidity to place himself adversely to the shadow thrown by the verdant majestic heads of the palm trees. He looked at the solitary trees and shuddered—they reminded him of the graceful shafts crowned with foliage which characterize the Saracen columns in the cathedral of Arles.

But when, after counting the palm trees, he cast his eyes around him, the most horrible despair was infused into his soul. Before him stretched an ocean without limit. The dark sand of the desert spread further than eye could reach in every direction, and glittered like steel struck with bright light. It might have been a sea of looking-glass, or lakes melted together in a mirror. A fiery vapor carried up in surging waves made a perpetual whirlwind over the quivering land. The sky was lit with an Oriental splendor of insupportable purity, leaving naught for the imagination to desire. Heaven and earth were on fire.

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Experimental Psychology Experiments

There are some experiments in Experimental Psychology.

Experiment no 1

                           Visual illusion

Problem statement

To experimentally investigate the phenomenon of visual illusion with the help of Muller-lyer illusion.

Introduction

Perception is the process of sorting out interpretation and analysis of stimuli from our sense organ.

Illusion

An illusion is a fake perception. When sensory input may remain the same and the perception varies. This is due to illusion.

Visual illusion

Visual illusion is due to misinterpretation of the eye. A physical stimulus that constantly produces an error in visual field or optical illusion.

Many illusion depends on cues that give misleading information about distance or depth. E.g. we perceive a rope as a snake in a dim light or a distant sound of the desert are perceived as water due to the misleading perception of stimuli.

Causes of illusion

The causes of illusion can be internal or external. Some causes are as follow:

·        Illusion can be due to defects of the sense organ.

·        A person who is hard in hearing can’t recognize whispering.

·        Colour blind person can’t differentiate colors.

·        In case of cold, we can’t spell properly.

Limitation of sense organ

Our sense organ has some limitations, therefore, natural powers are limited.

·        They sometimes don’t provide us true information give rise to the illusion. E.g eye is limited in the perception of the object which is too small.

·        Similarly ear can’t hear properly the sound too low or high.

·        Due to the temporary state of mind our perception is affected by our state of mind, interest, expectation and mental state also influence our perception. E.g if we are not in a good mood our perception at that moment is negative.

Odd arrangement of stimuli

Sometimes illusion maybe due to odd combination of lines. E.g in muller-lyer illusion two equal lines look unequal due to fact that one line is arrow headed and other is feather headed.

Muller-lyer illusion card

An illusion in which two lines of the same length appear  to be of different length because of direction of the arrows at the end of each line. The line with the arrow pointing out appears shorter than the line with arrows pointing in. Visual explanation for muller-lyer illusion subject that eye moment is greater when arrows tip pointing out word. Thats why we percieve the line longer.

Hypothesis

Feather headed line is over estimated and arrow headed line is under estimated.

Apparatus

Muller-lyer illusion card, paper, pencil.

Muller-lyer illusion through method of average error

In the muller-lyer illusion method of average error is used. The most outstanding characteristics of this method is the active role which the subject plays in the procedure. Subject is presented with a fixed standard & variable comparison stimulus. The subject has the task of adjusting the variable stimulus until it’s appear equal to the standard line. Thus there may be a line of fixed length & one of the adjustable length which the subjects manipulates until subject is satisfied that the two lines are equal. The subject may adjust a shade of Grey until it’s appear to match a standard. Each adjustment which the subject makes represent a measure of point of subject equality.

For example if a standard line 200mm long & a subject adjust variable comparison line once at 202mm. each of these adjustment provide us with an estimate of PSE. A reliable estimate of PSE must be based on the numbers of measurement & estimate of PSE should be average of many adjustment made by the subjects. Frequently average adjustment maybe greater than the standard & some may be smaller however these positive & negative deviations cancel each other that’s why the name of the method is an average error.

Precautions

In collecting data by method of average several important precautions must be observed.

1.     Direction of adjustment should be varied. On some trials the variable stimulus should be set at a value considerably larger than the standard & on the other trials. It should be made considerably smaller. In this way subject has to begin his adjustment towards equality on successive trials from both above & below the standard.

2.     Care should be taken exercised to prevent a subject from using consciously or unconsciously extraneous use. For example if the initial value of variable comparison, stimulus where a subject must learn a specific movement by which to adjust it to the point of equality.

Experiment no 2

                               Transfer of training

Problem statement

To demonstrate transfer of training. To observe that training of  one organ effect the other with the help of  mirror image.

Introduction

Transfer of training is a kind of of learning of one thing effect the learning of other. It is also defined as the effect of past learning on new learning.

Types of transfer of training

Positive transfer of training

When training of an experience facilitates the the equasition of new skills. It is considered as positive transfer of training. E.g once driving of a car is learned it becomes easier to drive any other vehicle.

Negative transfer of training

If past experience hinders or shows down acquasition of new skills. It is called negative transfer of training. E.g. football player can face difficulties in playing basketball.

Zero transfer of training

It means performance in new situation is neither added nor hinders by pas experiences,. E.g learning music and playing football have zero transfer of training.

Bi-lateral tranfer of training

It is defined as when one part of body learn some activity then other part of body learn the activity sooner or later. This is between symetrical part of body. i.e  from eye to eye, from hand to hand and from foot to foot. Recent studies have provided very interesting information, concerning neurological basis of bilateral transfer. 

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Research On Bullying Pdf Download

                                           

RESEARCH REPORT

Name: Syed Sajjad Haider

Session: 2015-19

Roll nos: 12

Faculty: Arts

Department: Psychology

University of Azad Jammu & Kashmir

Table of contents

Abstract………………………………………………………………… III

Introduction…………………………………………………………….. 1

Literature review……………………………………………………….. 3

Methodology………………………………………………………….... 4

Data analysis………………………………………………………….... 5

Results…………………………………………………………………...5

Discussion…………………………………………………………….... 7

Conclusion…………………………………………………………….... 8

References………………………………………………………………. 9

Abstract:

Bullying is growing in our society and many teenagers get affected by its devastating effects. Either its cyber bullying or face to face bullying, both have a huge effect on person’s mental health as well as personality development. Bullying can have lasting repercussions on youth like mental health problem, extremely low self-esteem or in severe cases it can lead to suicide. But which one of them is more affective in our society, this is a point to be discussed and what are remedies to solve this rapidly growing issue. A research was made on people affected by bullying as well as the observers of bullying and they were given a questionnaire to know which one of them is worst by analyzing and interpreting the results. This paper reviews the limited theoretical and empirical literature addressing both cyberbullying and face-to-face bullying, using some specific examples from a qualitative study for illustration.

Keywords: cyberbullying, face-to-face bullying, theory

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