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UNIT 1
TEXT
Want to know how to improve your grades without having to spend more time studying? Sounds too good to be true? Well, read on...
How to Improve Your Study Habits
Terhaps you are an average student with average intelligence. You do well enough in school, but you probably think you will never be a top student. This is not necessarily the case, however. You can receive better grades if you want to. Yes, even students of average intelligence can be top students without additional work. Here's how:
1. Plan your time carefully. Make a list of your weekly tasks. Then make a schedule or chart of your time. Fill in committed time such as eating, sleeping, meetings, classes, etc. Then decide on good, regular times for studying. Be sure to set aside enough time to complete your normal reading and work assignments. Of course, studying shouldn't occupy all of the free time on the schedule. It's important to set aside time for relaxation, hobbies, and entertainment as well. This weekly schedule may not solve all of your problems, but it will make you more aware of how you spend your time. Furthermore, it will enable you to plan your activities so that you have adequate time for both work and play.
2. Find a good place to study. Choose one place for your study area. It may be a desk or a chair at home or in the school library, but it should be comfortable, and it should not have distractions. When you begin to work, you should be able to concentrate on the subject.
3. Skim before you read. This means looking over a passage quickly before you begin to read it more carefully. As you preview the material, you get some idea of the content and how it is organized. Later when you begin to read you will recognize less important material and you may skip some of these portions. Skimming helps double your reading speed and improves your comprehension as well.
4. Make good use of your time in class. Listening to what the teacher says in class means less work later. Sit where you can see and hear well. Take notes to help you remember what the teacher says.
5. Study regularly. Go over your notes as soon as you can after class. Review important points mentioned in class as well as points you remain confused about. Read about these points in your textbook. If you know what the teacher will discuss the next day, skim and read that material too. This will help you understand the next class. If you review your notes and textbook regularly, the material will become more meaningful and you will remember it longer. Regular review leads to improved performance on test.
6. Develop a good attitude about tests. The purpose of a test is to show what you have learned about a subject. The world won't end if you don't pass a test, so don't worry excessively about a single test. Tests provide grades, but they also let you know what you need to spend more time studying, and they help make your knowledge permanent.
There are other techniques that might help you with your studying. Only a few have been mentioned here. You will probably discover many others after you have tried these. Talk with your classmates about their study techniques. Share with them some of the techniques you have found to be helpful. Improving your study habits will improve your grades.
UNIT 2
TEXT
At sixty-five Francis Chichester set out to sail single-handed round the world. This is the story of that adventure.
Sailing Round the World
Before he sailed round the world single-handed, Francis Chichester had already surprised his friends several times. He had tried to fly round the world but failed. That was in 1931.
The years passed. He gave up flying and began sailing. He enjoyed it greatly. Chichester was already 58 years old when he won the first solo transatlantic sailing race. His old dream of going round the world came back, but this time he would sail. His friends and doctors did not think he could do it, as he had lung cancer. But Chichester was determined to carry out his plan. In August, 1963, at the age of nearly sixty-five, an age when many men retire, he began the greatest voyage of his life. Soon, he was away in this new 16-metre boat, Gipsy Moth.
Chichester followed the route of the great nineteenth century clipper ships. But the clippers had had plenty of crew. Chicheater did it all by himself, even after the main steering device had been damaged by gales. Chichester covered 14, 100 miles before stopping in Sydney, Australia. This was more than twice the distance anyone had previously sailed alone.
He arrived in Australia on 12 December, just 107 days out from England. He received a warm welcome from the Australians and from his family who had flown there to meet him. On shore, Chichester could not walk without help. Everybody said the same thing: he had done enough; he must not go any further. But he did not listen.
After resting in Sydney for a few weeks, Chichester set off once more in spite of his friends' attempts to dissuade him. The second half of his voyage was by far the more dangerous part, during which he sailed round the treacherous Cape Horn.
On 29 January he left Australia. The mext night, the blackest he had ever known, the sea became so rough that the boat almost turned over. Food, clothes, and broken glass were all mixed together. Fortunately, bed and went to sleep. When he woke up, the sea had become calm the nearest person he could contact by radio, unless there was a ship nearby, Wild be on an island 885 miles away.
After succeeding in sailing round Cape Horn, Chichester sent the followiing radio message to London:" I feel as if I had wakened from a nightmare. Wild horses could not drag me down to Cape Horn and that sinister Southern Ocean again."
Juat before 9 o'clock on Sunday evening 28 May, 1967, he aeeived back in England, where a quarter of a million people were waiting to welcome him. Queeh Elizabeth II knigthed him with the very sword that Queen Elizabeth I had sailed round the world for the first time. The whole voyage from England and back had covered 28, 500 miles. It had taken him nine months , of which the sailing time was 226 days. He had done what he wanted to accomplish.
Like many other adventurers, Chichester had experienced fear and conquered it. In doing so, he had undoubtedly learnt something about himself. Moreover, in the modern age when human beings depend so much on machines, he had given men throughout the world new pride.
UNIT 3
TEXT
They say that blood is thicker than water, that our relatives are more important to us than others. Everyone was so kind to the old lady on her birthday. Surely her daughter would make an even bigger effort to please he?
The Present
It was the old lady's birthday.
She got up early to be ready for the post. From the second floor flat she could see the postman when he came down the street, and the little boy from the ground floor brought up her letters on the rare occasions when anything came.
Today she was sure the would be something. Myra wouldn't forget her mother's birthday, even if she seldom wrote at other times. Of course Myra was busy. Her husband had been made Mayor, and Myra herself had got a medal for her work the aged.
The old lady was proud of Myra, but Enid was the daughter she loved. Enid had never married, but had seemed content to live with her mother, and teach in a primary school round the corner.
One evening, however, Enid said, "I've arranged for Mrs. Morrison to look after you for a few days, Mother. Tomorrow I have to go into hospital--just a minor operation, I'll soon be home."
In the morning she went, but never came back--she died on the operating table. Myra came to the funeral, and in her efficient way arranged for Mrs. Morrison to come in and light the fire and give the old lady her breakfast.
Two years ago that was, and since then Myra had been to see her mother three times, but her husband never.
The old lady was eight today. She had put on her best dress. Perhaps--perhaps Myra might come. After all, eighty was a special birthday, another decade lined or endured just as you chose to look at it.
Even if Myra did not come, she would send a present. The old lady was sure of that. Two spots of colour brightened her cheeks. She was excited--like a child. She would enjoy her day.
Yesterday Mrs. Morrison had given the flat an extra clean, and today she had brought a card and a bunch of marigolds when she came to do the breakfast. Mrs. Grant downstairs had made a cake, and in the afternoon she was going down there to tea. The little boy, Johnnie, had been up with a packet of mints, and said he wouldn't go out to play until the post had come.
"I guess you'll get lots and lots of presents," he said, "I did last were when I was six."
What would she like? A pair of slippers perhaps. Or a new cardigan. A cardigan would be lovely. Blue's such a pretty colour. Jim had always liked her in blue. Or a table lamp. Or a book, a travel book, with pictures, or a little clock, with clear black numbers. So many lovely things.
She stood by the window, watching. The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle. Her heart beat fast. Johnnie had seen him too and ran to the gate.
Then clatter, clatter up the stairs. Johnnie knocked at her door.
"Granny, granny," he shouted, "I've got your post."
He gave her four envelopes. Three were unsealed cards from old friends. The fourth was sealed, in Myra's writing. The old lady felt a pang of disappointment.
"No parcel, Johnnie?"
"No, granny."
Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post. That was it. It would come later by parcel post. She must be patient.
Almost reluctantly she tore the envelope open. Folded in the card was a piece of paper. Written on the card was a message under the printed Happy Birthday -- Buy yourself something nice with the cheque, Myra and Harold.
The cheque fluttered to the floor like a bird with a broken wing. Slowly the old lady stooped to pick it up. Her present, her lovely present. With trembling fingers she tore it into little bits.
UNIT 4
TEXT
Many people in the United States spend most of their free time watching television. Certainly, there are many worthwhile programs on television, including news, educational programs for children, programs on current social problems, plays, movies, concerts, and so on. Nevertheless, perhaps people should not be spending so much of their time in front of the TV. Mr Mayer imagines what we might do if we were forced to find other activities.
Turning off TV: a Quiet Hour
I would like to propose that for sixty to ninety minutes each evening, right after the early evening news, all television broadcasting in the United States be prohibited by law.
Let us take a serious, reasonable look at what the results be if such a proposal were accepted. Families might use the time for a real family hour. Without the distraction of TV, they might sit around together after dinner and actually talk to one another. It is well known that many of our problems -- everything, in fact, from the generation gap to the high divorce rate to some forms of mental illness -- are caused at least in part by failure to communicate. We do not tell each other what is disturbing us. The result is emotional difficulty of one kind or another. By using the quiet family hour to discuss our problems, we might get to know each other better, and to like each other better.
On evenings when such talk is unnecessary, families could rediscover more active pastimes. Freed from TV, forced to find their own activities, they might take a ride together to watch the sunset. Or they might take a walk together (remember feet?) and see the neighborhood with fresh, new eyes.
With free time and no TV, children and adults might rediscover reading. There is more entertainment in a good book than in a month of typical TV programming. Educators report that the generation growing up with television can barely write an English sentence, even at the college level. Writing is often learned from reading. A more literate new generation could be a product of the quiet hour.
A different form of reading might also be done, as it was in the past: reading aloud. Few pastimes bring a family closer together than gathering around and listening to mother or father read a good story. The quiet hour could become the story hour. When the quiet hour ends, the TV networks might even be forced to come up with better shows in order to get us back from our newly discovered activities.
At first glance, the idea of an hour without TV seems radical. What will parents do without the electronic baby-sitter? How will we spend the time? But it is not radical at all. It has been only twenty-five years since television came to control American free time. Those of us thirty-five and older can remember childhoods without television, spent partly with radio -- which at least involved the listener's imagination -- but also with reading, learning, talking, playing games, inventing new activities. It wasn't that difficult. Honest. The truth is we had a ball.
UNIT 5
TEXT
A miserable and merry Christmas? How could it be?
A Miserable, Merry Christmas
Christmas was coming. I wanted a pony. To make sure that my parents understood, I declared that I wanted noting else.
"Nothing but a pony?" my father asked.
"Nothing," I said.
"Not even a pair of high boots?"
That was hard. I did want boots, but I stuck to the pony. "No, not even boots."
"Nor candy? There ought to be something to fill your stocking with, and Santa Claus can't put a pony into a stocking,"
That was true, and he couldn't lead a pony down the chimney either . But no. "All I want is a pony," I said. "If I can't have a pony, give me nothing, nothing."
On Christmas Eve I hung up my stocking along with my sisters.
The next morning my sisters and I woke up at six. Then we raced downstairs to the fireplace. And there they were, the gifts, all sorts of wonderful things, mixed-up piles of presents. Only my stocking was empty; it hung limp; not a thing in it; and under and around it -- nothing. My sisters had knelt down, each by her pile of gifts; they were crying with delight, till they looked up and saw me standing there looking so miserable. They came over to me and felt my stocking: nothing.
I don't remember whether I cried at that moment, but my sisters did. They ran with me back to my bed, and there we all cried till I became indignant. That helped some. I got up, dressed, and driving my sisters away, I went out alone into the stable, and there, all by myself, I wept. My mother came out to me and she tried to comfort me. But I wanted no comfort. She left me and went on into the house with sharp words for my father.
My sisters came to me, and I was rude. I ran away from them. I went around to the front of the house, sat down on the steps, and, the crying over, I ached. I was wronged, I was hurt. And my father must have been hurt, too, a little. I saw him looking out of the window. He was watching me or something for an hour or two, drawing back the curtain so little lest I catch him, but I saw his face, and I think I can see now the anxiety upon on it, the worried impatience.
After an hour or two, I caught sight of a man riding a pony down the street, a pony and a brand-new saddle; the most beautiful saddle I ever saw, and it was a boy's saddle. And the pony! As he drew near, I saw that the pony was really a small horse, with a black mane and tail, and one white foot and a white star on his forehead. For such a horse as that I would have given anything.
But the man came along, reading the numbers on the houses, and, as my hopes -- my impossible hopes -- rose, he looked at our door and passed by, he and the pony, and the saddle. Too much, I fell upon the steps and broke into tears. Suddenly I heard a voice.
"Say, kid," it said, "do you know a boy named Lennie Steffens?"
I looked up. It was the man on the pony, back again.
"Yes," I spluttered through my tears. "That's me."
"Well," he said, "then this is your horse. I've been looking all over for you and your house. Why don't you put your number where it can be seen?"
"Get down," I said, running out to him. I wanted to ride.
He went on saying something about "ought to have got here at seven o'clock, but--"
I hardly heard, I could scarcely wait. I was so happy, so thrilled. I rode off up the street. Such a beautiful pony. And mine! After a while I turned and trotted back to the stable. There was the family, father, mother, sisters, all working for me, all happy. They had been putting in place the tools of my new business: currycomb, brush, pitchfork -- everything, and there was hay in the loft.
But that Christmas, which my father had planned so carefully, was it the best or the worst I ever knew? He often asked me that; I never could answer as a boy. I think now that it was both. It covered the whole distance from broken-hearted misery to bursting happiness -- too fast, A grown-up could hardly have stood it.
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