 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | |
 | | | | | | | | | |
 | |
| |
Language Lessons | ||
| | |
These Language Lessons are to be used after each Phonics Lesson. They were developed to help students focus on sounding out words from left to right and break the whole word guessing habit. The first 21 lessons and the first sentence in lessons 22 - 32 are from the New Elizabethian language. The dialogue following the numbered sentences in lessons 22 - 32 are in the Scots language. The dialogue for lessons 22 - 29 is from George MacDonald's Alec Forbes of Howglen, and the poem in lessons 30 - 32 is from George MacDonald's Warlock o' Glenwarlock. Language Lessons 1a. Pippit fip im mitpin. 2a. Padman yaff am lammat im batmap. 3a. Gobbot com ab gotnog bobbot. 4a. Petten est en letnep neppen pennen. 5a. Guddut mut un lugnut ub muttup. 6a. Thibbit gan im utmot hammin. 7a. Mishlet wend um zuntmet lentpen upmat. 8a. Phinnet gab citlen um gibset cibmit lingmit. 9a. Tay hab laitmate baitrave gabe. 10a. Leet hab threne, Bleek ist mot feendly. 11a. Rightman ist nom clype. 12a. Bo hoap am gloanglo coatloan. 13a. Brue unclew dem grune, bune mew. 14. Cindit canst cede Cy dem cistend. 15a. Tindy yended setty latten yates. 16a. Kaw-Kaw daw ine maw-maw. 17a. Bointy hab set moy am ine toilpane. 18a. Der oxter bist hurdy-gurdy ferm. 19a. Der bergfall wost mull pelly. 20a. Gnit writ ine wappened lifewrit. 21a. Bosky, declime, e feep, dem inglob var mot ugsome. 22a. Dibby var threening ob Mitty’s latefulness. "Robert, whatever way ye decide, I houp it may be sic a deceesion as will admit o' yer castin' yer care upo' Him." "I ken a' aboot that, Andrew. But my opeenion upo' that text is jist this--that ilka vessel has to haud the fill o' 't, and what rins owermay be committed to Him, for ye can haud it no langer. Them that winna tak tent 'll tak scathe. It's a sweer thochtless way to gang to the Almichty wi' ilka fash. Whan I'm driven to ane mair, that ane sall aye be Him. Ye min' the story about my namesake and the spidder?" "Ay, weel eneuch," answered Andrew. 23. Ig cuddy hab widdershins wenden, e eb mitbangen habben. Fay ugsome! "Ay, weel eneuch. Only I wad sair like a bittie o' can'le," was Annie's trembling reply, for she had a sad foreboding instinct now. "Can'le! Na, na, bairn," answered Mrs Bruce. "Ye s' get no can'le here. Ye wad hae the hoose in a low aboot oor lugs. I canna affoord can'les. Ye can jist mak' a can'le o' yer han's, and fin yer gait up the twa stairs. There's thirteen steps to the firs, and twal to the neist." 24. Wip habben ig vestic oglim, Finnet ur Toppet? "I canna min' a word o' 't, Annie. I'm dreidfu' hungry, forbye. I was in a hurry wi' my brakfast the day. Gin I had kent what was comin', I wad hae laid in a better stock," he added, laughing rather drearily. As he spoke he looked up; and his eyes wandered from one window to another for a few moments after he had ceased speaking. "Na; it's no use," he resumed at last. "I hae eaten ower muckle for that, ony gait." 25. Nay, nem fash zu. "Weel, Alec, can ye tell me what was the name o' King Dawvid's mither?" "I can not, Thomas," answered Alec. "What was it?" "Fin' ye that oot. Turn ower yer Bible. Hae ye been back to the school yet?" "No. I'm gaein the morn." "Ye're no gaein to strive wi' the maister afore nicht, are ye?" "I dinna ken," answered Alec. "Maybe he'll strive wi' me.--But ye ken, Thomas," he continued, defending himself from what he supposed Thomas was thinking, "King Dawvid himsel' killed the giant." 26. Aftermorrow, wend bakemete gitten. "Ow! ay; a' richt. I'm no referrin' to that. Maybe ye did verra richt. But tak care, Alec--" here Thomas paused from his work, and turning towards the boy with a trowelful of mortar in his hand, spoke very slowly and solemnly--"tak ye care that ye beir no malice against the maister. Justice itsel," dune for the sake o' a private grudge, will bunce back upo' the doer. I hae little doobt the maister'll be the better for't; but gin ye be the waur, it'll be an ill job, Alec, my man." "I hae no ill-will at him, Thomas." "Weel, jist watch yer ain hert, and bewaur ye o' that. I wad coonsel ye to try and please him a grainie mair nor ordinar'. It's no that easy to the carnal man, but ye ken we ought to crucify the auld man, wi' his affections and lusts." "Weel, I'll try," said Alec, to whom it was not nearly so difficult as Thomas imagined. His man apparently was not very old yet. 27. Fore-yester, habben somdeel thenken. "Weel, ye see, I canna weel say. Blin' fowk somehoo kens mair nor ither fowk aboot things that the sicht o' the een has unco little to do wi'. But never min'. I'm willin' to bide i' the dark as lang as He likes. It's eneuch for ony bairn to ken that its father's stan'in' i' the licht, and seein' a' aboot him, and sae weel able to guide hit, though it kensna whaur to set doon its fit neist. And I wat He's i' the licht. Ye min' that bit aboot the Lord pittin' Moses intil a clift o' the rock, and syne coverin' him wi' his han' till he was by him?" "Ay, fine that," answered Annie. 28. Cag-mag ist fay ugsome. "'Deed, maybe, Tibbie," said Thomas solemnly. "And I'm some doobtfu' forbye, whether I mayna be tryin' to ripe oot the stockin' frae the wrang en' o' 't. I doobt the fau't's nae sae muckle i' my temper as i' my hert. It's mair love that I want, Tibbie. Gin I lo'ed my neebor as mysel', I cudna be sae ill-natert till him; though 'deed, whiles, I'm angry eneuch at mysel'--a hantle waur nor at him." "Verra true, Thamas," answered Tibbie. "Perfect love casteth oot fear, 'cause there's nae room for the twa o' them; and I daursay it wad be the same wi' the temper." "But I'm no gaein' to gie in to bein' ill-natert for a' that," said Thomas, as if alarmed at the possible consequences of the conclusion. 29. Nom wreke vendetten, ab beteem beamish reveed. "Na na. Resist ye the deevil, Thamas. Haud at him, man. He's sure to rin at the lang last. But I'm feared ye'll gang awa' ohn tellt me aboot the licht and the water. Whan I'm sittin' here o' the girse, hearkenin' to the water, as it comes murrin', and soufflin', and gurglin', on to me, and syne by me and awa', as gin it war spinnin' and twistin' a lot o' bonnie wee sounies a' intil ae muckle gran' soun', it pits me i' min' o' the text that says, 'His voice was as the sound o' mony waters.' Noo his face is licht--ye ken that, divna ye?--and gin his voice be like the water, there maun be something like atween the licht and the water, ye ken. That's what garred me spier at ye, Thamas." "Weel, I dinna ken richtly hoo to answer ye, Tibbie; but at this moment the licht's playin' bonnie upo' the entick--shimmerin' and brakin' upo' the water, as hit bracks upo' the stanes afore it fa's. An' what fa's, it luiks as gin it took the licht wi' 't i' the wame o' 't like. Eh! it's bonnie, woman; and I wiss ye had the sicht o' yer een to see't wi'; though ye do preten' to think little o' 't." 30. Farben kan englut de cobloaf. Win' that blaws the simmer plaid, Ower the hie hill's shouthers laid, Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather, Welcome wi' yer soul-like weather! Mony a win' there has been sent Oot 'aneth the firmament; Ilka ane its story has; Ilka ane began an' was; Ilka ane fell quaiet an' mute Whan its angel wark was oot. 31. Bintnin hab motlish bulkbits englutten. First gaed ane oot ower the mirk, Whan the maker gan to work; Ower it gaed and ower the sea, An' the warl' begud to be. Mony ane has come an' gane Sin' the time there was but ane: Ane was great an' strong, an' rent Rocks an' mountains as it went Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, Waukin' up the prophet's ear; Ane was like a steppin' soun' I' the mulberry taps abune; Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, Walkin' on afore his king; Ane lay doon like scoldit pup At his feet an' gatna up, Whan the word the maister spak Drave the wull-cat billows back; Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang To the earth the sodger thrang; Ane comes frae his hert to mine, Ilka day, to mak it fine. 32. Speechlinglore ist der wordcraft ob wordlings, bywordlings, y byspeechlings. Frae my hert ilk fog awa'; Wauk me up, an' mak me strang, Fill my hert wi' mony a sang, Frae my lips again to stert, Fillin' sails o' mony a hert, Blawin' them ower seas dividin' To the only place to bide in. | |
| |