Lecturas fáciles con ejercicios

Había una vez en España un hombre muy rico que
habitaba un gran castillo cerca de una aldea. Quería
mucho a sus vecinos pobres, y siempre estaba ideando
medios de protegerlos, ayudarlos y mejorar su condición.
Plantaba árboles, hacía obras de importancia,
organizaba y pagaba fiestas populares, y en las
Pascuas daba tantos regalos a los niños de la vecindad
como a sus propios hijos.

Pero aquella pobre gente no amaba el trabajo, y esto
los hacía ser esclavos de la miseria.

Un día el dueño del castillo se levantó muy temprano,
colocó una gran piedra en el camino de la aldea, y se
escondió cerca de allí para ver lo que ocurría al pasar
la gente.

Poco después pasó por allí un hombre con una vaca.
Gruñó al ver la piedra, pero no la tocó. Prefirió dar
un rodeo, y siguió después su camino. Pasó otro
hombre tras el primero, e hizo lo mismo. Después
siguieron otros y otros. Todos mostraban disgusto
al ver el obstáculo, y algunos tropezaban con él;
pero ninguno lo removió.

Por fin, cerca ya del anochecer, pasó por allí un
muchacho, hijo del molinero. Era trabajador, y estaba
cansado a causa de las faenas de todo el día.

Al ver la piedra dijo para sí:

—La noche va a ser obscura, y algún vecino se va
a lastimar contra esa piedra. Es bueno quitarla de
ahí. Y en seguida empezó a trabajar para quitarla.
Pesaba mucho, pero el muchacho empujó, tiró y se
esforzó para hacerla rodar hasta quitarla de en medio.
Entonces vió con sorpresa que debajo de la gran
piedra había un saco lleno de monedas de oro. El
saco tenía un letrero que decía: «Este oro es para el
que quite la piedra.»

El muchacho se fué contentísimo con su tesoro, y el
hombre rico volvió también a su castillo, gozoso de
haber encontrado a un hombre de provecho, que no
huía de los trabajos difíciles.

The Devil's Dictionary

The Devil's Dictionary was begun in a weekly paper in 1881, and was continued in a desultory way at long intervals until 1906. In that year a large part of it was published in covers with the title The Cynic's Word Book, a name which the author had not the power to reject or happiness to approve. To quote the publishers of the present work:

"This more reverent title had previously been forced upon him by the religious scruples of the last newspaper in which a part of the work had appeared, with the natural consequence that when it came out in covers the country already had been flooded by its imitators with a score of 'cynic' books—The Cynic's This, The Cynic's That, and The Cynic's t'Other. Most of these books were merely stupid, though some of them added the distinction of silliness. Among them, they brought the word 'cynic' into disfavor so deep that any book bearing it was discredited in advance of publication."

Meantime, too, some of the enterprising humorists of the country had helped themselves to such parts of the work as served their needs, and many of its definitions, anecdotes, phrases and so forth, had become more or less current in popular speech. This explanation is made, not with any pride of priority in trifles, but in simple denial of possible charges of plagiarism, which is no trifle. In merely resuming his own the author hopes to be held guiltless by those to whom the work is addressed—enlightened souls who prefer dry wines to sweet, sense to sentiment, wit to humor and clean English to slang.

A conspicuous, and it is hoped not unpleasant, feature of the book is its abundant illustrative quotations from eminent poets, chief of whom is that learned and ingenius cleric, Father Gassalasca Jape, S.J., whose lines bear his initials. To Father Jape's kindly encouragement and assistance the author of the prose text is greatly indebted.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?'

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually TOOK A WATCH OUT OF ITS WAISTCOAT-POCKET, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.

Bēowulf

Hwæt! wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum

þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon,

hū þā æðelingas ellen fremedon.

Oft Scyld Scēfing sceaðena þrēatum,

monegum mǣgðum meodo-setla oftēah.

Egsode eorl, syððan ǣrest wearð

fēa-sceaft funden: hē þæs frōfre gebād,

wēox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum ðāh,

oð þæt him ǣghwylc þāra ymb-sittendra

ofer hron-rāde hȳran scolde,

gomban gyldan: þæt wæs gōd cyning!

þǣm eafera wæs æfter cenned

geong in geardum, þone god sende

folce tō frōfre; fyren-þearfe ongeat,

þæt hīe ǣr drugon aldor-lēase

lange hwīle. Him þæs līf-frēa,

wuldres wealdend, worold-āre forgeaf;

Bēowulf wæs brēme (blǣd wīde sprang),

Scyldes eafera Scede-landum in.

Ulysses

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

--Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

--Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

--Back to barracks! he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

--For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

--Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

--The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

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