Dictation texts. Teaching materials on the Russian language Dictation through the thicket

No. 1 At night

The night was dark. Although the moon had risen, it was hidden by thick clouds covering the horizon. Perfect silence reigned in the air. Not the slightest breeze rippled the smooth surface of the sleeping river, which quickly and silently rolled its waters to the sea. Here and there a light splash could be heard near the steep bank from a lump of earth that had separated and fallen into the water. Sometimes a duck flew over us, and we heard the quiet but sharp whistle of its wings. Sometimes a catfish floated to the surface of the water, stuck out its ugly head for a moment and, lashing the streams with its tail, sank into the depths. Everything is quiet again.

Suddenly a dull, drawn-out roar is heard and does not pass for a long time, as if freezing in a silent night. This deer wanders far, far away and calls for a female. The hunter’s heart trembles at this sound, and a proud bagel quietly making its way through the reeds is clearly visible before his eyes.

Meanwhile, the boat glides imperceptibly, propelled by the careful blows of the oars. The tall, motionless figure of Stepan looms vaguely on the horizon. Its long white oar moves silently back and forth and is only occasionally transferred from one side of the boat to the other. (167 words)

(According to I. Bielfeld)

No. 2 Night in the forest

The village was somewhere behind the forest. If you go to it along the main road, you need to travel dozens of kilometers; if you follow forest paths, the path will be cut in half. Thick roots engulfed the winding path. The forest is noisy and calming. Withered leaves swirl in the chilly air. The path, winding among the trees, climbs hills, descends into hollows, climbs into the thicket of aspen trees, runs out into clearings overgrown with spruce trees, and it seems that it will never lead you anywhere.

But snowflakes begin to swirl along with the leaves. There are more and more of them, and nothing is visible in the snowy round dance: neither falling leaves, nor a path.

An autumn day is like a candle: it smolders and smolders with a dim fire and goes out. Dusk falls on the forest, and the road is completely invisible; don't know where to go.

It’s creepy and scary in the dark, and Marina is all alone. Going further is risky: in the fall, the northern forests are afraid of wolves. Marina climbs a tree and decides to wait out the long night in the forest.

The wet snow filled the coat with moisture. It's cold and your frostbitten feet are aching. Finally, in the chilly dawn, the roosters suddenly crowed. The village, it turns out, was very close. (168 words)

(According to L. Frolov)

No. 3 Man and nature

We are still interested in the habits of animals and birds - strange overseas ones and ours, familiar from childhood. We are interested in many things: why such a dense animal as a bear is easy to train; whether the gray wolf is in danger of being included in the Red Book (where scientists list animals that are in danger of extinction from the face of the planet); how quickly rock crystal crystals grow and why the leaf of the common plantain is considered healing. (169 words)

(According to I. Akimushkin)

Everything that was around was not conducive to ordinary thoughts. To the right were dark hills, which seemed to obscure something unknown and terrible; to the left, the entire sky above the horizon was filled with a crimson glow, and it was difficult to understand whether there was a fire somewhere or whether the moon was about to rise. The distance was visible as during the day, but its delicate purple color, obscured by the evening darkness, disappeared, and the entire steppe was hidden in darkness...

On July evenings and nights, quails and corncrakes no longer call, nightingales no longer sing in the forest ravines, there is no smell of flowers, but the steppe is still beautiful and full of life. As soon as the sun sets and the earth is enveloped in darkness, the day's melancholy is forgotten, everything is forgiven, and the steppe sighs easily with its broad chest. The monotonous chatter lulls you to sleep, like a lullaby; you drive and feel that you are falling asleep, but from somewhere comes the abrupt, alarming cry of an unsleeping bird, or an indefinite sound is heard, similar to someone’s voice, and drowsiness lowers your eyelids... It smells like hay, dried grass and belated flowers, but the smell is thick, sweet, cloying and delicate.

Everything is visible through the darkness, but it is difficult to make out the color and outlines of objects. (168 words)

(A. Chekhov)

The warm, windless day faded. Only far on the horizon, in the place where the sun had set, the sky still glowed with crimson stripes, as if it had been smeared with wide strokes of a huge brush dipped in blood.

Against this strange and menacing background, the jagged wall of the coniferous forest was clearly drawn as a rough, dark silhouette, and here and there the transparent round tops of bare birches sticking out above it seemed to be painted on the sky with light strokes of delicate greenish ink. A little higher up, the pink glow of the fading sunset, imperceptibly for the eyes, turned into a faint shade of faded turquoise...

The air had already darkened, and the trunk of every tree, every branch stood out in it, with that soft and pleasant clarity that can only be observed in early spring, in the evenings.

Sometimes you could hear an invisible beetle buzzing in a deep bass voice, flying somewhere very close, and how it, dryly plopping against some obstacle, immediately fell silent.

Here and there silver threads of forest streams and swamps flashed through the thicket of trees. The frogs poured into them with their hasty, deafening screams; the toads echoed them with a rarer, melodic hoot. Sometimes a duck flew overhead with a timid quack, and you could hear a little snipe flying from place to place with a loud and short bleat. (177 words)

(According to A. Kuprin)

The professor lived in a room where books and paintings ruled and fought, like two opposite principles.

Books managed to take over the entire space of the room: giant bookcases lined the walls like book fortresses; the table, squeezed between the walls, was full of books; They took both the chairs and the small chess table, where they lay in neatly tied piles. They also controlled the air of the room, filling it with the special smell of paper and ancient bindings; books saturated the air, making it dusty and stuffy.

The paintings seemed to want to open up the room and dissolve the wall on which they hung into quiet, calm landscapes. They filled the space with the fresh air of the groves and soft sunlight filtered through the cloudy haze. And if the rustling of leaves and the whisper of grass did not penetrate the room, it was only because silence reigned in all the paintings. The artist depicted only her and the dreamy thoughtfulness of nature on his canvases.

In the evenings, the light of lanterns penetrated into the room from the street, and it seemed to be filled with loose gray matter. In those places where bookcases stood, the substance thickened to a completely black color. (158 words)

(According to A. Kazantsev)

We make our way through the bird cherry thicket to the shore. It's the end of June, and she's just dressed for spring. The wild rosemary burns with a belated lilac color, and the birch tree, not believing the summer, stands naked.

The taiga, seeing the vastness of Lake Baikal, rolls towards it along the hills in tiers of greenery and freezes at the very water. Having felt the water with their roots, the larches, birches and pines decided not to swim, stopped, but the taiga pressed in from behind and could not stop. That is why giant fallen trees lie on the shore, blocking the road to the lake.

It's amazing to see April and June here at once. Behind you are the smells of summer, and on Lake Baikal it’s just like the Volga in flood. The same vast expanse of water, the same ice floes in herds.

Baikal opens late, and until the end of May icy herds rush through the water. In June they land on the shore and here, near a boulder, they slowly settle, frightening the animals at the watering hole with an unexpected rustle.

The water of Lake Baikal, clear as a tear, does not tolerate garbage, and in stormy weather it throws fragments of boats and driftwood onto the shore. Not a speck in the water!

The distant blue hills merge with the sunset stripes, and they are slowly obscured by the evening haze. (165 words.)

No. 8 Pass

It’s long night, and I’m still wandering through the mountains towards the pass, wandering in the wind, among the cold fog, and hopelessly, but obediently, a wet, tired horse follows me on the reins, clanking with empty stirrups.

At dusk, resting at the foot of the pine forests, beyond which this bare, deserted ascent begins, I looked into the immense depths below me with that special feeling of pride and strength with which you always look from a great height.

It was still possible to discern lights in the darkening valley far below, on the coast of a narrow bay, which was expanding and embracing half the sky.

But night had already fallen in the mountains. It was getting dark quickly, I walked, approaching the forests - and the mountains grew more and more gloomy and majestic, and thick fog, driven by the storm from above, fell into the spans between their spurs with stormy swiftness. He fell from the plateau, which he enveloped in a gigantic loose ridge, and with his fall seemed to increase the gloomy depth of the abysses between the mountains. It had already smoked the forest, approaching me along with the dull, deep and unsociable roar of the pine trees. It smelled of winter freshness and was blown away by snow and wind. (167 words)

(According to I. Bunin)

No. 9 The rustling of leaves

Often in the fall I would closely watch the falling leaves to catch that imperceptible split second when a leaf leaves the branch and begins to fall to the ground. I've read in old books about the sound of falling leaves, but I've never heard that sound. If the leaves rustled, it was only on the ground, under a person’s feet. The rustle of leaves in the air seemed as implausible to me as stories about hearing grass sprouting in the spring.

I was, of course, wrong. Time was needed so that the ear, dulled by the grinding of city streets, could rest and catch the very pure and precise sounds of the autumn land.

There are autumn nights, deaf and silent, when there is no wind over the black wooded edge and only the watchman's beater can be heard from the village outskirts.

It was such a night. The lantern illuminated the well, the old maple under the fence and the nasturtium bush tousled by the wind in the yellowed flowerbed.

I looked at the maple and saw how a red leaf carefully and slowly separated from the branch, shuddered, stopped in the air for an instant and began to fall slantingly towards my feet, slightly rustling and swaying. For the first time I heard the rustling of a falling leaf - a vague sound, like a child's whisper. (180 words)

No. 10 Morning

The slanting rays of the morning sun woke me up early. I dressed quickly, took a towel, a book and went for a swim to the river in the shade of a birch tree, which was located half a mile from the house. There I lay down on the grass and read, occasionally glancing at the silver surface of the river. And sometimes he climbed into the apple orchard, into the middle of a dense raspberry forest. Overhead is a bright, hot sky, and all around is the prickly greenery of raspberry bushes mixed with weeds. Dark green nettle with a flowering crown stretches slenderly upward. Sprawling burdock with unnaturally purple flowers grows roughly above raspberries and in some places, together with nettles, reaches the spreading branches of old apple trees. Below, needle-like grass and young burdock, moistened with dew, turn lushly green in the eternal shade, as if they do not know how the sun plays brightly on the leaves of the apple tree.

This thicket is always damp and smells of cobwebs, unripe apples, and raspberries. Moving forward, you scare away the sparrows that live in this wilderness, you hear their hasty chirping and the beating of their small wings. Then I heard the buzzing of bees and the steps of the old gardener Akim. My feet are thoroughly wet, my hands are burned by nettles, the direct rays of the sun are starting to burn my head, I’ve been hungry for a long time. I usually came home at eleven o'clock. (182 words)

(According to L.N. Tolstoy)

No. 11 Morning in the forest

It's good to walk on the ground early in the morning! The air, which has not yet become sultry, pleasantly refreshes the larynx and chest. The sun, which has not yet come into its full force, warms gently and gently. Under the slanting rays of the morning light, everything seems more prominent, more convex, brighter: the bridge over the ditch, the bushes, and the trees, especially the tops, ruddy and bright.

In the forest every now and then you come across swamps, black and glossy. The grass growing near them seems greener. Sometimes a stream crosses the road from the depths of the forest. In one place, a stream of moss crawled out of the forest darkness to our feet, lush, lush, unbearably bright. In the middle of its almost unnatural greenery flowed a brown stream. The brown water of these places is not at all cloudy. It is transparent when you scoop it into a glass, but still retains its golden hue. From a stream flowing in a soft and lush green bed, we scooped up handfuls of water.

On the forest road, fanning out, the shadows of the pine trees lay. The forest was not old, clean, without undergrowth. To the side of the road, I suddenly came across a wide bench without a back, knocked together from planks. It was all cut up with the names of people who wished to immortalize themselves in this way. Soon the gate of the rest house, painted with white oil paint, explained the presence of a wooden bench in the forest. (180 words)

(Based on the story “Vladimir Country Roads” by V. Soloukhin)

No. 12 Thunderstorm

The eleventh hour is running out. The July afternoon is still breathing heavily. The air sways sleepily over the sandy road, the roadside yellow grasses droop and creep from the heat. The greenery of the groves and arable lands sleeps and languishes without moisture. A grasshopper babbles something indistinctly in a half-asleep state.

Neither a person, nor a bird, nor a small grass creature - no one is struggling at all with languor, everyone seems to have surrendered to its irresistible force. I don't want to think about anything. What can you do to freshen up? There is no breeze or dew in the meadows. It's just as stuffy in the forest as in an open field. I don’t have the strength to go for a swim in the nearest river, but perhaps you’ll feel even more relaxed in the sun after a swim.

Due to the heat, everything freezes. One hope for a storm. She alone will awaken nature, alone she will dispel the dream. Suddenly you hear something rumble in the distance. These are shelves of menacing clouds that quickly cover the entire sky. There is an ominous silence. But out of nowhere a sharp gust of wind bursts into the dead wilderness. He drives a column of dust in front of him, tears and tosses tree leaves.

Lightning flashed, tearing through the clouds. Cracking thunder is about to erupt, heavenly lakes will overturn on the scorched fields. Where can you hide from this cruel but welcome downpour? Friends, hide under this canopy. The rain will stop soon. (190 words)

No. 13 Sea

The sea hummed menacingly, standing out from all the noise in this anxious and sleepy night. It was felt that late autumn night now reigned supreme in this deserted place, and the large old garden, the house packed for the winter and the open gazebos at the corners of the fence were eerie in their abandonment. One sea hummed smoothly, victoriously and, it seemed, more and more majestic in the consciousness of its strength. The damp wind knocked us off our feet on the cliff, and for a long time we were not able to get enough of its soft, penetrating freshness to the depths of our souls. Then, sliding along wet clay paths and the remains of wooden stairs, we began to descend down to the surf sparkling with foam. Black poplars rose and hummed, and beneath them, as if in response to them, the sea played with a greedy and furious surf. The high waves reaching us with the roar of cannon shots crashed onto the shore, swirled and sparkled with whole waterfalls of snow foam, dug up sand and stones and, running back, carried away tangled algae, silt and gravel, which rattled and grinded in their wet noise. The whole air was full of fine, cool dust, and everything around breathed the free freshness of the sea. The darkness grew pale, and the sea was already clearly visible into the distant space. (180 words)

(According to I.A. Bunin)

No. 14 Along the river

At the beginning of the summer holidays, my friend and I decided to take a short trip along the river in a rubber boat. Without telling anyone, we quickly got ready to set off and by nightfall we were on the river bank. The silence of the night, interrupted by some sharp bird cry, the damp, piercing air - all this had a bad effect on us.

For several minutes we hesitated, but then we resolutely entered the boat, pushed away from the shore, and the boat floated downstream. At first it was scary to drive along an unfamiliar river, but gradually we got used to it and boldly looked forward.

Early in the morning we hoped to be in an unfamiliar village. We floated slowly down the river, almost without using the oars. The moon appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating all the surroundings with its mysterious brilliance. Somewhere a nightingale clicked, followed by another. It seemed as if the whole air was permeated with enchanting sounds. We admired the nightingale's singing and the beauty of the night and completely forgot about the boat. Suddenly, having bumped into something, it capsized, and we found ourselves waist-deep in water. Having collected our things that were floating along the river, we climbed ashore, pulled out the ill-fated boat, lit a fire and until the morning we warmed ourselves, dried ourselves and discussed the night's adventure. (174 words)

No. 15 Singer of native nature

If nature could feel gratitude to a person for penetrating her life and singing her praises, then first of all this gratitude would fall to Mikhail Prishvin.

It is unknown what Prishvin would have done in his life if he had remained an agronomist (this was his first profession). In any case, he would hardly have revealed Russian nature to millions of people as a world of the most subtle and luminous poetry. He simply did not have enough time for this.

If you carefully read everything written by Prishvin, you remain convinced: he did not have time to tell us even a hundredth part of what he saw and knew perfectly.

It’s difficult to write about Prishvin. What he said needs to be written down in treasured notebooks, re-read, discovering new values in every line, going into his books, just as we go along barely treasured paths into a dense forest with its conversation of keys and the fragrance of herbs, plunging into various thoughts and states inherent in this a person who is pure in mind and heart.

Prishvin’s books are “the endless joy of constant discoveries.” Several times I heard from people who had just put down Prishvin’s book they had read, the same words: “This is real witchcraft.” (183 words)

(K.G. Paustovsky)

Pushkin's first meeting with Nicholas I took place in Moscow, where the Tsar summoned the poet from Mikhailovsky exile. This was two months after the massacre of the Decembrists, many of whom were friends of the poet. Pushkin knew that his freedom-loving poems were found in the files of almost all the convicted Decembrists, that these poems were widespread in the army, and that he himself was under suspicion from the Tsar. When Nikolai did not get testimony from the arrested about the poet’s direct connection with them, he ordered his “outrageous” poems to be burned.

While still at Mikhailovsky, Pushkin carefully revised his papers and destroyed the most dangerous pages of the precious notes on outstanding contemporaries, which he kept for five years. The poet was afraid that his notes could harm many people, and perhaps even increase the number of victims.

The Tsar asked Pushkin whether his way of thinking had changed during the years of exile and whether he gave his word to think and act differently. The poet could not, however, become different and still behaved freely and independently. This is evidenced at least by the poem “Arion”, in which Pushkin proclaims his loyalty to his Decembrist friends: “I sing the old hymns...” (169 words)

(From the book by A. Gessen “Moika Embankment, 12”)

All the way to Tsarskoye Selo, the architect Vasily Stasov was immersed in his thoughts. From time to time he cast an absent-minded glance at the snow-covered plain along which the road connecting the capital with Tsarskoe Selo ran, and thought about his own things.

He, a young architect who had built a lot in Moscow, was given the task of drawing up a project for remodeling the outbuilding, in which it was decided to open a new educational institution - the Lyceum.

Stasov remembered the rumors that circulated in St. Petersburg society. Some said that the emperor planned to raise his younger brothers - Nikolai and Mikhail - together with the offspring of noble families. Others believed that the king, who did not have his own children, wanted to see young people close to him. Still others believed that these were malicious undertakings of Speransky, who had gained the trust of the sovereign and was inciting him to carry out dangerous and harmful reforms. But no matter what was interpreted in the capital's society, at the beginning of 1811 a decree was published on the founding of the Lyceum, and so he, the architect Stasov, was asked to immediately inspect the building in which the Lyceum would be located and decide how best to adapt it for the needs of the future educational establishments. (160 words)

(From the book “In the Gardens of the Lyceum” by M. Basina)

Although the students arrived, classes at the Lyceum did not begin. Everyone was preparing for October 19, the day when the Lyceum would be inaugurated.

Count Razumovsky, the Minister of Education, arrived. He examined everything and ordered a rehearsal for the upcoming celebration to be held in his presence. They gave him a chair. He sat down, gloomily watching as the pupils were brought in in ceremonial uniforms, lined up, calling them according to the list, taught to bow respectfully and gracefully to the place where the king would sit.

The hall where the rehearsal took place was small but beautiful. It was bright, with four columns supporting the ceiling, walls that were painted pink marble, shiny parquet flooring, and wall-length mirrors. It was here that it was supposed to subsequently hold public exams and other celebrations. The architect, who was remodeling the building, adapting it to the needs of the educational institution, was ordered to make sure that the premises had a formal appearance. The walls of the hall were skillfully painted. Military armor, banners, scenes from ancient times seemed not drawn, but sculpted, convex. The painting decorated both the ceiling and the four arches through which one entered the assembly hall. There was no furniture in the hall, because the students were supposed to practice fencing here and play in the evenings. (170 words)

(According to M. Basina)

If you are having a hard time, if sadness has taken over your heart, go to where the Church of the Intercession on the Nerl stands by the river, on a hill. Look closely at the noble proportions of the white temple, reflected over eight centuries in the waters, and you will see how naturally the structure fits into the surrounding landscape.

Anyone who, having seen the temple once, believes that he knows it, is mistaken. This poem made of stone must be reread many times to understand the beauty of this extraordinary structure.

It's hard to say when is the best time to admire it. In the spring, when the Klyazma and Nerl flood, absorbing streams running from forests and lakes, and the water floods the meadows. In the dark waves, reminiscent of thickly infused tea, are reflected birches, willows and oaks similar to giant heroes, which are older than birches and probably remember how the Vladimir land was trampled by Tatar horses and how the carts of nomads stood here. At dawn, when the sun's rays play over the forests and from the bursts of light and shadow, the ancient walls seem to sway, becoming lighter hour by hour. You should also see the cover in the rain, when a huge cloud seems to stop to admire the temple.

The temple as we know it is a lyrical poem addressed to the inner world of man. (175 words)

(According to E. Osetrova)

Everything in nature is beautiful: the clouds floating across the sky, the birch tree whispering with the grass, the harsh northern spruce, and the lichen that climbs up the slope of a rocky slope. But what can compare with water in terms of charm and charm? Wind-swept waves reflecting green and blue are living life. This is what I thought when I sailed on a simple wooden sailboat across the pockmarked expanses of Lake Onega. It beckoned with its transparency and depth.

I remembered that in the old days water was considered a healing, cleansing force. When, during fortune telling, girls looked into the water in front of a mirror, hoping to see their betrothed there, it was a custom to ask the water for the future.

The lake changed colors. At first, when dawn had barely broken, the water was cold and inhospitable. Then the color of the lake turned pewter. When the rays of the sun began to play on the sail, the water smelled fresh, swayed, as if in a dance, and became warm and inviting.

I sailed into the world of Russian fairy tales - into ancient Kizhi. Those who have not been there think that Kizhi is an island that is lost among the expanses of water. However, knowledgeable people say that there are almost two thousand islands on the lake. (166 words)

(According to E. Osetrova)

Having lit the stove in the dugout, Polya made tea and, as soon as it got dark, went to bed. The first half hour was somehow alarming and uncomfortable. It seemed like someone was sneaking towards the dugout. The door is about to open and strangers will come in. Then she raised her head and listened. It turns out that it was the hay crunching under her body. In the end, Polya convinced herself that the taiga was deserted in winter and nothing threatened her. All the anxiety comes from excitement and suspiciousness, and there is no point in bothering your head with all sorts of trifles. She fell asleep soundly, sleeping dreamlessly all night long.

Taiga lay wrapped in snow, quiet, thoughtful. The day turned out to be brighter than yesterday. The sun came out several times, and then the tops of the trees with their white fluffy caps became golden and glowed like burning candles. The notches on the trunks also became more visible, which Polya watched with both eyes so as not to go astray. (167 words)

(G. Markov)

At eighteen it is impossible to be settled, and one day you will suddenly feel an irresistible desire to come into contact with the unknown, the unknown.

How wonderful it is in the evening to climb up the trembling ship's gangway onto the festively lit deck and join the noisy crowd of passengers who say goodbye to the land and go to sea, to some new, amazing, incomparable life.

When the steamer began to hum with a trumpet voice and the deck began to tremble from the work of the machines hidden in the hold, the dark water boiled at the sides, with orange oil stains, with light reflections, suddenly the shore shuddered and, slowly turning around, began to move away with a dark crowd of mourners on the pier. The port lights floated, misty, running further and further into the interior of the mainland, turning yellow there, in the distance, and the cheerful stars began to approach, some seemed to hang right on the yards, and they could be picked off like a butterfly by hand.

And suddenly there was a breath of freedom, salty coolness, and the Black Sea looked straight into your eyes.

I walked along the lower deck among the singing, screaming, dancing passengers, proud and sad, sitting motionless and snoring side by side right on the deck. I was one of them that night, an unknown grain of sand setting off on a distant and unknown voyage. (180 words)

(According to B. Yampolsky)

No. 23 Sparrow

I was returning from hunting and walking along the garden alley. The dog ran ahead of me.

Suddenly she slowed down her steps and began to creep up, as if sensing game in front of her.

I looked along the alley and saw a young sparrow with yellowness around its beak and down on its head. He fell from the nest (the wind strongly shook the birch trees of the alley) and sat motionless, helplessly spreading his barely sprouted wings.

My dog was slowly approaching him, when suddenly, falling from a nearby tree, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone in front of her muzzle and, with a desperate and pitiful squeak, jumped in the direction of the toothy open mouth.

He rushed to save, he shielded his brainchild with himself, but his whole small body trembled with horror, his voice became wild and hoarse, he froze, he sacrificed himself!

What a huge monster the dog must have seemed to him! And yet he could not sit on his high, safe branch.

My Trezor stopped and backed away. Apparently, he recognized this power.

I hastened to call the embarrassed dog away and left in awe.

Yes, don't laugh. I was in awe of that little heroic bird, of her loving impulse.

Love, I thought, is stronger than death and the fear of death. Only by her, only by love does life hold and move. (185 words)

(According to I.S. Turgenev)

No. 24 Oak

It was already the beginning of June when Prince Andrei, returning home, went again to that birch grove in which this old, gnarled oak struck him so strangely and memorably. The bells rang even more muffled in the forest than a month and a half ago; everything was full, shady and dense, and the young spruce trees scattered throughout the forest did not disturb the overall beauty and, imitating the general character, were tenderly green with fluffy young shoots...

“Yes, here, in this forest, there was this oak tree with which we agreed,” thought Prince Andrei. “Where is he?” - Prince Andrei thought again, looking at the left side of the road, and, without knowing it, without recognizing him, he admired the oak tree that he was looking for. The old oak tree, completely transformed, spread out like a tent of lush, dark greenery, was melting, slightly swaying in the rays of the evening sun. No gnarled fingers, no sores, no old mistrust and grief - nothing was visible. Juicy young leaves broke through the tough, hundred-year-old bark without knots, so it was impossible to believe that this old man had produced them. “Yes, this is that same oak tree,” thought Prince Andrei, and suddenly an unreasonable, spring feeling of joy and renewal came over him. (165 words)

(L.N. Tolstoy)

No. 25 Seton-Thompson

In the thirties, on hills overgrown with juniper and pine trees, next to Indian huts, a famous man - a writer, artist, naturalist - built himself a home. He drew up the construction plan himself, chose the logs and stones himself, and, like the carpenters, did not let go of the ax. He chose a wild, uncomfortable place so that he could live the rest of his days in nature, not yet trampled by man...

The house turned out to be quite spacious, similar to an Asian one - with a flat roof and a long porch made of rough-hewn logs on stilts. Everything is brought here by the taste and lifestyle of the owner. The window is large and next to it is very tiny, looking out of the stonework like an embrasure. The porch is filled with wooden, Indian-made figurines of some gods, goggle-eyed people and bright red angry bears.

Here is a large room full of books and paintings. A chair near the table with a carved greeting: “Welcome, my friends!” Guests sat in this chair: artists, writers, scientists who came here. But more often the Indians sat in the chairs. They lived here in the hills, and the doors of the house were open to them at all hours.

Sometimes Seton-Thompson did not sign letters to the Indians and friends in the East, but drew the trail of a wolf - this meant a signature. (172 words)

(According to V. Peskov)

No. 26 How Chekhov worked

Chekhov's life was subordinated to writing. Those who lived next to Chekhov guessed that internal work was always in full swing within him. It seemed that his senses were constantly fixing in his memory expressions, conversations, colors, sounds, smells.

Chekhov wrote down much of what he noticed around him in his notebook, making notes at home, at dinner, at night, on a boat, in the field. When this book was not at hand, he wrote it down on anything: on a piece of paper, a business card, on the back of a letter addressed to him.

Chekhov said that the theme is given by chance. This meant that Chekhov did not invent topics while sitting in his office at his desk. But he did not wait for the opportunity to come to him. The writer himself met the opportunity, always looked for it, persistently tracking down the topic, like a hunter tracking down his game.

Much of Chekhov’s life was explained by the search for these cases: sudden absences from home, unexpected departures, hours spent in night tea shops, hospitals, hotels in provincial towns, and railway stations. Lines from notebooks turned into sketches for future works, then into a draft, covered with corrections and insertions. The manuscripts of all the real masters are crossed out length and breadth. Chekhov knew well that writing is simply the most difficult thing. (177 words)

(According to A. Roskin)

No. 27 Near the house

If in the morning you wake up from a strange knocking on the glass and, getting up, see a tit on the windowsill, do not be surprised - a guest has come from the forest. If you want to wake up every morning to the sound of a tit’s bell (and this is the best of alarm clocks), put a piece of lard (necessarily unsalted) - you are guaranteed constant friendship between tits, woodpeckers and nuthatches.

This neighborhood is not a burden to people at all. It is easier for a person to live in cold weather and bad weather if these fussy and trusting beggars are nearby. Every manifestation of life nearby nourishes the soul...

In autumn, a lot of living creatures gather near the house. Swallows, before flying away, and starlings, before disappearing, always visit the nest or native birdhouse - they sit and whistle. Not like in the spring - they whistle quietly, thoughtfully, as if they are remembering something. If there is a rowan tree or viburnum bush growing near the house, expect thrushes, waxwings, and bullfinches. And look closely on the ground: mice have appeared, a nimble weasel, a mouse hunter, a hedgehog rustling leaves in the garden at night. And our old and reliable friends, the tits, are almost always in sight, all day long. You will hear them and you will breathe deeper and smile once again. (160 words)

(According to V. Peskov)

Lermontov should have started. He fired into the air, wanting to end this stupid quarrel amicably. Martynov thought not so generously. He was quite inhuman and vicious to approach his enemy himself and shoot him right in the heart. The blow was so strong and sure that death was as sudden as a gunshot. The unfortunate Lermontov gave up his ghost. It is surprising that the seconds allowed Martynov to commit this brutal act. He acted against all the rules of honor, nobility and justice. If he wanted the duel to take place, he should have told Lermontov: “Please load your pistol again. I advise you to take good aim at me, because I will try to kill you.” This is what a noble, brave officer would do. Martynov acted like a murderer. (166 words)

(A. Bulgakov, contemporary of Lermontov)

No. 29 Forest Lake

Behind the roadside bushes rose a mixed forest. On the left side, black water sparkled mysteriously. We were only waiting for a path so that we could rush along it into the depths of the forest and find out what was there. And then the path came across.

Before we had time to take two hundred steps along it, the loud, angry yelp of a little dog stopped us. Not far away there was a forester's hut.

The forester invited us into the house and wanted to make arrangements for the table. But we said that we didn’t need anything and that we turned off the main road only to find out what kind of water was shining between the trees.

The water began about fifty steps from the threshold, but much lower than it, since the house stood on a hillock. The narrow boat we boarded was so light that under the weight of four people it sank into the water to the very edges. A lake of extraordinary beauty surrounded us. The dark green oaks and linden trees that overgrown the lake shores were clearly reflected in the still water. Rare and clear, like stars, white lily flowers rested on the water. Each flower was so sharply shaded by the blackness of the lake mirror that we usually noticed it two or three hundred meters away. (170 words)

(According to V. Soloukhin)

Contrary to my companion's prediction, the weather cleared and promised us a calm morning; round dances of stars intertwined in wonderful patterns in the distant sky and faded one after another as the pale glow of the east spread across the dark purple arch, illuminating the steep echoes of mountains covered with virgin forests.

To the right and to the left dark, mysterious abysses loomed black, and the fogs, swirling and writhing like snakes, slid there along the wrinkles of the neighboring rocks, as if sensing and fearing the approach of day. It was quiet in the sky and on the ground, only occasionally a cool wind came from the east, lifting the horses' manes covered with frost.

We set off; with difficulty five thin nags dragged our carts along the winding road to Mount Gud; we walked behind, placing stones under the wheels when the horses were exhausted. It seemed that the road led to the sky, because as far as the eye could see, it kept rising and finally disappeared into the cloud, which had been resting on the top of Mount Gud since the evening, like a kite awaiting prey. The snow crunched underfoot; the air became so thin that it was painful to breathe; blood constantly rushed into my head. (176 words)

(According to M. Lermontov)

No. 31 Warm evening

The warm, windless day has faded. Only far on the horizon, where the sun had set, the sky still glowed with crimson stripes, as if it had been smeared with broad strokes of a huge brush dipped in blood. Against this strange and menacing background, the jagged wall of the coniferous forest was clearly depicted as a rough, dark silhouette. And here and there the transparent round tops of bare birches sticking out above it seemed to be painted on the sky with light strokes of delicate greenish ink. A little higher up, the pink glow of the fading sunset, imperceptibly for the eyes, turned into a faint shade of faded turquoise...

The air had already darkened, and the trunk of each tree stood out in it. Sometimes you could hear an invisible beetle buzzing in a deep bass voice, flying somewhere very close, and how it, dryly plopping against some obstacle, immediately fell silent. Here and there silver threads of forest streams and swamps flashed through the thicket of trees. The frogs poured into them with their hasty, deafening screams; the toads echoed them with a rarer, melodic hoot. Sometimes a duck flew overhead with a timid quack, and you could hear a little snipe flying from place to place with a loud and short bleat. (177 words)

(According to A. Kuprin)

No. 32 Natural world

A person impoverishes his spiritual life if he arrogantly looks down on everything living and inanimate that is not endowed with his human mind. After all, the life of people, no matter how complex it may be, no matter how far our power over the world around us extends, is just a particle of the life of nature. After all, what we know about her today is so little compared to the mysterious, amazing and beautiful that we still have to learn about her.

Maybe we should find out today, when it is important for a person to connect in his mind the latest data about elementary particles, about the “black holes” of the Universe with the snow-white daisies in forest glades, with the luxurious, pulsating constellations above his head, somewhere in the middle of the endless steppe.

(According to I. Akimushkin)

No. 33 Dear, cherished

With the sound of a heavy downpour, flashing with lightning, a thundercloud fell into the forests. There is still a rumble there, the short, summer rain continues to fall. It became brighter around, the sun's rays splashed after the cloud, and a seven-color rainbow appeared in half the sky over the forests.

For me, since childhood, it carries two mysteries. Firstly, where did this word come from - from the arc or from joy? Secondly, where and how can one find its base?

According to an old belief, there, at the foot of the rainbow, treasures of countless treasures are buried. Is that why it shimmers so brightly? Isn’t that the only reason it can make you smile? I thought what a blessing it would be to visit the cherished foothills! Only at no time has there been a person who has been there.

A lot has changed over the years. I haven't been looking for the bottom of the rainbow for a long time. I know for sure that the rainbow rests on its native land, rich in countless treasures. That is why its tints are bright, and that is why there is an echo of joy in its very name.

Much changes, but the rainbow remains the same. And it doesn't fade. As beautiful as in her childhood years. This is happiness. (160 words)

(According to F. Polenov)

In the morning the fog began to spread slightly. It gradually disappeared, carried south, and the ice fields rustled and also began to move. A free passage opened up ahead, and the ship sailed to the northeast, but slowly, so as not to collide with ice floes and to stop or turn aside in time. The sun, which had been shining since midday, although intermittently, by evening was hidden in a shroud of fog that had moved onto the ship.

This night was less calm than the previous one: a light wind blew, the ice fields moved, pressing against each other, cracking and breaking.

The swirling fog made it impossible to distinguish the path, and we had to be on guard so as not to be trapped by ice floes.

The day also passed in great tension: in the morning the wind increased and the fog dispersed, but the ice began to move. Fortunately, the outskirts of the ice fields were badly broken, there were no icebergs, and only sometimes ridges of shallow ice, piled up in places on the fields, posed a serious danger. (167 words)

(According to V. Obruchev)

Historicisms are words and phrases that denoted objects and phenomena of real life that once existed. For example: serf, smerd, cadet and others. Objects are a thing of the past; words are no longer used.

Changes in social life remove many words from the active vocabulary, but they are immediately remembered as soon as we look into the past. Therefore, works on history cannot do without historicisms: not everything in the past can be called in today’s words. So, the boyars as a class went down in history, and in this very history they can only be called by this word.

Naturally, historicisms also come to mind in fiction when it turns to history. Replacing them with modern words is simply illiterate. So, today we will not call a Sagittarius a soldier, a quitrent - a tax, a quarterly - a district policeman.

Historicisms, unlike archaisms, do not have synonyms. Archaisms always have quite modern-sounding synonyms: sail - sail, cheeks - cheeks. Archaisms, being synonyms of commonly used words, express, as is typical for synonyms, a variety of additional shades. They serve to create the flavor of the era, to characterize a character, and are used as a stylistic means in journalism. (165 words)

(According to P. Klubkov)

Nettle is a valuable plant. In folk medicine, an infusion made from it is used, which improves the composition of the blood; rinse your mouth with a decoction of the roots to strengthen your gums; It is rubbed into the head for hair loss.

It is recommended to collect nettle for medicinal purposes during its flowering: during this period, the largest amount of biologically active substances accumulates in the plant. In the spring, when the body's reserves of vitamins are depleted, salads made from the tender tops of nettles are useful. They are first washed under running hot water, then rubbed with your fingers to get rid of the stinging needles.

Nettle can be harvested for the winter, for which it is dried in the shade and ground into powder, which is then added to food. Another useful tip: if you want to preserve meat or fish on a hot summer day, cover it tightly with nettle leaves. (172 words)

(Based on materials from the magazine)

He played pranks when no one was looking, and always croaked displeasedly and hurriedly flew away if he was caught in the act. Having flown to a safe distance, he observed from afar what impression his mischief made.

Hrach especially closely followed the work of the artist’s wife, who was fond of gardening and worked a lot in the garden. If plants were being grafted and the grafting site was wrapped with insulating tape, he unwound it and, satisfied, hurriedly left.

But, in spite of everything, it was impossible not to love him: he accompanied, flying from branch to branch, the owners if they went for a walk, flew over the boat if they were riding along the river. He never missed lunchtime, patiently waiting for someone to give him something tasty, and if he was full, he hid the tasty morsels in reserve: he put them in his shoes, under the closet or in other secluded places. Having eaten, the rook sat on someone's shoulder or head, while trying to carefully wipe its beak on the hair. (176 words)

(According to A. Komarov)

This is where the magpie comes in. Anyone who has ever kept a pet magpie in their home knows what it is...

The white-sided magpie is a very beautiful bird: its tail has a reddish and greenish metallic sheen, its head is jet black, and there are white spots on its sides. She has a cheerful personality, but she has two remarkable abilities: she is curious and she has an irresistible passion for accumulating wealth.

Every thing, especially something shiny, attracts her attention, and she tries to hide it somewhere away. Everything: a teaspoon, a silver ring, a button - she instantly grabs it and, despite the screams, flies away, diligently hiding the stolen item somewhere.

Our magpie liked to hide things out of sight. She apparently believed that a well-hidden item would last longer, and so from time to time something would go missing from the house. (168 words)

(According to A. Komarov)

The flights of birds aroused surprise among ancient peoples. They did not know where and why the birds undertake such risky journeys. Much about bird flight still remains unclear to scientists.

The autumn migration seems justified: with the onset of winter, the birds cannot get food from under the snow. In winter, the north is hungry: insects are hiding, and the supply of wild berries is not unlimited. True, many birds live here without flying anywhere, and even in severe frosts they do not look unhappy. Apparently, some birds could adapt to our conditions.

It is believed that the homeland of our migratory birds is the north. It's hard to say what attracts them here. Perhaps an abundance of seasonal food, which allows the chicks to be fed throughout the long daylight hours. Probably, birds during the breeding season need a calm environment, and the small population of our northern tundras and forests, where there is no such turmoil as in Africa, creates these conditions for them. (176 words)

(From the magazine “Young Naturalist”)

Winter, moving from the north, captured new spaces. Everything: roads and villages, forests and steppes were covered with deep snow.

On blizzard nights, when the forest giants groan, crackle and groan, when the sky merges with the earth and underground bells thump furiously, all living things try to hide in the calm: in houses where the fire flickers merrily in the stove, in holes and habitable nests, or even just under a spreading spruce, between its lower paws and the ground, still smelling of the leaves brought here in autumn. Snow covers the spruce paws in a thick layer, but between them and the ground there is free space, where it is light on a sunny day. A ray of sunshine will flash, and a stone fruit berry on a tall stem that happens to be there will glow with red light.

Such a shelter is safe from any bad weather. A brown hare, or a black grouse, or a cunning fox, or other living creatures will huddle here and freeze, hide, and then doze off under the howl of a blizzard. At such a time, unknown forces begin to wander and live in a person, and bizarre, ghostly dreams bloom. And it is impossible to figure out where in them the understandable ends and what has no explanation begins and what comes in the rustling and light of the stars. (167 words)

(According to P. Proskurin)

I
The warm, windless day faded. Only far on the horizon, in the place where the sun had set, the sky still glowed with crimson stripes, as if it had been smeared with wide strokes of a huge brush dipped in blood. Against this strange and menacing background, the jagged wall of the coniferous forest was clearly drawn as a rough, dark silhouette, and here and there the transparent round tops of bare birches sticking out above it seemed to be painted on the sky with light strokes of delicate greenish ink. A little higher, the pink glow of the fading sunset, imperceptibly for the eyes, turned into a faint shade of faded turquoise... The air had already darkened, and the trunk of every tree, every branch stood out in it, with that soft and pleasant clarity that can only be observed in early spring, in the evenings. Sometimes you could hear an invisible beetle buzzing in a deep bass voice, flying somewhere very close, and how it, dryly plopping against some obstacle, immediately fell silent. Here and there silver threads of forest streams and swamps flashed through the thicket of trees. The frogs poured into them with their hasty, deafening screams; the toads echoed them with a rarer, melodic hoot. Sometimes a duck flew overhead with a timid quack, and you could hear a little snipe flying from place to place with a loud and short bleat. (177 words)
(A. Kuprin)

II
A person impoverishes his spiritual life if he arrogantly looks down on everything living and nonliving that is not endowed with his human mind. After all, the life of people, no matter how complex it may be, no matter how far our power over the world around us extends, is just a particle of the life of nature. After all, what we know about her today is so little compared to the mysterious, amazing and beautiful that we still have to learn about her. Maybe it is today, when it is important for a person to connect in his mind the latest data about elementary particles, about “white dwarfs” and “black holes” of the Universe with the snow-white daisies in forest glades, with luxurious, pulsating constellations overhead, somewhere in the middle endless steppe.4
We are still interested in the habits of animals and birds - strange overseas ones and ours, familiar from childhood. We are interested in many things: why such a dense animal as a bear is easy to train; whether the gray wolf is in danger of being included in the Red Book (where scientists list animals that are in danger of extinction from the face of the planet); how quickly rock crystal crystals grow and why the leaf of the common plantain is considered healing. (169 words)
(According to I. Akimushkin)

III
The professor lived in a room where books and paintings ruled and fought, like two opposite principles.
Books managed to take over the entire space of the room: giant bookcases lined the walls like book fortresses; the table, squeezed between the walls, was full of books; They took both the chairs and the small chess table, where they lay in neatly tied piles. They also controlled the air of the room, filling it with the special smell of paper and ancient bindings; books saturated the air, making it dusty and stuffy.
The paintings seemed to want to open up the room and dissolve the wall on which they hung into quiet, calm landscapes. They filled the space with the fresh air of the groves and soft sunlight filtered through the cloudy haze. And if the rustling of leaves and the whisper of grass did not penetrate the room, it was only because silence reigned in all the paintings. The artist depicted only her and the dreamy thoughtfulness of nature on his canvases.
In the evenings, the light of lanterns penetrated into the room from the street, and it seemed to be filled with loose gray matter. In those places where bookcases stood, the substance thickened to a completely black color. (158 words)
(According to A. Kazantsev)

IV
At night, the fog thickened so much that nothing could be seen ten steps away, as if everything had been drowned in milk. The ship stopped near a large ice field, and everyone except the watchmen was sleeping peacefully.
In the morning the fog began to spread slightly. It gradually disappeared, carried south, and the ice fields rustled and also began to move. A free passage opened up ahead, and the ship sailed to the northeast, but slowly, so as not to collide with ice floes and to stop or turn aside in time. The sun, which had been shining since midday, although intermittently, by evening was hidden in a shroud of fog that had moved onto the ship.
This night was less calm than the previous one: a light wind blew, the ice fields moved, pressing against each other, cracking and breaking. The swirling fog made it impossible to distinguish the path, and we had to be on guard so as not to be trapped by ice floes.
The day also passed in great tension: in the morning the wind increased and the fog dispersed, but the ice began to move. Fortunately, the outskirts of the ice fields were badly broken, there were no icebergs, and only sometimes ridges of shallow ice, piled up in places on the fields, posed a serious danger. (167 words)
(According to V. Obruchev)

V
Historicisms are words and phrases that denote objects and phenomena of real life that once existed. For example: serf, smerd, cadet and others. Objects are a thing of the past; words are no longer used.
Changes in social life remove many words from the active vocabulary, but they are immediately remembered as soon as we look into the past. Therefore, works on history cannot do without historicisms: not everything in the past can be called in today’s words. So, the boyars as a class went down in history, and in this very history they can only be called by this word.
Naturally, historicisms also come to mind in fiction when it turns to history. Replacing them with modern words is simply illiterate. So, today we will not call a Sagittarius a soldier, a quitrent - a tax, a quarterly - a district policeman.
Historicisms, unlike archaisms, do not have synonyms. Archaisms always have quite modern-sounding synonyms: sail - sail, cheeks - cheeks. Archaisms, being synonyms of commonly used words, express, as is typical for synonyms, a variety of additional shades. They serve to create the flavor of the era, to characterize a character, and are used as a stylistic means in journalism. (165 words)
(According to P. Klubkov)

VI
They gave me a marmot, fat and clumsy. In his homeland, in the steppes, he is called boibak, as he has the amazing ability to sleep for a long time.
It sleeps throughout the winter, but when the grasses turn green in the spring, it comes out of its burrow and feeds heavily on young vegetation. The heat comes, the grasses dry out - the bobak crawls into the hole again and sleeps until autumn. When the rains pass and the grass turns green, he wakes up a second time and stays awake until winter.
Our boibak was tame: he allowed us to pick him up, allowed him to stroke him and feed him tasty things: carrots, dried fruits, milk. One day my wife brought him food, but could not wake him up. She went up to the den that we had made for him in the hay barn and began patting the bobak on the skin, persuading him to wake up. Terribly angry, he jumped out of the den and, standing on his hind legs, fiercely gnashed his teeth. He was, apparently, terribly indignant, since he could not forgive her offense until the end of his life. Although his wife cajoled him in every possible way and gave him his favorite dishes, he always rushed at her, trying to grab her hand. (166 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

VII
Our rook lived freely, walking around near the dacha. There was no end to his tricks. From the house he carried everything he could carry: thimbles, scissors, small tools, although he knew very well that it was impossible to steal.
He played pranks when no one was looking, and always croaked displeasedly and hurriedly flew away if he was caught in the act. Having flown to a safe distance, he observed from afar what impression his mischief made.
Hrach especially closely followed the work of the artist’s wife, who was fond of gardening and worked a lot in the garden. If plants were being grafted and the grafting site was wrapped with insulating tape, he unwound it and, satisfied, hurriedly left.
But, in spite of everything, it was impossible not to love him: he accompanied, flying from branch to branch, the owners if they went for a walk, flew over the boat if they were riding along the river. He never missed lunchtime, patiently waiting for someone to give him something tasty, and if he was full, he hid the tasty morsels in reserve: he put them in his shoes, under the closet or in other secluded places. Having eaten, the rook sat on someone's shoulder or head, while trying to carefully wipe its beak on the hair. (176 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

VIII
If you constantly work at your desk in your office, you create your own order to which you get used. You know where and what book is on your table and where your pen and pencil are. Reach out your hand and take what you need. This is your order and cannot be changed.
This is where the magpie comes in. Anyone who has ever kept a pet magpie in their home knows what it is...
The white-sided magpie is a very beautiful bird: its tail has a reddish and greenish metallic sheen, its head is jet black, and there are white spots on its sides. She has a cheerful personality, but she has two notable characteristics: she is curious and has an irresistible passion for accumulating wealth.
Every thing, especially something shiny, attracts her attention, and she tries to hide it somewhere away. Everything: a teaspoon, a silver ring, a button - she instantly grabs it and, despite the screams, flies away, diligently hiding the stolen item somewhere.
Our magpie liked to hide things out of sight. She apparently believed that a well-hidden item would last longer, and so from time to time something would go missing from the house. (168 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

IX
Alenka put her clothes near the birch tree and went into the water, feeling the sandy bottom with her feet. When the water reached her waist, she sat down and, splashing her feet, swam to the opposite shore; in the middle, a weak current was felt, and Alenka, turning over on her back, lay for a long time, looking into the boundless sky, already filled with the sun.
Alenka swam for a long time, plunging her face into the water and looking at the bottom and the fish scurrying in the algae. There was a world of its own underwater. In the middle of the river, where there was already a thick strip of sun and it was light under the water, a quiet current was noticeable from the barely moving tops of water grasses, and when it approached the shaded bank, the light changed even under the water, and there seemed to be deep gaps filled with darkness and secrets. The shadow of Alenka’s body touched a dark crayfish moving its mustache, and it immediately disappeared somewhere.
After waiting for the water to calm down, she looked again and saw: among the scattered bush of algae, fish were scurrying about, unexpectedly rushing in all directions, but not leaving the confines of the spacious bush. Trying not to move, she followed the rhythmic dance of the fish, who did not want to move away from their bush. (166 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

X
Anyone who has not been to the Ussuri taiga cannot imagine what kind of thicket it is. More than once it happened that an animal was raised from its bed, and only the cracking of branches indicated in which direction it went. We have been walking through this taiga for two days.
The weather was not favorable to us: it was drizzling, there were puddles on the paths, and large, rare drops fell from the trees.
The pack train should have overtaken us long ago, and yet behind us, in the taiga, nothing was heard. Concerned about this, Dersu [the guide] and I went back. Suddenly stopping mid-sentence, he backed away and, bending down, began to examine something on the ground. I approached him and was stunned: fresh prints of a large cat’s paw stood out clearly on the path. However, there were no traces when we walked here. I remember this, and Dersu could not have passed them by. Now, when we returned to meet the detachment, they appeared and were heading in our direction. Obviously, the animal was on his heels: despite the puddles, the water had not yet had time to fill the tracks pressed by the tiger’s paw. The predator, undoubtedly, had just stood here and, when he heard our steps, hid somewhere in the windfall. (175 words)
(According to V. Arsenyev)

XI
When rivers and lakes are covered with ice, the last flocks of birds fly away.
Autumn flights take place slowly. It seems that the birds are in no hurry to leave their native places, staying for a long time where there is a lot of food. In the spring, they fly non-stop, as if afraid of being late for the beginning of summer.
The flights of birds aroused surprise among ancient peoples. They did not know where and why the birds undertake such risky journeys. Much about bird flight still remains unclear to scientists.
The autumn migration seems justified: with the onset of winter, the birds cannot get food from under the snow. In winter, the north is hungry: insects are hiding, and the supply of wild berries is not unlimited. True, many birds live here without flying anywhere, and even in severe frosts they do not look unhappy. Apparently, some birds could adapt to our conditions.
It is believed that the homeland of our migratory birds is the north. It's hard to say what attracts them here. Perhaps an abundance of seasonal food, which allows the chicks to be fed throughout the long daylight hours. Probably, birds during the breeding season need a calm environment, and the small population of our northern tundras and forests, where there is no such turmoil as in Africa, creates these conditions for them. (176 words)
(From the magazine “Young Naturalist”)

XII
Among the many wild herbs existing in nature, we remember nettle for the rest of our lives from the very first touch of its leaves, which burn the skin. We consider it a weed, the lush thickets of which have to be destroyed every year. Meanwhile, this plant has long served man: its long bast fibers were once used to make paper, weave ropes and fishing gear.
Nettle is a valuable medicine. In folk medicine, an infusion made from it is used, which improves the composition of the blood; You rinse your mouth with a decoction of the roots to strengthen your gums, and rub it on your head to prevent hair loss.
It is recommended to collect nettle for medicinal purposes during its flowering: during this period, the largest amount of biologically active substances accumulates in the plant. In the spring, when the body's reserves of vitamins are depleted, salads made from the tender tops of nettles are useful. They are first washed under running hot water, then rubbed with your fingers to get rid of the stinging needles.
Nettle can be harvested for the winter, for which it is dried in the shade and ground into powder, which is then added to food. Another useful tip: if you want to preserve meat or fish longer on a hot summer day, cover them tightly with nettle leaves. (172 words)
(Based on materials from the magazine)

XIII
The evening twilight flooded the taiga, and only in the east a bluish-hazy glow came from the trees. The deep silence, broken by the splashes of fish and the cries of some still awake bird fiddling nearby, seemed to only emphasize the irresistible onset of night peace. Almost the entire channel was covered with a thick layer of fog that came from nowhere, swirling in the coastal bushes. Ilyusha cautiously stepped into it and immediately drowned in it almost up to his armpits. Looking around, he saw: the fire on the high bank was trembling like a fickle golden bush, the trunks of the cedars in its light shimmered with reddish-dark gold. For the first time, aching excitement from the mysterious beauty of the night entered the young man’s soul, and he wanted to do something extraordinary: run, jump from a height, fly. Suddenly it seemed to him that he heard the quiet, insinuating rustle of fog rubbing at his feet and someone’s voice. His heart began to beat faster, and he suddenly wanted to be at the fire as soon as possible. Diving into the fog, he felt its damp coolness on his face, and, having reached the water and washed the pot, Ilyusha returned to the fire. (156 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

XIV
Winter, moving from the north, captured new spaces; Everything: roads and villages, forests and steppes were covered with deep snow.
On blizzard nights, when even the forest giants groan, crackle and groan, when the sky merges with the earth and underground bells frantically thump, all living things try to hide in the calm: in houses where the fire flickers merrily in the stove, in holes and inhabited nests, and even just under a spreading spruce, between its lower paws and the ground, still smelling of the leaves brought here in autumn. A thick layer of snow covers the spruce paws, but between them and the ground there is free space, where it is light on a sunny day. A ray of sunshine will flash, and a stone fruit berry on a tall stem that happens to be there will glow with red light.
Such a shelter is safe from any bad weather. A brown hare, or a black grouse, or a cunning fox, or other living creatures will huddle here and freeze, hide, and then doze off under the howl of a blizzard. At such a time, unknown forces begin to wander and live in a person, and bizarre, ghostly dreams bloom. And it is impossible to figure out where in them the understandable ends and what has no explanation begins and what comes in the rustling and light of the stars. (167 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

XV
To the right of the path lay a hummocky plain, dark green from constant dampness, and at its edge there were gray houses, like toy houses, abandoned; on a high green mountain, at the bottom of which a silver strip shone, there stood a church, white, also like a toy. When the train, with a ringing metallic screech that suddenly intensified, flew madly onto the bridge and seemed to hang in the air above the mirror-like surface of the river, Petka even shuddered in fear and unexpectedly recoiled from the window, but immediately returned to it: he was afraid to lose even the slightest detail of the journey. Petkina’s eyes have long ceased to look sleepy, and the wrinkles have disappeared, as if someone had passed a hot iron over this face, smoothing them out, and making her face shiny and white.
During the first two days of Petka's stay at the dacha, the wealth and power of new impressions pouring on him from above and below crushed his small and timid soul. He often returned to his mother, cuddled up to her, and when the master asked him if he was happy at the dacha, smiling, he answered: “Good!” And then he again went to the forest and quiet river and seemed to be asking something from them. (169 words)
(According to L. Andreev)

XVI
Kusaka rushed for a long time in the footsteps of the people who had left, ran to the station and - wet and dirty - returned back.5 Here she did something that no one, however, had seen: she went up onto the terrace and, rising on her hind legs and looking into the glass door, scratched claws. The rooms were empty, and no one answered Kusaka.
It began to rain frequently, and the darkness of the autumn night began to approach from everywhere. Quickly and silently he filled the empty dacha; he silently crawled out of the bushes and poured down with the rain from the inhospitable sky. On the terrace, from which the canvas had been removed, making it seem strangely empty, the light sadly illuminated the traces of dirty feet for a long time, but soon they too receded.
And when there was no longer any doubt that night had fallen, the dog howled pitifully. A ringing note, sharp as despair, burst into the monotonous sound of the rain, cutting through the darkness, and, fading, rushed over the naked fields.
And to those who heard him, it seemed that the hopeless dark night itself was groaning and striving for light, and they wanted to go into warmth, to a bright fire, to a loving heart. (159 words)
(According to L. Andreev)

Pass
Contrary to my companion's prediction, the weather cleared and promised us a calm morning; round dances of stars intertwined in wonderful patterns in the distant sky and faded one after another as the pale glow of the east spread across the dark purple arch, illuminating the steep echoes of mountains covered with virgin forests.
To the right and to the left dark, mysterious abysses loomed black, and the fogs, swirling and writhing like snakes, slid there along the wrinkles of the neighboring rocks, as if sensing and fearing the approach of day. It was quiet in the sky and on the ground, only occasionally a cool wind came from the east, lifting the horses' manes covered with frost.
We set off; with difficulty five thin nags dragged our carts along the winding road to Gud Mountain; we walked behind, putting stones under the wheels when the horses were exhausted; it seemed that the road led to the sky, because as far as the eye could see, it kept rising and finally disappeared into the cloud, which had been resting on the top of Gud Mountain since the evening, like a kite awaiting prey. The snow crunched underfoot; the air became so thin that it was painful to breathe; blood constantly rushed into my head. (176 words)
(According to M. Lermontov)

XVIII
In the morning, well-rested and full of fresh strength, I went out on duty. How nice it is when the smell of iodine fills the air and the ocean spreads around like green silk.
There was, however, an admixture of some strange smell in the fresh air, and I could not understand what it smelled like. Looking around the horizon, I noticed a dark stripe in the distance, as if from a running cloud. The sky still shone blue, and yet there, on the shiny surface of the sea, something was dark. Are we approaching another depth or is a storm approaching? Lost in conjecture, I suddenly see: dolphins are rushing towards us. In a clear formation, now emerging and then disappearing, they flashed along the left side, and it seemed to me that they were running, as if fleeing from something.
The navigator, who had been looking through binoculars for a long time, finally guessed: oil! It is clear what smell was mixed with the freshness of the ocean. We encountered oil stains more than once during our voyage, but this was the first time I had seen this: ahead was a continuous oil field. First, rainbow stains appeared - orange, blue-violet, then some silvery spots, which became more and more numerous. Soon we saw: it was a dead fish, floating with its belly up. (167 words)
(According to A. Sobolev)

XIX
A strong wind rustled at the tops of the islands, and along with the noise of the trees came the restless quacking of chilled ducks. For two hours already the raft was carried along the rapids, and neither the shores nor the sky were visible. Raising the collar of her leather jacket, Anya sat on the boxes and, shrinking from the cold, looked into the darkness, where the lights of the city had long disappeared.
Only the day before yesterday, after transferring from a train to a domestic plane, she arrived in this Siberian town, an ancient merchant town, with modern loudspeakers on the streets strewn with yellowed pine needles, and, one day receiving an appointment, not finding the courage to ask about the new place , was now sailing into a geological party with complete strangers. She was restless, as she had been during the hour and a half flight on the shaking plane, and the feeling of a strange dream that was about to end did not go away. However, everything was real: the yellow sparks of the lanterns melted into the impenetrable darkness, she was sitting on the boxes, and the gusts of wind at the end of the raft flared up the light of someone’s pipe; the oar creaked evenly; a human figure appeared as a black spot. (160 words)
(According to Yu. Bondarev)

XX
When they arrived at the place where it was necessary to fight, Lermontov, taking a pistol in his hand, solemnly repeated to Martynov that it had never occurred to him to offend him, even to upset him, that it was all just a joke and that if Martynov was offended by this, he was ready ask him for forgiveness... wherever he wants! “Shoot! Shoot! - was the answer of the frantic Martynov.
Lermontov should have started, he fired into the air, wanting to end this stupid quarrel amicably. Martynov thought not so generously. He was quite inhuman and vicious to approach his enemy himself and shoot him right in the heart. The blow was so strong and sure that death was as sudden as a gunshot. The unfortunate Lermontov gave up his ghost. It is surprising that the seconds allowed Martynov to commit this brutal act. He acted against all the rules of honor, nobility and justice. If he wanted the duel to take place, he should have told Lermontov: “Please load your pistol again. I advise you to take good aim at me, because I will try to kill you.” This is what a noble, brave officer would do. Martynov acted like a murderer. (166 words)
(A. Bulgakov, contemporary of Lermontov)

(A. Kuprin)

A person impoverishes his spiritual life if he arrogantly looks down on everything living and nonliving that is not endowed with his human mind. After all, the life of people, no matter how complex it may be, no matter how far our power over the world around us extends, is just a particle of the life of nature. After all, what we know about her today is so little compared to the mysterious, amazing and beautiful that we still have to learn about her. Maybe it is today, when it is important for a person to connect in his mind the latest data about elementary particles, about “white dwarfs” and “black holes” of the Universe with the snow-white daisies in forest glades, with luxurious, pulsating constellations overhead, somewhere in the middle endless steppe.4
We are still interested in the habits of animals and birds - strange overseas ones and ours, familiar from childhood. We are interested in many things: why such a dense animal as a bear is easy to train; whether the gray wolf is in danger of being included in the Red Book (where scientists list animals that are in danger of extinction from the face of the planet); how quickly rock crystal crystals grow and why the leaf of the common plantain is considered healing. (169 words)
(According to I. Akimushkin)

The professor lived in a room where books and paintings ruled and fought, like two opposite principles.
Books managed to take over the entire space of the room: giant bookcases lined the walls like book fortresses; the table, squeezed between the walls, was full of books; They took both the chairs and the small chess table, where they lay in neatly tied piles. They also controlled the air of the room, filling it with the special smell of paper and ancient bindings; books saturated the air, making it dusty and stuffy.
The paintings seemed to want to open up the room and dissolve the wall on which they hung into quiet, calm landscapes. They filled the space with the fresh air of the groves and soft sunlight filtered through the cloudy haze. And if the rustling of leaves and the whisper of grass did not penetrate the room, it was only because silence reigned in all the paintings. The artist depicted only her and the dreamy thoughtfulness of nature on his canvases.
In the evenings, the light of lanterns penetrated into the room from the street, and it seemed to be filled with loose gray matter. In those places where bookcases stood, the substance thickened to a completely black color. (158 words)
(According to A. Kazantsev)

At night, the fog thickened so much that nothing could be seen ten steps away, as if everything had been drowned in milk. The ship stopped near a large ice field, and everyone except the watchmen was sleeping peacefully.
In the morning the fog began to spread slightly. It gradually disappeared, carried south, and the ice fields rustled and also began to move. A free passage opened up ahead, and the ship sailed to the northeast, but slowly, so as not to collide with ice floes and to stop or turn aside in time. The sun, which had been shining since midday, although intermittently, by evening was hidden in a shroud of fog that had moved onto the ship.
This night was less calm than the previous one: a light wind blew, the ice fields moved, pressing against each other, cracking and breaking. The swirling fog made it impossible to distinguish the path, and we had to be on guard so as not to be trapped by ice floes.
The day also passed in great tension: in the morning the wind increased and the fog dispersed, but the ice began to move. Fortunately, the outskirts of the ice fields were badly broken, there were no icebergs, and only sometimes ridges of shallow ice, piled up in places on the fields, posed a serious danger. (167 words)
(According to V. Obruchev)

Historicisms are words and phrases that denote objects and phenomena of real life that once existed. For example: serf, smerd, cadet and others. Objects are a thing of the past; words are no longer used.
Changes in social life remove many words from the active vocabulary, but they are immediately remembered as soon as we look into the past. Therefore, works on history cannot do without historicisms: not everything in the past can be called in today’s words. So, the boyars as a class went down in history, and in this very history they can only be called by this word.
Naturally, historicisms also come to mind in fiction when it turns to history. Replacing them with modern words is simply illiterate. So, today we will not call a Sagittarius a soldier, a quitrent - a tax, a quarterly - a district policeman.
Historicisms, unlike archaisms, do not have synonyms. Archaisms always have quite modern-sounding synonyms: sail - sail, cheeks - cheeks. Archaisms, being synonyms of commonly used words, express, as is typical for synonyms, a variety of additional shades. They serve to create the flavor of the era, to characterize a character, and are used as a stylistic means in journalism. (165 words)
(According to P. Klubkov)

They gave me a marmot, fat and clumsy. In his homeland, in the steppes, he is called boibak, as he has the amazing ability to sleep for a long time.
It sleeps throughout the winter, but when the grasses turn green in the spring, it comes out of its burrow and feeds heavily on young vegetation. The heat comes, the grasses dry out - the bobak crawls into the hole again and sleeps until autumn. When the rains pass and the grass turns green, he wakes up a second time and stays awake until winter.
Our boibak was tame: he allowed us to pick him up, allowed him to stroke him and feed him tasty things: carrots, dried fruits, milk. One day my wife brought him food, but could not wake him up. She went up to the den that we had made for him in the hay barn and began patting the bobak on the skin, persuading him to wake up. Terribly angry, he jumped out of the den and, standing on his hind legs, fiercely gnashed his teeth. He was, apparently, terribly indignant, since he could not forgive her offense until the end of his life. Although his wife cajoled him in every possible way and gave him his favorite dishes, he always rushed at her, trying to grab her hand. (166 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

Our rook lived freely, walking around near the dacha. There was no end to his tricks. From the house he carried everything he could carry: thimbles, scissors, small tools, although he knew very well that it was impossible to steal.
He played pranks when no one was looking, and always croaked displeasedly and hurriedly flew away if he was caught in the act. Having flown to a safe distance, he observed from afar what impression his mischief made.
Hrach especially closely followed the work of the artist’s wife, who was fond of gardening and worked a lot in the garden. If plants were being grafted and the grafting site was wrapped with insulating tape, he unwound it and, satisfied, hurriedly left.
But, in spite of everything, it was impossible not to love him: he accompanied, flying from branch to branch, the owners if they went for a walk, flew over the boat if they were riding along the river. He never missed lunchtime, patiently waiting for someone to give him something tasty, and if he was full, he hid the tasty morsels in reserve: he put them in his shoes, under the closet or in other secluded places. Having eaten, the rook sat on someone's shoulder or head, while trying to carefully wipe its beak on the hair. (176 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

If you constantly work at your desk in your office, you create your own order to which you get used. You know where and what book is on your table and where your pen and pencil are. Reach out your hand and take what you need. This is your order and cannot be changed.
This is where the magpie comes in. Anyone who has ever kept a pet magpie in their home knows what it is...
The white-sided magpie is a very beautiful bird: its tail has a reddish and greenish metallic sheen, its head is jet black, and there are white spots on its sides. She has a cheerful personality, but she has two notable characteristics: she is curious and has an irresistible passion for accumulating wealth.
Every thing, especially something shiny, attracts her attention, and she tries to hide it somewhere away. Everything: a teaspoon, a silver ring, a button - she instantly grabs it and, despite the screams, flies away, diligently hiding the stolen item somewhere.
Our magpie liked to hide things out of sight. She apparently believed that a well-hidden item would last longer, and so from time to time something would go missing from the house. (168 words)
(According to A. Komarov)

Alenka put her clothes near the birch tree and went into the water, feeling the sandy bottom with her feet. When the water reached her waist, she sat down and, splashing her feet, swam to the opposite shore; in the middle, a weak current was felt, and Alenka, turning over on her back, lay for a long time, looking into the boundless sky, already filled with the sun.
Alenka swam for a long time, plunging her face into the water and looking at the bottom and the fish scurrying in the algae. There was a world of its own underwater. In the middle of the river, where there was already a thick strip of sun and it was light under the water, a quiet current was noticeable from the barely moving tops of water grasses, and when it approached the shaded bank, the light changed even under the water, and there seemed to be deep gaps filled with darkness and secrets. The shadow of Alenka’s body touched a dark crayfish moving its mustache, and it immediately disappeared somewhere.
After waiting for the water to calm down, she looked again and saw: among the scattered bush of algae, fish were scurrying about, unexpectedly rushing in all directions, but not leaving the confines of the spacious bush. Trying not to move, she followed the rhythmic dance of the fish, who did not want to move away from their bush. (166 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

Anyone who has not been to the Ussuri taiga cannot imagine what kind of thicket it is. More than once it happened that an animal was raised from its bed, and only the cracking of branches indicated in which direction it went. We have been walking through this taiga for two days.
The weather was not favorable to us: it was drizzling, there were puddles on the paths, and large, rare drops fell from the trees.
The pack train should have overtaken us long ago, and yet behind us, in the taiga, nothing was heard. Concerned about this, Dersu [the guide] and I went back. Suddenly stopping mid-sentence, he backed away and, bending down, began to examine something on the ground. I approached him and was stunned: fresh prints of a large cat’s paw stood out clearly on the path. However, there were no traces when we walked here. I remember this, and Dersu could not have passed them by. Now, when we returned to meet the detachment, they appeared and were heading in our direction. Obviously, the animal was on his heels: despite the puddles, the water had not yet had time to fill the tracks pressed by the tiger’s paw. The predator, undoubtedly, had just stood here and, when he heard our steps, hid somewhere in the windfall. (175 words)
(According to V. Arsenyev)

When rivers and lakes are covered with ice, the last flocks of birds fly away.
Autumn flights take place slowly. It seems that the birds are in no hurry to leave their native places, staying for a long time where there is a lot of food. In the spring, they fly non-stop, as if afraid of being late for the beginning of summer.
The flights of birds aroused surprise among ancient peoples. They did not know where and why the birds undertake such risky journeys. Much about bird flight still remains unclear to scientists.
The autumn migration seems justified: with the onset of winter, the birds cannot get food from under the snow. In winter, the north is hungry: insects are hiding, and the supply of wild berries is not unlimited. True, many birds live here without flying anywhere, and even in severe frosts they do not look unhappy. Apparently, some birds could adapt to our conditions.
It is believed that the homeland of our migratory birds is the north. It's hard to say what attracts them here. Perhaps an abundance of seasonal food, which allows the chicks to be fed throughout the long daylight hours. Probably, birds during the breeding season need a calm environment, and the small population of our northern tundras and forests, where there is no such turmoil as in Africa, creates these conditions for them. (176 words)
(From the magazine “Young Naturalist”)

Among the many wild herbs existing in nature, we remember nettle for the rest of our lives from the very first touch of its leaves, which burn the skin. We consider it a weed, the lush thickets of which have to be destroyed every year. Meanwhile, this plant has long served man: its long bast fibers were once used to make paper, weave ropes and fishing gear.
Nettle is a valuable medicine. In folk medicine, an infusion made from it is used, which improves the composition of the blood; You rinse your mouth with a decoction of the roots to strengthen your gums, and rub it on your head to prevent hair loss.
It is recommended to collect nettle for medicinal purposes during its flowering: during this period, the largest amount of biologically active substances accumulates in the plant. In the spring, when the body's reserves of vitamins are depleted, salads made from the tender tops of nettles are useful. They are first washed under running hot water, then rubbed with your fingers to get rid of the stinging needles.
Nettle can be harvested for the winter, for which it is dried in the shade and ground into powder, which is then added to food. Another useful tip: if you want to preserve meat or fish longer on a hot summer day, cover them tightly with nettle leaves. (172 words)
(Based on materials from the magazine)

The evening twilight flooded the taiga, and only in the east a bluish-hazy glow came from the trees. The deep silence, broken by the splashes of fish and the cries of some still awake bird fiddling nearby, seemed to only emphasize the irresistible onset of night peace. Almost the entire channel was covered with a thick layer of fog that came from nowhere, swirling in the coastal bushes. Ilyusha cautiously stepped into it and immediately drowned in it almost up to his armpits. Looking around, he saw: the fire on the high bank was trembling like a fickle golden bush, the trunks of the cedars in its light shimmered with reddish-dark gold. For the first time, aching excitement from the mysterious beauty of the night entered the young man’s soul, and he wanted to do something extraordinary: run, jump from a height, fly. Suddenly it seemed to him that he heard the quiet, insinuating rustle of fog rubbing at his feet and someone’s voice. His heart began to beat faster, and he suddenly wanted to be at the fire as soon as possible. Diving into the fog, he felt its damp coolness on his face, and, having reached the water and washed the pot, Ilyusha returned to the fire. (156 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

Winter, moving from the north, captured new spaces; Everything: roads and villages, forests and steppes were covered with deep snow.
On blizzard nights, when even the forest giants groan, crackle and groan, when the sky merges with the earth and underground bells frantically thump, all living things try to hide in the calm: in houses where the fire flickers merrily in the stove, in holes and inhabited nests, and even just under a spreading spruce, between its lower paws and the ground, still smelling of the leaves brought here in autumn. A thick layer of snow covers the spruce paws, but between them and the ground there is free space, where it is light on a sunny day. A ray of sunshine will flash, and a stone fruit berry on a tall stem that happens to be there will glow with red light.
Such a shelter is safe from any bad weather. A brown hare, or a black grouse, or a cunning fox, or other living creatures will huddle here and freeze, hide, and then doze off under the howl of a blizzard. At such a time, unknown forces begin to wander and live in a person, and bizarre, ghostly dreams bloom. And it is impossible to figure out where in them the understandable ends and what has no explanation begins and what comes in the rustling and light of the stars. (167 words)
(According to P. Proskurin)

To the right of the path lay a hummocky plain, dark green from constant dampness, and at its edge there were gray houses, like toy houses, abandoned; on a high green mountain, at the bottom of which a silver strip shone, there stood a church, white, also like a toy. When the train, with a ringing metallic screech that suddenly intensified, flew madly onto the bridge and seemed to hang in the air above the mirror-like surface of the river, Petka even shuddered in fear and unexpectedly recoiled from the window, but immediately returned to it: he was afraid to lose even the slightest detail of the journey. Petkina’s eyes have long ceased to look sleepy, and the wrinkles have disappeared, as if someone had passed a hot iron over this face, smoothing them out, and making her face shiny and white.
During the first two days of Petka's stay at the dacha, the wealth and power of new impressions pouring on him from above and below crushed his small and timid soul. He often returned to his mother, cuddled up to her, and when the master asked him if he was happy at the dacha, smiling, he answered: “Good!” And then he again went to the forest and quiet river and seemed to be asking something from them. (169 words)
(According to L. Andreev)

Kusaka rushed for a long time in the footsteps of the people who had left, ran to the station and - wet and dirty - returned back.5 Here she did something that no one, however, had seen: she went up onto the terrace and, rising on her hind legs and looking into the glass door, scratched claws. The rooms were empty, and no one answered Kusaka.
It began to rain frequently, and the darkness of the autumn night began to approach from everywhere. Quickly and silently he filled the empty dacha; he silently crawled out of the bushes and poured down with the rain from the inhospitable sky. On the terrace, from which the canvas had been removed, making it seem strangely empty, the light sadly illuminated the traces of dirty feet for a long time, but soon they too receded.
And when there was no longer any doubt that night had fallen, the dog howled pitifully. A ringing note, sharp as despair, burst into the monotonous sound of the rain, cutting through the darkness, and, fading, rushed over the naked fields.
And to those who heard him, it seemed that the hopeless dark night itself was groaning and striving for light, and they wanted to go into warmth, to a bright fire, to a loving heart. (159 words)
(According to L. Andreev)

In the morning, well-rested and full of fresh strength, I went out on duty. How nice it is when the smell of iodine fills the air and the ocean spreads around like green silk.
There was, however, an admixture of some strange smell in the fresh air, and I could not understand what it smelled like. Looking around the horizon, I noticed a dark stripe in the distance, as if from a running cloud. The sky still shone blue, and yet there, on the shiny surface of the sea, something was dark. Are we approaching another depth or is a storm approaching? Lost in conjecture, I suddenly see: dolphins are rushing towards us. In a clear formation, now emerging and then disappearing, they flashed along the left side, and it seemed to me that they were running, as if fleeing from something.
The navigator, who had been looking through binoculars for a long time, finally guessed: oil! It is clear what smell was mixed with the freshness of the ocean. We encountered oil stains more than once during our voyage, but this was the first time I had seen this: ahead was a continuous oil field. First, rainbow stains appeared - orange, blue-violet, then some silvery spots, which became more and more numerous. Soon we saw: it was a dead fish, floating with its belly up. (167 words)
(According to A. Sobolev)

A strong wind rustled at the tops of the islands, and along with the noise of the trees came the restless quacking of chilled ducks. For two hours already the raft was carried along the rapids, and neither the shores nor the sky were visible. Raising the collar of her leather jacket, Anya sat on the boxes and, shrinking from the cold, looked into the darkness, where the lights of the city had long disappeared.
Only the day before yesterday, after transferring from a train to a domestic plane, she arrived in this Siberian town, an ancient merchant town, with modern loudspeakers on the streets strewn with yellowed pine needles, and, one day receiving an appointment, not finding the courage to ask about the new place , was now sailing into a geological party with complete strangers. She was restless, as she had been during the hour and a half flight on the shaking plane, and the feeling of a strange dream that was about to end did not go away. However, everything was real: the yellow sparks of the lanterns melted into the impenetrable darkness, she was sitting on the boxes, and the gusts of wind at the end of the raft flared up the light of someone’s pipe; the oar creaked evenly; a human figure appeared as a black spot. (160 words)
(According to Yu. Bondarev)

When they arrived at the place where it was necessary to fight, Lermontov, taking a pistol in his hand, solemnly repeated to Martynov that it had never occurred to him to offend him, even to upset him, that it was all just a joke and that if Martynov was offended by this, he was ready ask him for forgiveness... wherever he wants! “Shoot! Shoot! - was the answer of the frantic Martynov.
Lermontov should have started, he fired into the air, wanting to end this stupid quarrel amicably. Martynov thought not so generously. He was quite inhuman and vicious to approach his enemy himself and shoot him right in the heart. The blow was so strong and sure that death was as sudden as a gunshot. The unfortunate Lermontov gave up his ghost. It is surprising that the seconds allowed Martynov to commit this brutal act. He acted against all the rules of honor, nobility and justice. If he wanted the duel to take place, he should have told Lermontov: “Please load your pistol again. I advise you to take good aim at me, because I will try to kill you.” This is what a noble, brave officer would do. Martynov acted like a murderer. (166 words)
(A. Bulgakov, contemporary of Lermontov)

Collection of dictations.

Preface

This collection of dictations is intended for 9th grade Russian language teachers in schools with Russian as the language of instruction and is compiled in accordance with the Russian language program.

Texts for dictations and assignments for them are given in accordance with the chronology of presentation of program topics in the school textbook and are intended to develop and activate literate writing skills in schoolchildren. Materials for dictations cover the following main program topics: “Complex sentence”, “Complex sentence”, “Complex sentence”, “Unionless sentence”, “Complex sentences with various types of connection”.

The structure of the topics does not imply the presentation of material according to a single list of types of dictations and a single quantitative indicator. The set of dictations and their total number on a specific educational topic are dictated by the nature and features of this program material, the degree of its complexity and volume.

Control dictations are texts of a generalizing nature. The section of test texts on the relevant program topic is not limited to one text: the teacher has the opportunity to choose to implement an individual approach to students.

The texts for dictations are taken from works of art of Russian and Kazakh literature, some from popular science publications, newspapers and magazines.

The topics of the texts are varied. It has cognitive, educational and educational significance.

Simple sentences

Bura is a male camel in Kazakh. The people have preserved a poetic legend about a prophetic camel that lived in the vicinity of Kokshetau. In normal times of peace, a handsome Bura grazed near Kokshetau - the Blue Mountain, drinking cool water from a forest lake. But the honeyed herbs did not dull his senses for a moment - the prophetic camel was the first to warn the approaching people's misfortune, and then he took off, like a tulpar, to the top of Kokshetau and with a mighty roar warned people about the impending danger.

Besides him, only the powerful Khan Ablai climbed to the impregnable peak in order to see for himself the borders of his possessions in the blue haze.

One day, Ablai’s son, the vain Kasimkhan, shot a camel in the heart with a bow. The mortally wounded Bura crawled to the living water of his beloved lake, and after death he became stone. To this day, not far from Yasnaya Polyana Bay you can see a granite rock resembling the outline of a Bactrian camel... (132 words)

(V. Mikhailov.)

Grammar tasks:

1. Write down ten phrases and determine the type of syntactic connection in them.

2. Find isolated and non-isolated agreed upon definitions in the text. State what they refer to.

The well-fed black horses bolted. Falling back, the coachman pulled on the reins with all his might. But the light steam-cart rolled along the edge of a steep ravine hanging over the Irtysh so quickly that it seemed like it was about to fall into the water. But the river was still far away. A wide clearing was brightening ahead. The coachman gently brought the horses to a calm trot and directed them along a level road along the high bank.

The river breathed with evening coolness, especially pleasant after the June daytime heat. Exhausted by the heat, the silent steppe rested. Sparkling with stars, the spacious Irtysh froze in a lazy slumber.

Soon the travelers saw the dense black forest of Polkvnichy Island - with an impenetrable wall it screened the lights of Semipalatinsk from them. But the distant barking of a dog could already be clearly heard. It grew louder and louder, and soon it was possible to distinguish the thick, hoarse bass of a large chain dog from the high-pitched squeal of a small mongrel.

Finally, the first friendly lights of the steppe city flashed. Having driven along a street of adobe houses with flat roofs, the coachman stopped his horse at the shabby gate of a low covered courtyard, quickly jumped off the box and pounded his whip on the blind gate. The rider, a tall, heavy man, got out of the cart.

A woman came out when she knocked. Through the narrow gap of the gate, she tried to make out the newcomers. But in the darkness of the night it was difficult to make out anything. (189 words)

(M. Auezov.)

Grammar tasks:

1. Indicate the grammatical basis of the sentences.

2. Indicate sentences with separate participial and adverbial phrases. Underline them as parts of the sentence.

Compound Sentences

“The Tale of Igor’s Campaign” fit into just a few pages of an ancient manuscript, but for two centuries the people of Rus', tormented by princely strife and attacks by nomads, remembered it and quoted wise patriotic lines by heart.

By the time of Igor’s campaign, who secretly led his squads to the Don and carelessly lost his army and the honor of a commander, Rus' had broken up into several independent principalities. The feuds of the princes turned into bloody wars, and the nomadic tribes of the Polovtsians constantly raided Russian lands. They cut the ancient route “from the Varangians to the Greeks” and disrupted the economic ties of Rus' with the southern and eastern lands. Their raids were accompanied by the destruction of cities and the capture of residents, but the princes, who had lost their sense of patriotism, were unable, due to continuous rivalry, to deliver a decisive blow to the Polovtsians.

Chroniclers, as a rule, only recorded events, and only a few of them decided to evaluate individual actions of the princes. But none of the ancient Russian scribes rose, like the author of the Lay, to the heights of wise historical generalizations. The poem, however, was gradually forgotten, and only at the end of the 18th century, after the discovery of the only surviving copy, did it resound with renewed vigor. (166 words)

(B. Rybakov.)

Grammar tasks:

1. Find complex sentences with adversative conjunctions in the text and analyze them syntactically.

2. Indicate spelling patterns in words: tormented, carelessly, uniquely.

Raspberry Mountains.

Raspberry Mountain offers a one-of-a-kind view. The mountain lakes alone can only be counted up to a hundred, and this gives the picture a very special character, as if some underground sea were covered by mountains. These lakes go far into the blessed Bashkir steppe. They are distinguished by their depth, beautifully broken coastline, mass of islands, clear water and, finally, the fact that they are all connected by channels, making up one huge reservoir from which rivers going into the steppe take water.

In general, the chain of mountain lakes constitutes the main beauty of the eastern slope of the Urals, being at the same time an inexhaustible supply of manpower. (176 words)

Grammar tasks:

1. Find a complex sentence, parse it syntactically, and make a diagram.

2. Identify morphemes in words: tell, torn, underground.

The taiga, seeing the vastness of Lake Baikal, rolls towards it along the hills in tiers of greenery and freezes at the very water. Having felt the water with their roots, the larches, birches and pines decided not to swim, they stopped, but the taiga pressed in from behind and could not stop. That is why giant fallen trees lie on the shore, blocking the road to the lake.

It's amazing to see April and June here at once. The smells of summer are behind me. And on Baikal it’s exactly like the Volga in flood. The same vast expanse of water, the same ice floes in herds.

The water of Lake Baikal, clear as a tear, does not tolerate garbage, and in stormy weather it throws wreckage of boats and snags onto the shore. Not a speck on the water!

The distant blue hills merge with the sunset stripes, and they are slowly obscured by the evening haze. (165 words)

(V. Peskov.)

Grammar tasks:

1. Find complex sentences with connecting conjunctions. Make diagrams.

2. Do a morphemic analysis of the word like spring.

...As far as the eye could see, ranks of Persian infantry were marching to the right and left. The first three ranks consisted of shield bearers and spearmen. They moved tightly, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield - a living fortress bristling with long spears. Behind them are ranks of archers, and then sling throwers with light spears.

Behind the infantry, light Persian cavalry pranced on magnificent horses bred in sandy Arabia.

To the left, in the distance, the famous Lydian cavalry coiled like a boa constrictor - riders on horses covered with armor blankets, war chariots with sickle-axes on the side sides rumbled.

To the right and left of the hill where Cyrus stood, tens of thousands of “immortals” stretched out - the flower of the Persian army.

Cyrus turned his gaze to the enemy camp. The camp of the queen of the Massagetae was located on the flat top of a mountain, the foot of which was surrounded by a wide ditch, and the slopes were studded with sharpened stakes. The camp itself was ringed with tightly packed carts. In the center stood a spacious green tent, and next to it a yurt covered with snow-white felt. Tomiris, as a true nomad, preferred to live in a yurt, and the tent served as the royal residence. The rest of the camp was allocated for yurts, tents, huts for military leaders and warriors. Many were housed in tents that served as the fortress wall of the camp. (176 words)

(B. Zhandarbekov)

Grammar tasks:

1. Find complex sentences in the text and analyze them for syntax and punctuation.

2. Sort out the words according to their composition: shield-bearers, girded, preferred.

Complex sentences

At eighteen it is impossible to be settled, and one day you will suddenly feel an irresistible desire to come into contact with the unknown, the unknown.
How wonderful it is in the evening to climb up the trembling ship's ladder onto the festively lit deck and join the noisy crowd of passengers who say goodbye to the land and go to sea, to some new, amazing, incomparable life.

When the steamer began to hum with a trumpet voice, and the deck began to tremble from the work of the machines hidden in the hold, the dark water boiled at the sides, with orange oil stains, with light reflections, the shore suddenly shuddered and, slowly turning around, began to move away with a dark crowd of mourners on the pier. The port lights floated, misty, running further and further into the continent, turning yellow there, in the distance, and the cheerful stars began to approach, some seemed to hang right on the yards, and they could be picked off like a butterfly by hand.

And suddenly there was a breath of freedom, salty coolness, and the Black Sea looked straight into your eyes.

(A. Chekhov.)

Grammar task:

Perform a syntactic analysis of one of the complex sentences. Make a diagram.

On the third day, the ascent along the snow plain became more noticeable, and more cracks appeared, which slowed down the movement. I had to walk carefully, feeling the snow, so as not to fall through the thin layer of it hiding the cracks.

In the north, the clouds dispersed, driven away by the wind, and between their gray wisps mountains appeared and disappeared, stretching in a long chain across the entire horizon. Rocky spurs blackened against their snow-white background. The never-setting sun rolled over the very crest of the ridge, shining dimly through the veil of clouds and turning them reddish. The snow plain in the foreground was covered with spots and stripes, reflected from the sky, of bluish and pink color. The overall picture of the snowy desert and the mysterious ridge, which first appeared before the eyes of travelers, was amazing.

The ascent to this ridge lasted for three days due to strong ice cracks. The ice stream, that is, the glacier that descended along the valley of the southern slope of the ridge, was up to a kilometer wide and bordered on both sides by steep dark slopes,

covered with snow. (148 words)

(V. Obruchev)

Grammar tasks:

1. Find complex sentences with attributive clauses. Perform parsing. Make diagrams.

Creaky floorboards

The house has dried out from old age. He stood in a clearing in a pine forest, and the pine trees radiated heat all summer.

Tchaikovsky liked this wooden house. The rooms smelled faintly of turpentine and white carnations, which bloomed in abundance in front of the porch. Disheveled and dried out, they resembled shreds of fluff stuck to the stems.

The only thing that irritated the composer was the creaky floorboards. To get from the door to the piano, you had to step over five rickety floorboards. From the outside it must have looked funny when the elderly composer made his way to the piano, peering at the floorboards with narrowed eyes.

Sometimes at night, waking up, Tchaikovsky heard one or the other floorboard crackling and singing. It was reminiscent of an orchestra before an overture, when the orchestra members were tuning their instruments. Now in the attic, now in a small hall, now in the glassed-in hallway, someone was touching the strings. Tchaikovsky caught the melody in his sleep, but when he woke up in the morning, he forgot it. He strained his memory and sighed. What a pity that the night tinkling of a wooden house cannot be played now! Play a simple song of a parched tree, window panes with fallen putty, the wind knocking a branch on the roof.

But someday he will embody all this in his music. (174 words)

(K. Paustovsky)

Grammar tasks:

1. Sort out the words according to their composition: lose, made his way, knocked.

2. Underline the subordinate clause in the IPP in the first three paragraphs.

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating her secret life and singing its beauty, then, first of all, this gratitude would fall to the lot of the writer Prishvin.

In the guards’ guardhouses, in the fog-shrouded river floodplains, under the clouds and stars of the Russian field sky, they simply called him “Mikhalych.” And, obviously, they were upset when this amazing man, memorable at first glance, disappeared into the cities, where only swallows, nesting under iron roofs, reminded him of the vastness of his “crane homeland.”

Prishvin's life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling. This way of life contains the greatest common sense, because a person who lives in complete harmony with his inner world is always a creator, an enricher and an artist.

Prishvin's books, in his own words, are “the endless joy of constant discoveries.” He could write a whole poem about every leaf flying from a tree, revealing something interesting and significant in every little thing.

We are grateful to Prishvin, who revealed to us the beauty of our land, sparkling under his pen among the fogs and smoldering sunsets . (162 words)

(K. G. Paustovsky)

Grammar tasks:

1. Indicate the meanings of subordinate clauses, the means of connecting them with the main thing in a complex sentence: the first sentence (option 1), the second sentence (option 2). Make a diagram. 2. Highlight the grammatical basics: in the first sentence of the third paragraph (option 1); in the first sentence of the fourth paragraph (option 2). Indicate how the main terms are expressed.

Every year, one of the most famous flower gardens in the world, located in Denmark, hosts an exhibition of tulips. The homeland of tulips is Türkiye, and not Holland, as many people think.

The tulip, whose cup resembles a turban, originally grew as a wild flower, then for centuries was used in Turkish art as a decorative element. In the capital of the Ottoman Empire, huge gardens planted with tulips were created.

The first bulbs of the precious flower were brought to Europe by travelers and diplomats. When a tulip arrived on the continent, people fell passionately in love with it and became a cult. It reached its peak of fame in the seventeenth century, when one flower bulb was equal to the cost of a painting or sculpture by a famous master. The tulip was considered one of the wonders of nature, which should be represented in the garden of every self-respecting collector.

The Dutch began to grow it with such diligence that, in a sense, they appropriated this flower for themselves. The search for the rarest tones and shades, including the mythical black (blue and black tulips do not exist in nature), incredible experiments to obtain hybrid varieties - this is only part of the legendary story, the hero of which is this delicate flower. (163 words)

(Based on materials from the magazine)

Grammar tasks:

1. Indicate the meanings of subordinate clauses, the means of connecting them with the main thing in a complex sentence: the first sentence (option 1), the seventh sentence (option 2). Make a diagram. 2. Highlight the grammatical basics: in the third sentence of the third paragraph (option 1); in the first sentence of the fourth paragraph (option 2). Indicate how the main terms are expressed.

...It was the own work of the young poet Khisameddin, in which he, in an ancient fairy-tale manner, praised the venerable ancestors of the glorious Ilanchik.

Khisameddin was a native of Syganak, which is south of Otrar, at the very mouth of the Inzhu. There, on the streets gray with dust, where he selflessly chased mangy dogs and where boring mullahs from madrasahs more than once dragged him by the ears, the future poet spent his childhood. From an early age he bowed to the sages. Having barely learned Arabic, he began to compose poems, scratching a quill pen on paper. Soon the name of the young poet became popular. He is now a little over one and a half mushel, his bones are not yet strong, and his body is tender and smooth, like a young, milky calf. The forehead is high, the nose is convex with a small hump, the face is narrow and oblong. He always sits in a motionless position, stooping and slightly hanging his head. Very polite, rarely looks his interlocutor in the eyes. And now he thoughtfully stared at his knee, his entire appearance reminiscent of a young, well-fed hawk, blissfully basking in the rays of the sun on a thorny chingil bush . (163 words)

(D. Doszhan)

Grammar task:

Write down complex sentences, determine the type of subordinate clauses. Make diagrams.

Non-union proposals

folk song

The Kazakh people are rich in songs. These songs capture the centuries-old history of the people, their hopes, grief and joy, their thoughts and dreams. The song sounded everywhere: in the endless Kazakh steppe, at noisy fairs and bazaars, in smoky yurts. In the wild and in prison. The life of a nomad was unthinkable without song. The vociferous zhigit opened the door with a ringing, jubilant song, with a song they greeted the birth of a child, with a song they saw off people on their last journey. When giving a girl in marriage, they sang the wedding “Zhar-Zhar”; on the days of Muslim festivals, “Zharapazan” was heard behind every yurt.

The attitude of the Kazakh people to the song is expressed in the sayings: “The song is the decoration of the horseman,” “If you are smart, listen to the song.” The great Abai spoke well about the meaning of the song in the life of the Kazakhs:

The song opened the door to the world for you.

The song accompanied the ashes to the ground, mourning.

Singers, akyns-improvisers, musicians enjoyed honor and respect: they were welcome guests, favorites of the people.

Kazakh folk song has long attracted the attention of Russian research scientists. They spoke with constant warmth and admiration about the song culture of the Kazakh people. At the beginning of the century, they recorded individual Kazakh songs on notes. (167 words.)

(L. Mailybaeva.)

Grammar task:

Write out a complex non-union sentence. Emphasize the grammatical basics of the sentences. Make a diagram.

Kusaka rushed for a long time in the footsteps of the people who had left, ran to the station and - wet and dirty - returned back. Here she did something that no one, however, saw: she went up onto the terrace and, rising on her hind legs and looking into the glass door, scratched with her claws. The rooms were empty, and no one answered Kusaka.

It began to rain frequently, and the darkness of the autumn night began to approach from everywhere. Quickly and silently he filled the empty dacha; he silently crawled out of the bushes and poured down with the rain from the inhospitable sky. On the terrace, from which the canvas had been removed, making it seem strangely empty, the light sadly illuminated the traces of dirty feet for a long time, but soon he too gave in.

And, when there was no longer any doubt that night had fallen, the dog howled pitifully. A ringing note, sharp as despair, burst into the monotonous sound of rain, cutting through the darkness, and, fading, rushed over the naked fields.

And to those who heard him, it seemed that the hopeless dark night itself was groaning and striving for light, and they wanted to go into warmth, to a bright fire, to a loving heart. (160 words.)

(L. Andreev.)

Grammar task:

I have a treasured place in the Moscow region - a forest clearing far from the roads.
It is especially good here in early autumn. Thrushes fly to the rowan trees to feed, hedgehogs rustle in the dry blackberry leaves, and most importantly, moose come here in the fall. It took me a while to figure out why in the evening I almost always see two or three moose here. One day everything became clear: they came to munch on apples. The clearing ends in an abandoned garden filled with red weeds. It is unknown who and when forgot the planted garden. The trees in it have degenerated, and only branches growing from the roots bear fruit. It seems that there were no hunters for unbearably sour apples in the forest, but one day, sitting down at the edge of the garden, I heard apples crunching on someone’s teeth. I stood up and saw: one elk, lifting his head, grabbed apples with his soft lip, the other was collecting apples lying on the ground.
Our memory stores such pictures as a medicine in case of mental fatigue. How many times after a hard day did I come to my senses and, calmed down, fall asleep, I just had to close my eyes and remember the rowan trees with blackbirds scurrying around in them, the smell of mushrooms and two moose chewing sour apples... (165 words)

(V. Peskov)

Grammar task:

1. Write out a complex non-union sentence. Determine the semantic relationships between sentences. Perform parsing.

One morning I went out onto the porch and froze in amazement: yesterday’s black soil had turned golden overnight. A pale yellow light rose from the ground covered with leaves.
Indian summer has begun. The days seemed to become brighter and cleaner. The air, grass, dry branches - everything was covered with a tenacious web that stretched from west to east (as the autumn winds blow), and every morning thousands of little spiders, like fairy-tale weavers, covered the entire earth with their yarn.

The icy sky at night shone with constellations: Sirius sparkled in the deep water of the lakes, like a blue diamond; Saturn rose above the silence of the pine forests in the autumn twilight; Jupiter was setting in the meadows beyond the Oka River, where the grass was already withering and the hayfields, abandoned and unnecessary in the fall, were turning black. Sometimes at midnight the timid rain whispered in the leafy garden. I went out onto the threshold, listening to the sleepy muttering of the rain, and felt sorry for my dear friends who remained in Moscow, because they could not enjoy this picture.
At night I dreamed of green water covered with linden and birch leaves. Suddenly the leaves came to life, turning into golden flat fish, and scattered across the water with splashes and splashes, frightened by the reflection of the pale sun. (172 words)

(K. Paustovsky)

Grammar tasks:

1. Write out complex non-union sentences. Determine their meaning. Do the parsing.

2. Do a word-formation analysis of the word haymaking.

Complex sentences with different types of connections

It is always different: at dawn, under the quilted fog, the sounds are quieter, softer, more meek than on a sunny hot day, when the water, diluted with the heavenly blue, becomes azure, more transparent, and seems more resonant. The wind sweeps over the forest - the stream calms down and hides. And when the water surface is touched by trickles of rain, the music of the stream cannot be described, it is so beautiful in the autumn weather. When the trees drop golden leaves onto the water, the murmur can be heard both of the sad melodies of parting with summer, and of cheerful chants about the magical need for winter rest before the riot of the coming spring.

The stream gurgles to the delight of everyone. And maybe that’s why he has such a beautiful name – Zhurcheyok. (136 words.)

(P. Dudochkin.)

Grammar tasks:

1. Identify morphemes in words: hear, unique, fade away.

2. Outline a complex sentence "When trees fall..."

3. Highlight the grammatical basics in 1 sentence.

Magic colors.

How can you make simple colors become magical and so that they make people happy and not bring them misfortune? The kind boy took out a brush and began to paint. He painted on the second, and on the third, and on the fourth day. He painted until he ran out of paints, of which he had a lot. Then he asked for new ones.

Many, many years have passed. The boy did not notice how he became an artist. He painted everything that was around, and what no one had ever seen: airplanes that looked like huge arrows, and ships that looked like airplanes, air bridges and palaces made of glass.

Everyone admired his drawings. The paintings were so good that people wanted to revive them,

Glass palaces, air bridges, and winged ships appeared. When what was drawn on paper began to come to life, everyone saw how beautiful the world was. This happens to everything touched by the hands of the greatest of the greatest wizards - the hands of a hardworking, persistent person. . (150 words)

(E. Permyak)

Grammar tasks:

1. Make a diagram of the 1st sentence, indicate the type of connection.

2. Parse the eighth sentence.

Andrey Rublev

For long hours, Andrei is left alone with his teacher Daniil Cherny, who reveals the secrets of painting to the young artist.

Daniel, apparently, was a painter of the first magnitude. However, his greatest merit is that he not only saw Rublev’s talent, but also nurtured in him independent creative thought and manner, and did not suppress him with his authority, understanding that everyone must follow their own path. To do this means to show a truly great mind, amazing respect for the individual, and an inexhaustible love for life. After all, it is not easy for a master to come to terms with the fact that his own student starts arguing with you, and not only not to make an attempt to cut him off, but to encourage him in every possible way to continue this dispute.

Rublev was lucky that such a sincere and experienced senior comrade was next to him from the very first steps. Andrei appreciated this and carefully carried his gratitude and respect for his teacher throughout his life.

From that distant time, a miniature has been preserved in which Rublev is depicted with his head held high. The unknown author saw in Rublev not pride, which in Rus' was considered the greatest sin, but dignity worthy of respect . (167 words)

(V. Pribytkov)

Grammar task:

The Raevsky family experienced happy moments in their lives: the famous General Raevsky, a happy father and charming interlocutor, was full of strength and energy; sons, whose names thundered throughout Russia, were preparing for a great future; lovely, well-educated and intelligent daughters brought an atmosphere of romantic femininity. What awaited the family in the future: bitterness from the failed life of the family's darling - the eldest son Alexander, the heroic and tragic fate of Maria, the death of the general himself, who until the last minute did not let go of the portrait of his daughter, who left for Siberia after her Decembrist husband - all this did not even remotely occur to the participants of this joyful journey. Here the atmosphere of mutual love prevailed, which Pushkin, in his own words, never enjoyed and which he so craved. Pushkin was accepted into this circle as a member of the family, as one of their own. The girls' daughters were younger than him and were also eager to feel like adults, and the general himself had a lot of that childish simplicity that happens in truly smart people. The world of the Raevskys attracted Pushkin with love and happiness.

The poet's stay in the Raevsky family, despite its brevity (only a few weeks), played a huge role in the life and poetry of Pushkin. (185 words)

(Yu. Lotman)

Grammar task:

1. Write down two complex sentences with different types of connections. Determine the leading connection in multi-component sentences. Make diagrams.

6th grade. 1 quarter.

In the morning.
In the morning there was fog in the lowlands. But then the sun appears from behind the horizon, and its rays eat up the gray veil of fog.
The sun rises higher and scatters its rays across the vast fields of yellow wheat and the tops of the distant forest.
A kilometer away from the forest you notice the surface of the lake glistening in the sun. A winding river flows into it. We are heading towards her.
Dense raspberry bushes grow on the shore. You climb into it and eat the fragrant berries with pleasure.
The other bank of the river is covered with reeds. A light breeze sways it slightly. Dragonflies fly from stem to stem. A butterfly settled on a lily. Algae stirs in the slow flow of the river. You lie down on your back and look at the sky. In its endless heights the larks are pouring. You listen to their song and freeze with delight.

Additional tasks.
1. Parse the 1st sentence of the 6th paragraph.
2. Disassemble the words according to their composition: river, flows.

6th grade. 2nd quarter.

The first snow falls in late autumn. It changes everything around. Fluffy snowflakes gently touch the ground, and she dresses in a dazzling outfit. The paths and roofs of houses turned white. Multi-colored sparks of frost light up and shine. Lead water darkens among the whitish thickets of reeds.
How beautiful is the birch grove! The branches are covered with flakes, but the snowflakes fall off at any touch. In the spruce forest, the snow covered the trees so much that you couldn’t recognize them. The Christmas tree becomes like a whimsical snow woman. On the smooth surface, traces of forest animals can be seen.
On pre-winter days, one does not sit at home. Travelers of all ages take to the walking routes. Everyone wants to feel the freshness of the first frost and play snowballs.
“Hello, winter!” people say joyfully.

Additional tasks.
1. Highlight the grammatical bases of the sentences in the first paragraph.
2. Morphological analysis of nouns from 3 sentences 1 paragraph.

6th grade. 3rd quarter.

One summer night I was sitting in my room at my desk. The night was quiet, only some distant light sounds could be heard from the river. In the complete silence of the night, some quiet voices were suddenly heard under the floor. They were like the whispers of chicks who had awakened in the nest. But what kind of chicks could there be underground? For a long time I could not understand who was talking under my floor. Then I realized that these were hedgehogs.
Hedgehogs are quiet and gentle animals. Of course, they don't know how to talk. It was I who heard them fussing. They do not harm anyone and are not afraid of anyone. They sleep during the day and go hunting at night. They destroy harmful insects and fight rats and mice. For the winter, hedgehogs go to sleep. Their small dens are covered with snowdrifts, and they sleep peacefully all winter.

Additional tasks.
1. Syntactic analysis of the sentence “Their little dens...”
2. Morphological analysis of pronouns from the sentence “Their little dens...”.

6th grade. 4th quarter.

History of Kashtanka.

It was winter. The snow fell in fluffy flakes, pleasantly touching the face.
The red dog pressed against the entrance door, squealed helplessly and trembled from the cold. She wanted to warm herself up, but no one was in a hurry to help her.
Suddenly someone pushed the door. The dog jumped up and saw a short man in a leather coat. She trustingly touched his hand. He brushed the snow off her back and beckoned her to follow him.
At home, he gave her a tin plate and saucer, and the dog remained to live with him.
The stranger turned out to be the famous artist Durov. The story of Kashtanka is described in the famous story by Chekhov. But not everyone knows that the carpenter sued Durov to return the dog. Durov offered the owner a lot of money, and the carpenter began to hesitate. The judge felt that the carpenter was not attached to the dog.
The chestnut remained with the artist.

Additional tasks.
1. Parse the sentence “The dog jumped up and saw...”.
2. Phonetic analysis of the word door.

7th grade. 2nd quarter.

The fog completely cleared, the air became clearer and somewhat softer. In the north, from behind the crest of hills covered with a black mass of forests, faintly shimmering, some whitish clouds rose and quickly ran across the sky. It seemed as if someone was quietly sighing in the middle of the deep cold night, and clouds of steam flying out of the giant chest silently swept across the sky from the edge and then quietly faded away into the deep blue. It was the faint northern lights playing.
Succumbing to some kind of sad charm, I stood on the roof, thoughtfully watching the faint tints of the flash. The night unfolded in all its cold and dreary glory. The stars were blinking in the sky, below the snow stretched into the distance like an even veil, the taiga crested black, the distant mountains turned blue. And from all this silent, cold picture, a condescending sadness breathed into the soul. (V. Korolenko).

Additional tasks.
Option 1. 1) Write out a sentence with a separate participial phrase, graphically justify the punctuation marks. 2) Write out all the adverbs from the first paragraph, analyze one adverb morphologically.
Option 2. 1) Write out a sentence with an adverbial phrase, graphically justify the punctuation marks. 2) Write out all the adverbs from the second paragraph, analyze one morphologically.

7th grade. 3rd quarter.

Sudden whirlwind.

Before evening, the sky suddenly began to clear quickly. The clouds, which had hitherto lay motionless in an even veil, broke apart. The clouds had a disheveled appearance, moved randomly, towards each other, and after that such a squall came, the hundred-year-old trees swayed like weak reeds. Dry grass, leaves torn from trees, and small branches swirled in the air. Some bird tried to fight the raging elements, but soon lost its strength. She was carried down somewhere, and she fell rather than sank to the ground. Suddenly one cedar bent over and began to slowly fall. With a terrible roar, he fell to the ground, dragging the neighboring young animals with him. The whirlwind raged for an hour and then fell as unexpectedly as it began. The forest remained quiet.

Additional tasks.
1. Syntactic analysis of the sentence “With a terrible roar...”.
2. Write out a sentence with a participial phrase.

7th grade. 4th quarter.

Black fox.

A rare guest unexpectedly appeared in our forests in winter - a black fox. No one's fur is valued as dearly as the fur of this extraordinary animal. The hunters did not shoot either squirrels or even sables and began to hunt for this one fox.
But the fox was so cunning that she did not let anyone get close to her and did not fall into any trap. No matter how hard all the hunters tried to catch her, they failed.
And the black fox did this: the hunter follows her, but she does not let him near, gives him a circle, follows his trail and follows him through the forest. So they couldn't catch her. But one young trapper understood this trick of hers. Without telling anyone, he placed traps along the circular path and covered them with snow so that they could not be seen from anywhere. He hid the crossbows in the bushes and ran the strings that lowered the arrows across the path.
He walked, and the black fox did not lag behind him. The trapper circled and circled and became so dizzy that he didn’t even remember about one of his ropes, and accidentally touched it with his foot. The arrow hit him under the knee. He did not hunt anymore this winter. And the black fox disappeared.

Additional tasks.
1. Sort out the words according to their composition: hunt, fox, steps over.
2. Emphasize grammar points in sentences.
3 paragraphs.

8th grade. 1 quarter.

Rowan is the beauty of our northern forests. Flaming with clusters of berries in the golden palette of the autumn forest, it evokes the quiet sadness of parting with the fine times of Indian summer. There is a good belief among the people: rowan brings happiness. Is this why there is a rowan tree in front of the windows of Russian houses? She is sung in the most heartfelt songs.
In our country there are different types of mountain ash, and it lives in all zones.
Especially amazing is the domestic rowan, which grows in the Crimea. Its leaves are similar to those of an ordinary rowan tree, while the fruits in shape and size are quite comparable to the fruits of a wild pear or apple tree. Ripening in October, they acquire a green color and then turn brown. In terms of sugar content, they are close to the fruits of wild grapes. From the fruits of this rowan you can cook jam, make kvass and marshmallows. They are also used as a medicine.

Additional tasks.
1. Sort out the words according to their composition: clusters, evokes, amazing.
2. Parse the sentence: “Ripening in October...”.

8th grade. 2nd quarter.

What a Russian, what a cute birch tree! Not a single tree contains so many national concepts or gives rise to so many images and comparisons. Observing in the forest, I realized that the birch is truly a peasant tree; it has everything: a woman’s cotton scarf, a whitewashed hut, a Russian stove, a rug, a linen shirt, a pockmarked chicken, and even milk, which is drunk all over the world. Peering into the birch forest, at its gnarled trunks, you remember the calloused, laboring peasant hands, dexterously doing any hard work. And the young birch trees, thin, straight, as if on tiptoe, rising to the blue spring dome of the sky, reminiscent of a girl’s beauty, slender and stately, with light brown braids, bright-eyed, delight the eye and I remember many, many Russian names, just as bright and pure...
You look at a birch tree, and iridescent village songs, the sounds of an accordion, youth, childhood flash through your memory - and in your soul you lovingly embrace this tree as the closest and dearest to you.
(According to N. Zhukov).

Additional tasks.
1. Make a phonetic analysis of the word: tree.
2. Highlight the grammatical bases in the sentences of the entire text.

8th grade. 3rd quarter.
True friend.

Each time, Lyudmila Vasilievna, the captain’s wife, met the ship at the pier. Once upon a time, her husband, the captain of the ship Sibirin, brought her a puppy, Ruslan. The puppy turned into a magnificent strong dog, selflessly devoted to his owner. The war began, and the ship did not return from its next voyage. Lyudmila Vasilyevna, left completely alone, somehow weakened, turned into an old woman, lonely and helpless. Ruslan, a huge dog who amazed with his intelligence, went to the market himself and carried notes to neighbors. The captain's wife, Ruslan's adored mistress, had nothing left: no food, no things, no money. The neighbors, good people, brought her some food, but the dog was starving. One day Ruslan did not return home. He ran to the port and looked at the sailors working on loading for a long time, then he grabbed the package and carried it into the hold, then a second, a third. The sailors who stopped working watched this. Ruslan worked all day and received a pot of thick borscht with sugar seeds. A faithful friend, Ruslan slowly, trying not to spill, carried the pot home and placed it in front of the hostess, who was dozing in a chair. The sailors who went after the dog told her everything. Every day Ruslan ran to the port, and the sailors brought two pots to the house of the old woman, the captain’s widow: one for her, the other for Ruslan.

Additional tasks.
1. Identify the morphemes in the words: helpless, brought, came running.
2. Parse the sentence “He ran to the port...”

8th grade. 4th quarter.

Ivan Fedorov is the pride of world culture.

No, it’s not for nothing that this monument stands in Moscow on one of the central avenues. A monument to the man who created the great miracle - the first Russian printed book. We honor his ascetic work.
Printing is a particularly significant milestone in the history of world culture. Enlightenment, science, and the treasures of thought acquired special power with this, reaching out into that space that was unthinkable while the book remained handwritten. The merits of the toilers - the manuscript writers - were great; they left us as a legacy of the highest examples of the art of books.
Typography opened up other horizons, other possibilities, other prospects.
Already four centuries ago, the name of Ivan Fedorov was rightfully glorified as the name of the first Russian printer. He considered the goal of his life to be “sowing spiritual seeds.” These seeds produced excellent seedlings. We, too, are reaping their fruits, gratefully remembering the initiator of the great work.

Additional tasks.
1. Parse the sentence “Their fruits...”.
2. Sort out the words according to their composition: pioneer, beautiful, book printing.

9th grade. 1 quarter.

Raspberry Mountains.

The Raspberry Mountains are one of the best corners of the Northern Urals. They are not particularly tall, but this does not prevent them from forming the center of a huge mountain cluster. The ancient Bashkir name of these mountains was somehow lost, but they got their current name due to the fact that raspberries grow in abundance along the ridges. And such raspberries cannot be compared with forest raspberries, but when ripened in the sun, these mountain raspberries acquire a special taste.
Raspberry Mountain offers a one-of-a-kind view. The mountain lakes alone can only be counted up to a hundred, and this gives the picture a very special character, as if some underground sea were covered by mountains. These lakes go far into the blessed Bashkir steppe. They are distinguished by their depth, beautifully broken coastline, mass of islands, clear water and, finally, the fact that they are all connected by channels, making up one huge reservoir from which rivers going into the steppe take water.
In general, the chain of mountain lakes constitutes the main beauty of the eastern slope of the Urals, being at the same time an inexhaustible supply of manpower.

Additional task.
1. Find a complex sentence, parse it syntactically, and make a diagram.
2. Identify the morphemes in the words: tell, torn,
eastern

9th grade. 2nd quarter.

Creaky floorboards.

The house has dried out from old age. He stood in a clearing in a pine forest, and the pine trees radiated heat all summer.
Tchaikovsky liked this wooden house. The rooms smelled faintly of turpentine and white carnations, which bloomed in abundance in front of the porch. Disheveled and dried out, they resembled shreds of fluff stuck to the stems.
The only thing that irritated the composer was the creaky floorboards. To get from the door to the piano, you had to step over five rickety floorboards. From the outside it must have looked funny when the elderly composer made his way to the piano, peering at the floorboards with narrowed eyes.
Sometimes at night, waking up, Tchaikovsky heard one or the other floorboard crackling and singing. It was reminiscent of an orchestra before an overture, when the orchestra members were tuning their instruments. Now in the attic, now in a small hall, now in the glassed-in hallway, someone was touching the strings. Tchaikovsky caught the melody in his sleep, but when he woke up in the morning, he forgot it. He strained his memory and sighed. What a pity that the night tinkling of a wooden house cannot be played now! Play a simple song of a parched tree, window panes with fallen putty, the wind knocking a branch on the roof.
But someday he will embody all this in his music.
(According to K. Paustovsky.)

Additional tasks.
1. Sort out the words according to their composition: lose, made your way, knocked.
2. Underline the subordinate clauses in the IPP: in the first three paragraphs.

9th grade. 3rd quarter.
Zhurcheek.

If fate ever makes you happy, and in the summer you go down to a swamp, and then along a narrow bridge you cross a river overgrown with sedges and water lilies with the gentle name Konoplyanochka, then at the edge of a small forest you will hear a restless melodic murmur.
It is always different: at dawn, under the quilted fog, the sounds are quieter, softer, more meek than on a sunny hot day, when the water, diluted with heavenly blue, becomes azure, more transparent, and seems more resonant. The wind sweeps over the forest - the stream calms down and hides. And when the water surface is touched by trickles of rain, the music of the stream cannot be described, it is so beautiful in the autumn weather. When the trees drop their golden leaves onto the water, the murmur can be heard both as sad melodies of parting with summer and as cheerful chants about the magical need for winter rest before the riot of the coming spring.
The stream gurgles to the delight of everyone. And maybe that’s why he has such a beautiful name – Zhurcheyok.
(According to P. Dudochkin.)

Additional tasks.
1. Identify the morphemes in the words: hear, unique, fade away.
2. Make a diagram of the complex sentence “When trees fall...”.
3. Highlight the grammatical basics in 1 sentence.

9th grade. 4th quarter.
Morning in the steppe.

An early spring morning is cool and dewy. Not a cloud in the sky. Only in the east do the pre-dawn clouds still crowd, turning pale and melting with every minute. The sun will now float out there in a fiery glow. The entire vast expanse of the steppe seems to be sprinkled with fine golden dust. In the thick lush grass, diamonds of coarse dew tremble here and there, shimmering and flashing with multi-colored lights. The steppe is cheerfully full of flowers. The gorse turns bright yellow, the bells turn modestly blue, whole thickets of fragrant chamomile turn white, the wild carnation glows with crimson spots. In the morning coolness there is a bitter, healthy smell of wormwood, mixed with the delicate, almond-like aroma of dodder. Everything shines, basks and joyfully reaches for the sun. Only here and there in deep and narrow ravines, between steep cliffs overgrown with sparse bushes, wet bluish shadows still lie, as if reminding of the bygone night. High in the air, invisible to the eye, larks flutter and ring. The restless grasshoppers have long since raised their hasty, dry chatter. The steppe woke up and came to life. She seems to be breathing with deep, even and powerful sighs.

Additional tasks.
1. Indicate the morphemes in the words: pre-dawn, multi-colored, restless.
2. Underline the grammatical basics in 3 sentences (optional).