I got into my place without any examining. Looking back now, I think I can see with accuracy what was then the condition of my own mind and intelligence. Of things to be learned by lessons I knew almost less than could be supposed possible after the amount of schooling I had received. I could read neither French, Latin, nor Greek. I could speak no foreign language 鈥?and I may as well say here as elsewhere that I never acquired the power of really talking French. I have been able to order my dinner and take a railway ticket, but never got much beyond that. Of the merest rudiments of the sciences I was completely ignorant. My handwriting was in truth wretched. My spelling was imperfect. There was no subject as to which examination would have been possible on which I could have gone through an examination otherwise than disgracefully. And yet I think I knew more than the average young men of the same rank who began life at nineteen. I could have given a fuller list of the names of the poets of all countries, with their subjects and periods 鈥?and probably of historians 鈥?than many others; and had, perhaps, a more accurate idea of the manner in which my own country was governed. I knew the names of all the Bishops, all the Judges, all the Heads of Colleges, and all the Cabinet Ministers 鈥?not a very useful knowledge indeed, but one that had not been acquired without other matter which was more useful. I had read Shakespeare and Byron and Scott, and could talk about them. The music of the Miltonic line was familiar to me. I had already made up my mind that Pride and Prejudice was the best novel in the English language 鈥?a palm which I only partially withdrew after a second reading of Ivanhoe, and did not completely bestow elsewhere till Esmond was written. And though I would occasionally break down in my spelling, I could write a letter. If I had a thing to say, I could so say it in written words that the readers should know what I meant 鈥?a power which is by no means at the command of all those who come out from these competitive examinations with triumph. Early in life, at the age of fifteen, I had commenced the dangerous habit of keeping a journal, and this I maintained for ten years. The volumes remained in my possession unregarded 鈥?never looked at 鈥?till 1870, when I examined them, and, with many blushes, destroyed them. They convicted me of folly, ignorance, indiscretion, idleness, extravagance, and conceit. But they had habituated me to the rapid use of pen and ink, and taught me how to express myself with faculty. That was the year my hometown in Pennsylvania got a heat flash for Christmas. On New Year鈥檚Day, I pulled on shorts and a thermal top for a five-mile trail run, just an easy leg-stretcher on arest day. I rambled through the woods for half an hour, then cut through a field of winter hay andheaded for home. The warm sun and the aroma of sun-baked grass were so luxurious, I keptslowing down, dragging out that last half mile as long as I could. Eh? What little woman? Oh, the Chubb? No; I don't know. I suppose not. The other case was when Irving Berlin and a number of other songwriters sued Mad, because we used to publish a lot of articles of song parodies which we'd say were sung to the tune of so-and-so. And they took umbrage to that. They said that when people would read the words, they were singing their music in their heads. The judge ruled that Irving Berlin did not own iambic pentameter.""" Like the Marathon Monks in Japan he鈥檇 just been reading about; they ran an ultramarathon everyday for seven years, covering some twenty-five thousand miles on nothing but miso soup, tofu, andvegetables. And what about Percy Cerutty, the mad Australian genius who coached some of thegreatest milers of all time? Cerutty believed food shouldn鈥檛 even be cooked, let alone slaughtered;he put his athletes through triple sessions on a diet of raw oats, fruit, nuts, and cheese. Even CliffYoung, the sixty-three-year-old farmer who stunned Australia in 1983 by beating the bestultrarunners in the country in a 507- mile race from Sydney to Melbourne, did it all on beans, beer,and oatmeal (鈥淚 used to feed the calves by hand and they thought I was their mother,鈥?Young said. 鈥淟ook, you guys are going to have to go ahead,鈥?I told Eric when I got back into the bedroom. 99XXXX开心情色站_色五月_激情五月_开心五月天-开心色播网 She has written her autobiography, Miller's High Life, which is available "only in rate bookstores and in every library in the country. It isn't out in paperback yet, but there's some talk of it." Asked about a projected second volume, Miller on Tap, she says: "It will be my life; it will carry on from where the other one left off." For the first time in my life, I was looking forward to superlong runs not with dread, butanticipation. How had Barefoot Ted put it? Like fish slipping back into water. Exactly. I felt like Iwas born to run. In going through Plato and Demosthenes, since I could now read these authors, as far as the language was concerned, with perfect ease, I was not required to construe them sentence by sentence, but to read them aloud to my father, answering questions when asked: but the particular attention which he paid to elocution (in which his own excellence was remarkable) made this reading aloud to him a most painful task. Of all things which he required me to do, there was none which I did so constantly ill, or in which he so perpetually lost his temper with me. He had thought much on the principles of the art of reading, especially the most neglected part of it, the inflections of the voice, or modulation as writers on elocution call it (in contrast with articulation on the one side, and expression on the other), and had reduced it to rules, grounded on the logical analysis of a sentence. These rules he strongly impressed upon me, and took me severely to task for every violation of them: but I even then remarked (though I did not venture to make the remark to him) that though he reproached me when I read a sentence ill, and told me how I ought to have read it, he never, by reading it himself, showed me how it ought to be read. A defect running through his otherwise admirable modes of instruction, as it did through all his modes of thought, was that of trusting too much to the intelligibleness of the abstract, when not embodied in the concrete. It was at a much later period of my youth, when practising elocution by myself, or with companions of my own age, that I for the first time understood the object of his rules, and saw the psychological grounds of them. At that time I and others followed out the subject into its ramifications and could have composed a very useful treatise, grounded on my father's principles. He himself left those principles and rules unwritten. I regret that when my mind was full of the subject, from systematic practice, I did not put them, and our improvements of them, into a formal shape. Both. (Almost together.) "Isn't she charming, uncle?"