SMA Bahasa Inggris: Pertanyaan, Jawaban, Latihan Soal & Pembahasan

                It was the first photograph that I had ever seen, and it fascinated me. I can remember holding it at every angle in order to catch the flickering light from the oil lamp on the dresser. The man in the photograph was unsmiling, but his eyes were kind. I had never met him, but I felt that I knew him. One evening when I was looking at the photograph as I always did before I went to sleep. I noticed a shadow across the man’s thin face. I moved the photograph so that the shadow lay perfectly around his hollow cheeks. How different he looked!

                That night I could not sleep, thinking about the letter that I would write. First, I would tell him that I was eleven years old, and that if he had a little girl my age, she could write to me instead of him. I knew that he was a very busy man. Then I would explain to him the real purpose of my letter. I would tell him how wonderful he looked with the shadow that I had seen across his photograph, and I would most carefully suggest that the grow whiskers.

                Four months later when I met him at the train station near my home in Westfield, New York, he was wearing a full beard. He was so much taller than I had imagined from my tiny photograph.

                “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I had no speech to make and no time to make it in. I appear before you that I may see you and that you may see me.” Then he picked me right up and kissed me on both cheeks. The whiskers scratched. “Do you think I look better, my little friend?” he asked me.

                My name Grace Bedell and the man in photograph was Abraham Lincoln.

                It was the first photograph that I had ever seen, and it fascinated me. I can remember holding it at every angle in order to catch the flickering light from the oil lamp on the dresser. The man in the photograph was unsmiling, but his eyes were kind. I had never met him, but I felt that I knew him. One evening when I was looking at the photograph as I always did before I went to sleep. I noticed a shadow across the man’s thin face. I moved the photograph so that the shadow lay perfectly around his hollow cheeks. How different he looked!

                That night I could not sleep, thinking about the letter that I would write. First, I would tell him that I was eleven years old, and that if he had a little girl my age, she could write to me instead of him. I knew that he was a very busy man. Then I would explain to him the real purpose of my letter. I would tell him how wonderful he looked with the shadow that I had seen across his photograph, and I would most carefully suggest that the grow whiskers.

                Four months later when I met him at the train station near my home in Westfield, New York, he was wearing a full beard. He was so much taller than I had imagined from my tiny photograph.

                “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I had no speech to make and no time to make it in. I appear before you that I may see you and that you may see me.” Then he picked me right up and kissed me on both cheeks. The whiskers scratched. “Do you think I look better, my little friend?” he asked me.

                My name Grace Bedell and the man in photograph was Abraham Lincoln.

                It was the first photograph that I had ever seen, and it fascinated me. I can remember holding it at every angle in order to catch the flickering light from the oil lamp on the dresser. The man in the photograph was unsmiling, but his eyes were kind. I had never met him, but I felt that I knew him. One evening when I was looking at the photograph as I always did before I went to sleep. I noticed a shadow across the man’s thin face. I moved the photograph so that the shadow lay perfectly around his hollow cheeks. How different he looked!

                That night I could not sleep, thinking about the letter that I would write. First, I would tell him that I was eleven years old, and that if he had a little girl my age, she could write to me instead of him. I knew that he was a very busy man. Then I would explain to him the real purpose of my letter. I would tell him how wonderful he looked with the shadow that I had seen across his photograph, and I would most carefully suggest that the grow whiskers.

                Four months later when I met him at the train station near my home in Westfield, New York, he was wearing a full beard. He was so much taller than I had imagined from my tiny photograph.

                “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I had no speech to make and no time to make it in. I appear before you that I may see you and that you may see me.” Then he picked me right up and kissed me on both cheeks. The whiskers scratched. “Do you think I look better, my little friend?” he asked me.

                My name Grace Bedell and the man in photograph was Abraham Lincoln.

                It was the first photograph that I had ever seen, and it fascinated me. I can remember holding it at every angle in order to catch the flickering light from the oil lamp on the dresser. The man in the photograph was unsmiling, but his eyes were kind. I had never met him, but I felt that I knew him. One evening when I was looking at the photograph as I always did before I went to sleep. I noticed a shadow across the man’s thin face. I moved the photograph so that the shadow lay perfectly around his hollow cheeks. How different he looked!

                That night I could not sleep, thinking about the letter that I would write. First, I would tell him that I was eleven years old, and that if he had a little girl my age, she could write to me instead of him. I knew that he was a very busy man. Then I would explain to him the real purpose of my letter. I would tell him how wonderful he looked with the shadow that I had seen across his photograph, and I would most carefully suggest that the grow whiskers.

                Four months later when I met him at the train station near my home in Westfield, New York, he was wearing a full beard. He was so much taller than I had imagined from my tiny photograph.

                “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I had no speech to make and no time to make it in. I appear before you that I may see you and that you may see me.” Then he picked me right up and kissed me on both cheeks. The whiskers scratched. “Do you think I look better, my little friend?” he asked me.

                My name Grace Bedell and the man in photograph was Abraham Lincoln.

                Once, a farmer owned a donkey and a lapdog. The donkey worked hard all day, hauling heavy loads. The lapdog stayed with his master all day and lived in the house with him. He did not work, but allowed to sit on the master’s lap. The donkey grew jealous of the lapdog.

                “Perhaps if I behaved like the dog, like wagging my tail and jumping on the master, he will start loving me as much as he loves the dog.“ So, the donkey decided to wait for his chance.

                One day, when he was left unattended, the donkey broke his halter and ran into the farmhouse kitchen. There, the farmer sat at the table. The donkey rushed to the farmer began wagging his tail vigorously, and knocked off all the china from the table. He, then, started jumping around and frolicking like a little dog and finally plonked himself down on the farmer’s lap. The shocked farmer yelled for help. The farmhands came running in, dragged the donkey off to his stable, and gave him a beating he wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.

                Once, a farmer owned a donkey and a lapdog. The donkey worked hard all day, hauling heavy loads. The lapdog stayed with his master all day and lived in the house with him. He did not work, but allowed to sit on the master’s lap. The donkey grew jealous of the lapdog.

                “Perhaps if I behaved like the dog, like wagging my tail and jumping on the master, he will start loving me as much as he loves the dog.“ So, the donkey decided to wait for his chance.

                One day, when he was left unattended, the donkey broke his halter and ran into the farmhouse kitchen. There, the farmer sat at the table. The donkey rushed to the farmer began wagging his tail vigorously, and knocked off all the china from the table. He, then, started jumping around and frolicking like a little dog and finally plonked himself down on the farmer’s lap. The shocked farmer yelled for help. The farmhands came running in, dragged the donkey off to his stable, and gave him a beating he wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.

Speech production is made possible by the specialized movements of our vocal organs that generate speech sounds waves.

Like all sounds production speech productions requires a source of energy. The source of energy for speech production is the steady stream of air that comes from the lungs as we exhale. When we breate normally, the air stream is inaudible. To become audible, the air stream must vibrate rapidly. The vocal cords cause the air stream to vibrate.

As we talk, the vocal cords open and close rapidly, chopping up the steady air stream into a series of puffs. These puffs are heard as a buzz. But this buzz is still not speech.

To produce speech sounds, the vocal tract must change shape. During speech we continually alter the shape of the vocal tract by moving the tongue and lips, etc. These movements change the acoustic properties of the vocal tract which is turn produce the different sounds of speech.

ANNOUNCEMENT

Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 89B to Rome. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.