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SAT SAT-Critical-Reading 試験シラバストピック:

SAT Section One : Critical Reading 認定 SAT-Critical-Reading 試験問題：

1. Pauline Johnson (18611913) was the daughter of Mohawk leader George Henry Martin; her mother was
English. Johnson was known in her time as a poet and performer. For years she toured throughout
Canada giving dramatic readings. Late in her life she turned to writing short stories. This excerpt is from
"A Red Girl's Reasoning," first published in 1893.
How interesting--do tell us some more of your old home, Mrs. McDonald; you so seldom speak of your life
at the post, and we fellows so often wish to hear of it all," said Logan eagerly.
"Why do you not ask me of it, then?" "Well--er, I'm sure I don't know; I'm fully interested in the Ind --in your
people--your mother's people, I mean, but it always seems so personal, I suppose; and --a --a--" "Perhaps
you are, like all other white people, afraid to mention my nationality to me."
The captain winced, and Mrs. Stuart laughed uneasily. Joe McDonald was not far off, and he was listening,
and chuckling, and saying to himself, "That's you, Christie, lay `em out; it won't hurt `em to know how they
appear once in a while." "Well, Captain Logan," she was saying, "what is it you would like to hear--of my
people, or my parents, or myself?" "All, all, my dear," cried Mrs. Stuart clamorously. "I'll speak for him--tell
us of yourself and your mother--your father is delightful, I am sure--but then he is only an ordinary
Englishman, not half so interesting as a foreigner, or--or perhaps I should say, a native."
Christie laughed. "Yes," she said, "my father often teases my mother now about how very native she was
when he married her; then, how could she have been otherwise? She did not know a word of English, and
there was not another English-speaking person besides my father and his two companions within sixty
miles." "Two companions, eh? One a Catholic priest and the other a wine merchant, I suppose, and with
your father in the Hudson Bay, they were good representatives of the pioneers in the New World,"
remarked Logan waggishly.
"Oh, no, they were all Hudson Bay men. There were no rumsellers and no missionaries in that part of the
country then." Mrs. Stuart looked puzzled. "No missionaries?" she repeated with an odd intonation.
Christie's insight was quick. There was a peculiar expression of interrogation in the eyes of her listeners,
and the girl's blood leapt angrily up into her temples as she said hurriedly, "I know what you mean; I know
what you are thinking. You are wondering how my parents were married --"
"Well--er, my dear, it seems peculiar if there was no priest, and no magistrate, why--a--" Mrs. Stuart
paused awkwardly.
"The marriage was performed by Indian rites," said Christie. "Oh, do tell about it; is the ceremony very
interesting and quaint--are your chieftains anything like Buddhist priests?" It was Logan who spoke.
"Why, no," said the girl in amazement at that gentleman's ignorance. "There is no ceremony at all, save a
feast. The two people just agree to live only with and for each other, and the man takes his wife to his
home, just as you do. There is no ritual to bind them; they need none; an Indian's word was his law in
those days, you know."
Mrs. Stuart stepped backwards. "Ah!" was all she said. Logan removed his eyeglass and stared blankly at
Christie. "And did McDonald marry you in this singular fashion?" he questioned. "Oh, no, we were married
by Father O'Leary. Why do you ask?"
"Because if he had, I'd have blown his brains out tomorrow." Mrs. Stuart's partner, who had heretofore
been silent, coughed and began to twirl his cuff stud nervously, but nobody took notice of him. Christie
had risen, slowly, ominously--risen, with the dignity and pride of an empress.
"Captain Logan," she said, "what do you dare to say to me? What do you dare to mean? Do you presume
to think it would not have been lawful for Joe to marry me according to my people's rites? Do you for one
instant dare to question that my parents were not as legally--"
"Don't, dear, don't," interrupted Mrs. Stuart hurriedly, "it is bad enough now, goodness knows; don't
make--" Then she broke off blindly.
The word post probably means

A) mailroom
B) stake
C) trading headquarters
D) assignment
E) register

2. I trust a proposal for matrimony would seem more ______ were it written in the sky, or written on a
scoreboard, or written in a test question for the SAT prep; which is what I am formally doing now in asking
Teressa for her hand in marriage.

A) sincere
B) aggrandized
C) appreciated
D) cherished
E) honorable

3. The storyteller's ______ anecdotes earned her the ______ attention of the crowd.

A) meandering. .distracted
B) moribund. .lucid
C) compelling. .rapt
D) poignant. .abrasive
E) pointed. .spellbound

4. In his politics, Aristotle characterizes Plato's support of collectivism as ______ and ______ the unity of the
city; not only would it be difficult to institute and enforce, but the absence of private property would lead to
bickering among the citizens.

A) commendable . . deleterious to
B) unattainable . . supportive of
C) divisive . . indifferent toward
D) controversial . . essential to
E) impractical . . detrimental to

5. But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view.
Your mother's object in those visits was of a house-keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your
father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his
existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged
by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of
you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had
any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had
kith or kin or chick or child.
Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to
himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell,
and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and
no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you
did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced
that you was born to the Waitering.
At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother
in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise,
your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in
vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old
business fitfully illuminated his being, "Two and two is five. And three is sixpence." Interred in the
parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters
of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved
form was attired in a white neckankecher [sic], and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The
George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the
plates(which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you
found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing,
till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your
couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart
under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left),
you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling
plate-washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until
such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter
that you find yourself.
I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and
family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No,
we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness
of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of
mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy,
and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in
the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter [sic] you was, the more voracious all your
fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to
take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of
argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted
butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if
him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
The use of the term "expired" in 2nd paragraph in lieu of "died" is an example of

A) allegory.
B) litotes.
C) anaphora.
D) hyperbole.
E) understatement.

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