Dictation The morning dawn will soon flare up with a ray of sun. Test dictation on topics. What will we do with the received material?

Control dictations. 10 - 11 grades

Extraordinary days

Voropaev entered Bucharest with a wound that had not yet healed, received in the battle for Chisinau. The day was bright and perhaps a little windy. He flew into the city in a tank with scouts and then was left alone. Strictly speaking, he should have been in the hospital, but is it possible to lie down on the day of entering a dazzling white city seething with excitement? He didn’t sit down until late at night, but kept wandering the streets, engaging in conversations, explaining something, or simply hugging someone without words, and his Chisinau wound healed, as if healed by a magic potion.

And the next wound, accidentally received after Bucharest, although it was lighter than the previous one, healed inexplicably for a long time, almost until Sofia itself.

But when he, leaning on a stick, got out of the headquarters bus onto the square in the center of the Bulgarian capital and, without waiting for someone to hug him, began to hug and kiss everyone who fell into his arms, something pinched in the wound, and she froze . He could barely stand on his feet then, his head was spinning, and his fingers were cold - he was so tired during the day, for he spoke for hours in the squares, in the barracks, and even from the pulpit of the church, where he was carried in his arms. He talked about Russia and the Slavs as if he didn't care less than a thousand years.

***

There was silence; all that could be heard was the snorting and chewing of the horses and the snoring of the sleeping people. Somewhere a lapwing was crying and occasionally the squeak of snipes could be heard, flying in to see if the uninvited guests had left.

Egorushka, suffocating from the heat, which was especially felt after eating, ran to the sedge and from there looked around the area. He saw the same thing that he had seen before noon: the plain, the hills, the sky, the purple distance. Only the hills were closer, and there was no mill, which remained far back. Having nothing else to do, Yegorushka caught the violinist in the mud, brought him in his fist to his ear and listened for a long time as he played his violin. When he got tired of the music, he chased a crowd of yellow butterflies that were flying to the sedge for a watering hole, and without noticing, he found himself again near the chaise.

Suddenly, quiet singing was heard. The song, quiet, drawn-out and mournful, similar to crying and barely perceptible to the ear, was heard from the right, now from the left, now from above, now from under the ground, as if an invisible spirit was hovering over the steppe and singing. Yegorushka looked around and did not understand where this strange song came from. Then, when he listened, it began to seem to him that the grass was singing. In her song, she, half-dead, already dead, without words, but plaintively and sincerely convinced someone that she was not to blame for anything, that the sun burned her in vain; she assured that she passionately wanted to live, that she was still young and would be beautiful if it were not for the heat and drought. There was no guilt, but she still asked someone for forgiveness and swore that she was in unbearable pain, sad and sorry for herself.(According to A.P. Chekhov) (241 words)

***

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. 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 calmness stands over the black forested region.

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

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 obliquely at 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.

Dangerous profession

In pursuit of interesting shots photographers and filmmakers often overstep the bounds of reasonable risk.

It is not dangerous, but almost impossible to photograph wolves in nature. It is dangerous to photograph lions, very dangerous to photograph tigers. It is impossible to say in advance how the bear will behave - this bear is strong and, despite general idea, a very active animal. In the Caucasus, I broke a well-known rule: I climbed a mountain where a mother bear and her cubs were grazing. The calculation was that it was autumn and the mother no longer guarded her offspring so jealously. But I was wrong... When the camera clicked, capturing the two babies, the mother, dozing somewhere nearby, rushed towards me like a torpedo. I understood: under no circumstances should I run - the beast would rush after me. On the spot, the remaining man puzzled the bear: she suddenly braked sharply and, looking intently at me, rushed after the baby.

When photographing animals, you must, firstly, know their habits and, secondly, not get into trouble. All animals, with the possible exception of the connecting rod bears, tend to avoid meeting people. Analyzing all the misfortunes, you see: man’s carelessness provoked the attack of the beast.

Telephoto lenses have long been invented to photograph animals without frightening them or risking an attack, most often a forced one. In addition, unafraid animals that are not aware of your presence behave naturally. Most of the expressive shots are obtained with knowledge and patience, an understanding of the distance, which is unwise and even dangerous to violate.

Path to the lake

The morning dawn is gradually flaring up. Soon a ray of sun will touch the bare treetops in autumn and gild the shining mirror of the lake. And nearby there is a smaller lake, of a bizarre shape and color: the water in it is not blue, not green, not dark, but brownish. They say that this specific shade is explained by the composition of the local soil, the layer of which covers the lake bottom. Both of these lakes are united under the name Borovye lakes, as in time immemorial They were christened by the old-timers of these places. And to the southeast of Borovye Lakes there are gigantic swamps. These are also former lakes that have been overgrown for decades.

At this early hour of a wonderful golden autumn, we are moving towards a lake with a very unpleasant name - Pognomu Lake. We got up a long time ago, even before dawn, and began to get ready for the road. On the advice of the watchman who sheltered us, we took waterproof raincoats, hunting boots, prepared food for the road so as not to waste time lighting a fire, and set off.

We made our way to the lake for two hours, trying to find convenient approaches. At the cost of supernatural efforts, we overcame the thickets of some tenacious and thorny plant, then half-rotten slums, and an island appeared ahead. Before we reached the wooded hillock, we fell into a thicket of lily of the valley, and its regular leaves, as if aligned by an unknown master who had given them a geometrically precise shape, rustled in front of our faces.

In these thickets we indulged in peace for half an hour. You raise your head, and above you the tops of the pines rustle, resting against the pale blue sky, along which not heavy, but summer-like, semi-airy, fidgety clouds move. Having rested among the lilies of the valley, we again began to search mysterious lake. Located somewhere nearby, it was hidden from us by thick growth of grass.(247 words)

***

The supernatural efforts made by the hero to overcome various kinds of road obstacles were not in vain: the visit promised to be by no means uninteresting.

As soon as Chichikov, bending down, entered the dark, wide entryway, built somehow, a cold air immediately blew across him, as if from a cellar. From the hallway he found himself in a room, also dark, with lowered curtains, slightly illuminated by light, not descending from the ceiling, but rising to the ceiling from under a wide crack located at the bottom of the door. Having opened this door, he finally found himself in the light and was overly amazed at the chaos that appeared. It seemed as if the floors were being washed in the house and all the things were brought here and piled up haphazardly. On one table there was even a broken chair and there was a clock with a stopped pendulum, to which the spider had already attached a bizarre web. There also stood a cabinet leaning sideways against the wall with antique silver that had almost disappeared under a layer of dust, decanters and excellent Chinese porcelain acquired God knows when. On the bureau, which was once lined with a lovely mother-of-pearl mosaic, which had already fallen out in places and left behind only yellow grooves filled with glue, lay a great variety of all sorts of things: a bunch of pieces of paper covered with small handwriting, covered with a green marble press with a handle in the shape of an egg on top, some an old book bound in leather with a red edge, a lemon, all dried up, no bigger than a hazelnut, a broken arm of a chair that had long since fallen apart, a glass with some unattractive liquid and three flies covered with a letter, a piece of a rag picked up somewhere and two feathers, stained with ink. To top off the strange interior, several paintings were hung very crampedly and awkwardly on the walls.

(According to N.V. Gogol)

***

I remember with inexplicable joy my childhood years in the old manor house in middle lane Russia.

Quiet, clear summer dawn. The first ray of sun through the loosely closed shutters gilds the tiled stove, freshly painted floors, recently painted walls, hung with pictures on themes from children's fairy tales. What colors shimmering in the sun played here! Against a blue background, lilac princesses came to life, a pink prince took off his sword, rushing to the aid of his beloved, trees glowed blue in the winter frost, and a spring lily of the valley blossomed nearby. And outside the window a lovely summer day is gaining strength.

The dewy freshness of early peony flowers, light and delicate, rushes through the old window, which is wide open.

The low house, hunched over, goes away, grows into the ground, and above it the late lilacs are still blooming wildly, as if they are in a hurry to cover up its squalor with its white-lilac luxury.

Along the narrow wooden steps of the balcony, also rotten from time and swaying under our feet, we go down to swim to the small river located near the house.

After swimming, we lie down to sunbathe not far from the thickets of coastal reeds. A minute or two later, touching a branch of a dense hazel tree growing on the right, closer to the sandy slope, a magpie-babbler lands on a tree. What does she not talk about! A ringing chirping rushes towards her, and, growing, gradually the polyphonic hubbub of birds fills the garden, brightly colored in summer.

After enjoying the swim, we head back. The glass door leading from the terrace is slightly open. On the table in a simple clay pot is a bouquet of skillfully selected, freshly picked, not yet blooming flowers, and next to it, on a snow-white linen napkin, is a plate of honey, over which bright golden toiling bees hover with an even hum.

How easy it is to breathe in the early morning! How long can I remember this feeling of happiness that you experience only in childhood!

Greatest Shrine

Thanks to the efforts of a dear friend, I received from Russia a small Karelian birch box filled with earth. I belong to people who love things, are not ashamed of feelings and are not afraid of crooked smiles. In youth, this is forgivable and understandable: in youth, we want to be self-confident, reasonable and cruel - to rarely respond to insults, to control our face, to restrain the trembling of our hearts. But the burden of years wins, and strict consistency of feelings no longer seems the best and most important. Now, as I am, I am ready and able to kneel in front of a box with Russian soil and say out loud, without fear of prying ears: “I love you, the land that gave birth to me, and I recognize you as my greatest shrine.”

And no skeptical philosophy, no smart cosmopolitanism will make me ashamed of my sensitivity, because I am guided by love, and it is not subordinate to reason and calculation.

The soil in the box had dried out and turned into lumps of brown dust. I sprinkle it carefully and carefully so as not to waste it on the table, and I think that of all human things, the earth has always been both the most beloved and closest.

For you are dust, and to dust you will return.

(According to M.A. Osorgin)

Rose

Early in the morning, as soon as dawn broke, I returned to familiar places along untrodden paths. In the distance, unclear and foggy, I already imagined a picture of my native village. Walking hastily along the uncut grass, I imagined how I would approach my house, rickety from antiquity, but still welcoming and dear. I wanted to quickly see the street I knew from childhood, the old well, our front garden with jasmine and rose bushes.

Immersed in my memories, I quietly approached the outskirts and, surprised, stopped at the beginning of the street. At the very edge of the village stood a dilapidated house that had not changed at all since I left here. All these years, for many years, no matter where fate took me, no matter how far I was from these places, I always invariably carried in my heart the image of my home, as a memory of happiness and spring...

Our house! It is, as before, surrounded by greenery. True, there is more vegetation here. In the center of the front garden, a large rose bush grew, on which a delicate rose bloomed. The flower garden is neglected, weeds are intertwined in the flowerbeds and paths that have grown into the ground, not cleared by anyone and not covered with sand for a long time. The wooden lattice, far from new, was completely peeling, dried out and fell apart.

Nettles occupied an entire corner of the flower garden, as if they served as a backdrop for a delicate pale pink flower. But next to the nettle there was a rose, and nothing else.

The rose blossomed on a fine May morning; when she opened her petals, the morning dew left a few tears on them, in which the sun played. Rose was definitely crying. But everything around was so beautiful, so clean and clear on this spring morning...

***

Behind the large house there was an old garden, already wild, drowned out by weeds and bushes. I walked along the terrace, still strong and beautiful; through the glass door one could see a room with a parquet floor, which must have been the living room; an antique piano, and on the walls there are engravings in wide mahogany frames - and nothing more. All that remained of the former flower beds were peonies and poppies, which raised their white and bright red heads from the grass; along the paths, stretching out and interfering with each other, grew young maples and elms, already plucked by cows. It was dense, and the garden seemed impenetrable, but this was only near the house, where poplars, pines and old linden trees of the same age still stood, surviving from the previous alleys, and further behind them the garden was cleared for haymaking, and there was no more hovering, no cobwebs were getting into your mouth or eyes, the breeze was blowing; The further you went, the more spacious it became, and already there were cherries, plums, spreading apple trees and pears growing in the open space so tall that you couldn’t even believe that they were pears. This part of the garden was rented by our city traders, and it was guarded from thieves and starlings by a foolish man who lived in a hut.

The garden, thinning out more and more, turning into a real meadow, descended to the river, overgrown with green reeds and willows; near the mill dam there was a stretch, deep and fishy, ​​a small mill with a thatched roof was making an angry noise, frogs were croaking furiously. On the water, smooth as a mirror, circles occasionally moved, and the river lilies trembled, disturbed by the cheerful fish. The quiet blue reach beckoned, promising coolness and peace.

Zoryanka

It happens that in the forest of some golden-red pine tree a twig will fall out of the white pine body. A year or two will pass, and this hole will be inspected by the dawn - a small bird exactly the same color as the bark of a pine tree. This bird will drag feathers, hay, fluff, twigs into an empty twig, build itself a warm nest, jump out onto a branch and sing. And so the bird begins spring.

After some time, or even right there, after the bird, a hunter comes and stops by a tree, waiting for the evening dawn.

But then the song thrush, from some height on the hill, the first to see signs of dawn, whistled its signal. The dawn bird responded to him, flew out of the nest and, jumping from branch to branch higher and higher, from there, from above, she also saw the dawn and responded to the song thrush’s signal with her own signal. The hunter, of course, heard the thrush's signal and saw how the dawn bird flew out, he even noticed that the dawn dawn, a small bird, opened its beak, but he simply did not hear that it made a sound: the voice of the little bird did not reach the ground.

The birds were already praising the dawn above, but the man standing below could not see the dawn. The time has come - dawn rose over the forest, the hunter saw: high on a twig, a bird would open its beak, then close it. This is the dawn singing, the dawn is praising the dawn, but the song cannot be heard. The hunter still understands in his own way that the bird is glorifying the dawn, and why he doesn’t hear the song is because it sings to glorify the dawn, and not to glorify itself in front of people.

And so we believe that as soon as a person begins to glorify the dawn, and not the dawn itself, then the spring of the person himself begins. All our real amateur hunters, from the smallest to common man to the greatest, they breathe only in order to glorify spring. And how many are there? good people there is in the world, and none of them knows anything good about themselves, and everyone will get so used to him that no one will even guess about him how good he is, that he only exists in the world to glorify the dawn and begin his human spring

***

The dawn was breaking, it was becoming fresh, and it was time for me to get ready for the road. Having passed through dense reed thickets, making my way through a thicket of bent willows, I went out to the bank of the small river and quickly found my flat-bottomed boat. Before leaving, I checked the contents of my canvas bag. Everything was in place: a can of pork stew, smoked and stewed fish, a loaf of black bread, condensed milk, a skein of strong twine and many other things needed on the road.

Having pulled away from the shore, I let go of the oars, and the boat quietly drifted downstream. Three hours later, around the bend in the river, the gilded domes of the church appeared clearly visible against the background of lead clouds on the horizon, but, according to my calculations, it was still not close to the city.

After walking a few steps along the cobbled street, I decided to repair my boots, or boots, that had been wet for a long time. The shoemaker was a dashing man of gypsy appearance. There was something unusually attractive in the precise movements of his muscular arms.

Having satisfied my hunger in the nearest cafe, where I had beetroot borscht, liver with stewed potatoes and borzh at my service, I went to wander around the city. My attention was drawn to the plank stage, where multi-colored flags fluttered. The juggler had already finished his performance and bowed. He was replaced by a freckled dancer with reddish bangs and a yellow silk fan in her hands. After dancing some kind of dance that resembled tap dancing, she gave way to a clown in a star-shaped tights. But the poor guy had no talent and was not at all funny with his antics and jumping.

Having walked around almost the entire town in half an hour, I settled down for the night on the river bank, covering myself with an old waterproof raincoat.

Now the May rain will splash and a real thunderstorm will begin. (A. Chekhov) (general minor member of the sentence) When spring comes, birds fly and gardens bloom. (general subordinate clause) The duckling did not know the name of these beautiful birds and where they flew away, but he loved them as he had never loved anyone in the world before. (G.H. Andersen) (What did the duckling not know? - homogeneous subordinate clauses refer to one main clause and are connected by a single conjunction “and”) In the burdock forest lived the last pair of old snails, who did not know how old they were, but remembered very well, that before there were many snails, that they themselves were a very ancient breed, and that this entire forest was planted exclusively for them and their relatives. (G.H. Andersen) (What did they remember? - homogeneous subordinate clauses refer to one main clause and are connected by a single conjunction “and”) But: Father said that tomorrow the weather will change, and that we will have guests, and that we are all together Let's go out of town for a picnic. (“and” is a repeated conjunction) - COLONS IN A CONJUNCTIONLESS COMPLEX SENTENCE 1. Watch your thoughts: they become words, watch your words: they become actions, watch your actions: they turn into habits, watch your habits: they become a character, watch your character: it determines your destiny. (in place of a colon, a conjunction is possible because / reason) 2. There are miracles there: a goblin wanders there, a mermaid sits on the branches. (A. Pushkin) (namely? / explanation) 3. Little Andersen saw: the cat often fell asleep without listening to the end of an interesting fairy tale, but forgave him everything because Karl never allowed himself to doubt the existence of quick-witted chimney sweeps, talking flowers and frogs. (what) 4. Looks: a kite is drowning in the sea and moaning not like a bird, a swan is swimming nearby, pecking at the evil kite. (A. Pushkin) (and sees that) 5. There is one thing I cannot understand: how did you decide to settle in such a wilderness? (direct question) - DASH IN A CONJUNCTIVE COMPLEX SENTENCE 1. In the morning the ship will weigh anchor - in two days we will be in Barcelona. (and) 2. Praise is tempting - how can you not want it? (I. Krylov) (therefore) 3. In youth they learn, in old age they understand. (a) 4. Goes to the right - starts a song, goes to the left - tells a fairy tale. (A. Pushkin) (When he goes to the right, the song starts) 5. ... And on the stone there is an inscription: if you go to the right, you will find a horse, if you go to the left, you will find your wife, if you go straight, you will find happiness. (if you go to the right, you will find a horse) 6. He looks at me - it burns with fire. (as if, as if, like, etc.) 7. They say that spring will be early. (that, but without an intonation warning about the subsequent presentation of any fact) 8. It rains on the wedding day - a good omen. (this) 7.. INTRODUCTORY WORDS AND PHRASES He may be a good artist. Compare: He may be a good artist. (predicate) Simple things cause pleasure: the sound of rain, the smell of lilacs, a mug of milk, and finally, the wind blowing the curtains on the windows. (finally = and yet) Compare: Finally, land appeared on the horizon. (finally = finally) Looking into the distance of the sea, we saw birds, which means the land is already close. (mean = therefore) Compare: The word Sahara in Arabic means “desert”. (mean = means) The weather was windy, the wind, however, was not fair. Compare: Leo was dozing, but his eyes were slightly open. (however = but) According to Goethe, even the day before death is not too late to start life over again. Compare: Goethe wrote: “A person lives a real life if he is happy with the happiness of others.” REMEMBER: Words and phrases are not introductory (and are not distinguished in writing by punctuation marks): maybe, literally, ultimately, here, it seems, hardly, after all, even, hardly, exclusively, exactly, as if, as if, just, besides, meanwhile, I suppose, by proposal, by decision, approximately, approximately, besides, almost, simply, decisively, as if, supposedly. Meanwhile, nothing could be easier than to overestimate your strength. (Sergeev-Tsensky) By morning, the wind not only did not subside, but even intensified. Compare: She never once, even furtively, glanced at me. (detached phrase) She didn’t seem to notice my presence. Compare: Splashes of foam, as if seagulls, were flying in the air. (comparative turn) When Russian fairy tales talked about a milk river with jelly banks, it was the Milky Way that was meant. (D. Gulyutin) Compare: In 1610, Galileo Galilei pointed his first telescope at the sky and saw the Milky Way, namely “an immense collection of stars.” (D. Gulyutin) (namely = that is; separate application) Section 3 WORKING WITH TEXTS Task1. Analyze and remember the spelling of highlighted words and punctuation marks in the texts. - words in which spelling errors are often made are highlighted in bold; those parts of sentences where punctuation errors are possible are underlined. We drove for a long time into a blizzard, but the blizzard did not weaken, on the contrary, it seemed to intensify. The day was windy, and even on the leeward side one could feel the wind constantly humming into some hole below from under the runners. My feet were frozen, and I tried in vain to throw something on top of them with my stiff fingers. The coachman kept turning his weather-beaten face with reddened eyes towards me and shouting something, but I couldn’t make out what. He wanted to cheer me up, assuring me that it was possible to get used to the winds, but I, a southerner and a homebody, endured these inconveniences of my journey with considerable difficulty. By evening the snowstorm had subsided, but the impenetrable darkness in the field was also a gloomy picture. There was complete silence in the field, white, frozen; neither a pillar, nor a windmill - nothing is visible. The horses seemed to be in a hurry, and the bells on the arc began to jingle more audibly, like silver ones. It was impossible to get out of the sleigh: there was half an arshin of snow, the sleigh was constantly driving into a snowdrift, and I could hardly wait until we arrived at the inn. The hospitable hosts looked after us for a long time: they scrubbed us, warmed us, treated us to vodka and tea, which they drink here so hot that I burned my tongue. This did not stop us from talking in a friendly manner, as if we had known each other for centuries. An irresistible drowsiness, inspired by warmth and satiety, naturally inclined us to sleep, and I, putting my felted boots on the heated stove, lay down and heard nothing: neither the bickering of the coachmen, nor the whispering of the owners. The next morning, the owners fed the uninvited and uninvited guests with dried venison, and shot hares, and baked potatoes, and gave them baked milk. Lake Meanwhile, the dawn is gradually flaring up. Soon a ray of sun will touch the bare treetops in autumn and gild the shining mirror of the lake. And nearby there is a slightly smaller lake, of a bizarre shape and color: the water in it is not blue, nor green, nor dark, but somehow brown. To the southeast of the lakes there are wide expanses of water and swamps. These are also former lakes, overgrown over decades and later turned into giant swamps. At this early hour of a wonderful golden autumn, we are moving towards a lake with a very unpleasant name - Pognomu Lake. On the advice of the watchman who sheltered us, we took with us waterproof raincoats, hunting boots, prepared food for the road so as not to waste time lighting a fire, and set off. We made our way to the lake for two hours, avoiding the bogs and trying to find convenient approaches. At the cost of supernatural efforts, we overcame the thickets of some thorny plant, then a thicket, and an island appeared ahead. Before reaching the wooded hillock, we fell into thickets of lilies of the valley. Their regular leaves, as if aligned by an unknown master who skillfully gave them a geometrically correct shape, began to move in front of our faces. For half an hour we indulged in peace. You raise your head, and above you the pine trees rustle, majestic, slender, their tops resting on the pale blue sky, along which not heavy, but semi-airy clouds move like summer ones. And somewhere nearby the dry reeds are swaying, whispering, and annoyingly babbling. There is no one and nothing around. Shower Suddenly, lead clouds appeared in the distance, lightning flashed. Low, black clouds floated across the sky with extraordinary speed. You need to get out of the forest in order to shelter from the rain in time and not get wet in the downpour. Fortunately, there was a forest guard's house nearby - a low log building, in which you had to stay for a good half hour. The owner's son, a short-haired boy dressed in a short leather jacket, treats us with baked milk and rye flatbread. But then the lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The furious downpour first paused and then completely stopped its chatter. The elements no longer argue, and do not quarrel, and do not fight. Frustrated hordes of clouds are carried away somewhere into the distance. The slightly swaying top of an old birch tree stands out sharply against the cleared sky. The sun is about to peek out from behind the cloud. You look around and are amazed at how instantly after the rain everything around you is transformed. The refreshed rye trembles gratefully. All living things fuss and rush about. Dark blue dragonflies circle above the reeds of the stream. The bumblebee buzzes to the insects who are not listening to him, no longer feeling the danger. From their nearby groves, from arable lands and pastures - the joyful discord of birds can be heard from everywhere. Having kindly said goodbye to our hosts, we hit the road. Task 2. Insert the missing letters where necessary and open the brackets: In a blizzard We drove for a long time, but the blizzard did not weaken, on the contrary, it seemed to be intensifying. The day was windy, and even from the lee... side one could feel the wind (un)constantly humming into some well...well (from) below runners My feet were frozen, and I tried in vain to throw something on top of them with my stiff fingers. The driver every now and then turned his weather-beaten face with reddened eyes towards me and shouted something, but I couldn’t make out anything. He wanted to...encourage me, assuring me that it was possible to endure the winds, only I, a southerner and a homebody, endured these (in)conveniences of my journey with(not ) with little work. By evening the snowstorm had subsided, but the (impenetrable) darkness in the field was also a (not) cheerful picture. There was complete silence in the field, white, frozen; no pillar, no wind. ..noy mill – (not) anything (not) visible. The horses seemed to be in a hurry, and you could hear the bells on the arc ringing like silver ones. It was (impossible) for you to get out of the sleigh: there was (half) an arshin of snow, the sleigh was continuously driving into... a snowdrift, and I (forcibly) waited until we... arrived to the inn. The guest...welcome hosts...babyed us for a long time: they washed us, warmed us up, poured...vodka and tea, which they drink here so hot that I... burn your tongue. This did not stop us from talking (in) a friendly way, as if we had known each other for centuries. An irresistible drowsiness, inspired by warmth and satiety, of course, led us to sleep, and I, putting my felt boots on the heated stove, lay down and did not hear anything : no shouting from the coachmen, no whispering from the owners. (In) the morning, the owners fed the uninvited and uninvited guests with dried venison, and arrow... hares, and baked potatoes, and gave them baked milk to drink. Task 3. Place the necessary punctuation marks: In a snowstorm We drove for a long time, but the snowstorm did not weaken; on the contrary, it seemed to be getting stronger. The day was windy and even on the leeward side one could feel the wind constantly humming into some hole below from under the runners. My feet were frozen and I tried in vain to throw something on top of them with my stiff fingers. The coachman kept turning his weather-beaten face with reddened eyes towards me and shouting something, but I couldn’t make out what. He wanted to cheer me up by assuring me that one could only get used to the winds; a southerner and a homebody endured these inconveniences of my journey with considerable difficulty. By evening the snowstorm had subsided, but the impenetrable darkness in the field was also a gloomy picture. There was complete, frozen, white silence in the field; nothing is visible, neither a pillar nor a windmill. The horses seemed to be in a hurry and you could hear the silver bells jingling on the arc. It was impossible to get out of the sleigh; there was half an arshin of snow; the sleigh was constantly driving into a snowdrift, and I could hardly wait until we arrived at the inn. The hospitable hosts looked after us for a long time, scrubbed us, warmed us up, treated us to vodka and tea, which they drink here so hot that I burned my tongue. This did not stop us from talking in a friendly manner, as if we had known each other for centuries. An irresistible drowsiness inspired by warmth and satiety naturally led us to sleep, and I laid down my felted boots on the heated stove and heard nothing, neither the bickering of the coachmen nor the whispering of the owners. The next morning, the owners fed the uninvited and uninvited guests with dried venison and shot hares and baked potatoes and gave them baked milk. Task 4. Find spelling and punctuation errors in the texts. We drove for a long time into a blizzard, but the blizzard did not weaken, on the contrary, it seemed to intensify. It was a windy day, and even on the leeward side you could feel the wind relentlessly humming into some hole from below from under the runners. My legs were frozen, and I tried in vain to throw something on top of them with my stiff fingers.

Control dictation for grade 11 - September

Path to the lake

The morning dawn is gradually flaring up. Soon a ray of sun will touch the bare treetops in autumn and gild the shining mirror of the lake. And nearby there is a smaller lake, of a bizarre shape and color: the water in it is not blue, not green, not dark, but brownish. They say that this specific shade is explained by the composition of the local soil, the layer of which covers the lake bottom. Both of these lakes are united under the name Borovye Lakes, as the old-timers of these places dubbed them in time immemorial. And to the southeast of Borovye Lakes there are gigantic swamps. These are also former lakes that have been overgrown for decades.

At this early hour of a wonderful golden autumn, we are moving towards a lake with a very unpleasant name - Pognomu Lake. We got up a long time ago, even before dawn, and began to get ready for the road. On the advice of the watchman who sheltered us, we took waterproof raincoats, hunting boots, prepared food for the road so as not to waste time lighting a fire, and set off.

We made our way to the lake for two hours, trying to find convenient approaches. At the cost of supernatural efforts, we overcame the thickets of some tenacious and thorny plant, then half-rotten slums, and an island appeared ahead. Before we reached the wooded hillock, we fell into a thicket of lily of the valley, and its regular leaves, as if aligned by an unknown master who had given them a geometrically precise shape, rustled near our faces.

In these thickets we indulged in peace for half an hour. You raise your head, and above you the tops of the pines rustle, resting against the pale blue sky, along which not heavy, but summer-like, semi-airy, fidgety clouds move. Having rested among the lilies of the valley, we again began to look for the mysterious lake. Located somewhere nearby, it was hidden from us by thick growth of grass.

(247 words)

Grammar task

  1. Find a one-part sentence in the last paragraph and determine its type.
  2. Find in the dictation 3 phrases with the subordinating connection agreement, 3 with the connection control, 3 with the connection adjacency.

On the topic: methodological developments, presentations and notes

Control dictations for 6th grade according to the program of V.V. Babaytseva.

Final and intermediate control dictations on all topics in the section "Morphology. Parts of speech. Spelling" studied in 6th grade....

"Spelling patterns in prefixes and roots of words." Path to the lake.

The morning dawn is gradually flaring up. Soon a ray of sun will touch the bare treetops in autumn and gild the shining mirror of the lake. And nearby there is a smaller lake, of a bizarre shape and color: the water in it is not blue, not green, not dark, but brownish. They say that this specific shade is explained by the composition of the local soil, the layer of which covers lake bed. Both of these lakes are united under the name Borovye Lakes, as the old residents of these places dubbed them in time immemorial. And to the southeast of Borovye Lakes there are gigantic swamps. These are also former lakes that have been overgrown for decades.

At this early hour of a wonderful golden autumn, we are moving towards a lake with a very unpleasant name - Pognomu Lake. We got up a long time ago, even before dawn, and began to get ready for the road. On the advice of the watchman who sheltered us, we took waterproof raincoats, hunting boots, prepared food for the road so as not to waste time lighting a fire, and set off.

We made our way to the lake for two hours, trying to find convenient approaches. At the cost of supernatural efforts, we overcame the thickets of some tenacious and thorny plant, then half-rotten slums, and an island appeared ahead. Before we reached the wooded hillock, we fell into a thicket of lily of the valley, and its regular leaves, as if aligned by an unknown master who had given them a geometrically precise shape, rustled near our faces.

In these thickets we indulged in peace for half an hour. You raise your head, and above you the tops of the pine trees rustle, receding into the pale blue sky, along which not heavy, but summer-like, semi-airy, fidgety clouds move. Having rested among the lilies of the valley, we again began to look for the mysterious lake. Located somewhere nearby, it was hidden from us by thick growth of tall grass.


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Exercises

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All topics in this section:

Place accents
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Write down words in which the consonant before the letter e is pronounced firmly
Antithesis, baroness, academy, parcel post, brunette, benefit performance, barter, steak, sandwich, decade, detective, decoration, demobilization, defect, hyphen, indexing, inert, intelligence, clarinet, square,

Form the gender form from the indicated nouns. p.m. numbers
Bananas, lemons, apples, oranges, tomatoes, tangerines, croutons, tomatoes, waffles, eggplants, pasta, Bashkirs, Bulgarians, Buryats, Georgians, Ossetians, Romanians, Kyrgyz, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, Tajiks, Yakuts, Tur

Find the test words and fill in the missing letters
Swallow, teacher, reincarnate, vd_leke, enjoyment. expansion; single, closing, getting carried away, amazing, adding. When selecting words with the same root, you should:

Fill in the missing letters using test words
The flag flutters; industry is developing; built our city; built a food warehouse; ask for help; diminish merit; pay taxes; compact concrete; enlightened monarchy; life, p

Full-vowel and half-vowel combinations in the root
There are many words in the Russian language where vowels cannot be verified by a strong position, i.e. It is impossible to find an example in which the vowel would be stressed: boot, axe, vinaigrette. IN

What does the word dust mean in the above texts?
a) They grappled on horseback; Exploding black dust to the sky, the greyhounds' horses fight beneath them. (A. Pushkin) b) Boris: But Dmitry is dead! He's dust! There is no doubt! (A.K. Tolstoy) Dictionaries

Exercises
1. Insert unstressed vowels: intelligence, opt_mism, v_teran, man_fest, original, un_v_rsity; fantasy, applause, watercolor, ant_go-nism, conflict, prognosis

Spelling patterns in word roots"
1. After c in the roots of words I write i: circus, figure, shell; except: The gypsy on tiptoe tutted to the chicken: “Tsyts!” 2. Whisper is whisper, string is string, but chocolate is chocolate. (VC

O or A?
He waits in vain, bows to the ground, assumes something, a bizarre plant grown, an unprofitable industry, sunbathes on the sandy shore, light adjective. .dream, necessary

Visual dictation
1) The dawn flares up little by little, touches the bare tops of trees like autumn, is located somewhere nearby, stretches southeast of New York, and is overgrown for decades.

Write down phrases (on topics 1-2) from dictation
Dip in pear jam, jump out from around the bend, take an excellent position, smooth out an uneven edge, pre-anniversary celebrations are dedicated, with a fearless circus performer, do not argue with the transformation

What sounds do the words differ in?
onion - hatch - table - steel - meadow - onion - languid - dark - 8. Underline the word where all consonant sounds are voiced.

BBUS. For any number of hours car rental with driver on favorable terms.