white walls. On every side could be seen drawings of horses and dogs,
cows, rabbits, and sheep. The walls were covered with pictures as high
as the chubby hand could reach.
In the doorway stood the father, watching his little daughter. So
wonderful were her drawings for a little child that the neighbors
often came into the tiny room to look at the pictures on the walls.
"My little Rosa will be an artist some day," said the father, "but she
can never be a great artist because she is a girl. How I wish she were
a boy!"
In those days it was not thought proper for a girl to do anything that
would take her away from home. "A girl should stay in the house,"
people said. "She should spend her time in sewing and in helping her
mother."
[Illustration: Rosa Bonheur.]
Rosa Bonheur's home was in France. She was the eldest of four
children. Her father gave lessons in drawing and made pictures for
books. The little cottage in which she was born was in a beautiful
part of the country. Here, with her two younger brothers and a baby
sister, she lived a happy life.
Rosa loved animals, and she had many pets. Dogs that had no home came
to her, and they were never turned away. She fed the wild rabbits and
tamed the squirrels. If a stray horse wandered by, it was given food
and water, and cared for until its owner could be found.
The child artist drew pictures of all these animals. She studied them
as they ran or walked or lay down to rest.
When her little brothers were old enough to run about, they loved to
follow their sister from place to place. Often they went with her to
the roadside, where she made pictures for them in the sand with a
pointed stick.
Sometimes her dogs came too and sat for their pictures. The passers-by
stopped to see the rosy-cheeked little girl drawing animals and
landscapes along the sandy way.
In the long winter evenings Rosa amused herself and her brothers by
cutting pictures of animals and people from pieces of paper.
A LITTLE GIRL WHO PAINTED ANIMALS
Paris earnest relatives absence
bunch models galleries cherries
pencil modeled contented studio
But this free and happy life came to an end all too soon. When Rosa
was seven years old, the family moved to Paris, where they lived in
small rooms. The street was crowded with houses, and there was no yard
for the children to play in.
How Rosa longed for her old home and for the animals she loved.
Sometimes she ran across the street to pet a wooden pig which stood
just outside the door of a meat shop.
About this time a great sorrow came to the little Bonheur children.
Their beautiful mother died, and then they were all sent away from
home.
Poor little Rosa! She did not like to study or sew, and she was very
unhappy in the girls' school to which she was sent. Her only pleasure
was in visiting her father's studio. Here, if she could have a pencil,
or a bit of clay, she was always contented.
How she begged to leave school and stay with her father! Her relatives
thought this a foolish thing for her to do. "What would people think,"
they said, "to see a girl doing a boy's work?"
One day, when her father returned to the studio after a short absence,
he found that Rosa had painted a bunch of cherries. He looked at her
picture for a long time, and then he said, "If you can do as well as
that, I will give you lessons."
"And I will cut off my hair and wear boy's clothes," said Rosa. "Then
I can study with you, and no one will notice me." So she dressed like
a boy and went everywhere with her father.
Lessons in drawing and painting now began in earnest. It was not long
before she could help her father. Soon she was able to copy pictures
in the famous picture galleries of Paris.
And now the girl who did not like to study books, and who hated to
sew, became one of the hardest of workers. She painted from early
morning until night to earn money for her father and the younger
children.
At last the Bonheur family were able to have a home together once
more. In a quiet street in Paris, up six flights of stairs, they found
a few small rooms.
But what should they do for a garden and for a place to keep their
animals? It was Rosa's greatest wish to learn to draw and paint
animals from life, and she needed to study living models.
The windows of their rooms opened on a broad, flat roof. Here Rosa and
her brother made a roof garden and planted flowers. Here they kept
singing birds, a hen and chickens, and a pet sheep.
Every morning the two boys carried the sheep downstairs, and led it to
the pasture. In the evening they carried it up the long flights of
stairs to the studio. It was drawn standing and lying down, eating and
sleeping. It was painted and modeled in clay, again and again, by Rosa
and her brothers.
A GREAT ARTIST
I.
sketch obliged prize won
death nineteen skirts oxen
Rosa Bonheur now spent all her time in painting animals. She took long
trips into the country to find animals to sketch. There she drew
flocks of sheep, oxen at work, and cows standing in the long grass.
Sometimes she went into pens where animals were kept, both in the
country and in the city of Paris. Because her long skirts were in the
way of her work she often dressed as men do.
Her pictures were shown in Paris with those of great artists. When she
was only nineteen years old, she won her first prize. This was a great
honor.
One of her finest pictures is called "Oxen Plowing." It was finished
just before her father's death. He was greatly interested in this
picture. When it was done, he was proud and happy to see that his
daughter had become a great artist.
[Illustration: Painting by Rosa Bonheur.
Oxen Plowing.]
Rosa Bonheur spent the last years of her life in a home of her own,
not far from Paris. Near by was a beautiful forest, and in a park
close to the house she kept a number of wild animals.
The studio in which the artist worked was very interesting. Paintings
hung on the walls and stood about the room. Birds sang in their
cages. Dogs and other pets walked about or lay on the skins of wild
animals which covered the floor.
To this home came many poor people, whom the great artist was always
glad to help. She was kind to every one, and even the animals loved her.
II.
legion Empress stepladder mistress
stroking New York museum clinging
A large lion named Nero was one of Rosa's pets, and he often lay in
the studio while she painted her pictures.
Once, when she was leaving home for a long trip, she was obliged to
send Nero away. On her return she went to see him in one of the parks
of Paris. She found him in a cage, sick and blind.
"Nero, my poor Nero!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you?"
[Illustration: Painting by Rosa Bonheur.
THE HORSE FAIR.]
The poor beast heard her voice. He crawled to the bars of the cage,
where he could feel her hand stroking his head. So great was the
love he showed that Rosa had him taken again to her home, and she
cared for him as long as he lived. He died clinging with his great
paws to the mistress he had loved so well.
Rosa Bonheur's most wonderful painting is "The Horse Fair." The artist
spent nearly two years in drawing horses before she began this great
work. The picture is so large that she was obliged to use a stepladder
to reach some parts of it.
"The Horse Fair" was bought by an American, and it can be seen in the
Museum of Art in New York city.
When the French people wish to honor an artist, they give him the
cross of the Legion of Honor. The Empress had often seen Rosa Bonheur
sketching in the forest, and she thought her the greatest of animal
painters.
One morning when Rosa Bonheur was painting in her studio, the Empress
came into the room and hung a beautiful white cross around the
artist's neck.
No woman had ever before worn the cross of the Legion of Honor.
WHEN BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WAS A BOY
tools public scholar boiler
wicks printer grammar tallow
molds candles promoted melted
When Benjamin Franklin was a boy there were no great public schools as
there are now. But Benjamin learned to read almost as soon as he could
talk, and he was always fond of books.
His nine brothers were older than he, and every one had learned a
trade. They did not care so much for books.
"Benjamin shall be the scholar of our family," said his mother.
And so, when he was eight years old, he was sent to a grammar school.
He studied hard, and in a few months he was promoted to a higher
class. But his father was poor and needed his help. In two years he
was obliged to leave school.
Benjamin was a small boy, but there were many things that he could do.
His father was a soap boiler, and candle maker. And so when the boy
was taken from school, what kind of work do you think he had to do?
You may be sure that Benjamin was kept busy. He cut wicks for the
candles, poured the melted tallow into the candle molds, and sold soap
to his father's customers.
Do you suppose that he liked to do this work?
He did not like it at all. And when he saw the ships sailing in and
out of Boston Harbor, he longed to be a sailor, and go to strange,
far-away lands, where candles and soap were unknown.
Benjamin's father saw that his boy did not like the work he was doing.
One day he said: "Benjamin, since you do not wish to be a candle
maker, what trade do you think you would like to learn?"
"I would like to be a sailor," said the boy.
"I do not wish you to be a sailor," said his father. "I intend that
you shall learn some useful trade on land; and I know that you will
do best the kind of work that is most pleasant to you."
The next day he took the boy to walk with him among the workshops of
Boston. They saw men busy at all kinds of work.
Benjamin was delighted. Long afterwards, when he had become a very
great man, he said, "It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see
good workmen handle their tools."
He gave up the thought of going to sea, and decided that he would
learn any trade his father would choose for him.
Soon after this, Benjamin's brother James set up a printing press in
Boston. He intended to print books and a newspaper.
"Benjamin loves books," said his father. "He shall learn to be a
printer."
And so, when he was twelve years old, he was sent to his brother to
learn the printer's trade. He was to have his board and clothing, but
no wages.
Benjamin never attended school again, but he kept on studying. At that
time there were no books written for children as there are nowadays.
His father's books were not easy to understand. We should think them
very dull.
But before he was twelve years old, Benjamin had carefully read the
most of them. All the money that came into his hands he laid out in
books.
Often he would borrow a book in the evening, and then sit up nearly
all night reading it so as to return it early in the morning.
He spent all his spare time in studying and reading the best books
that he could get. We shall find that afterward Benjamin Franklin
became the most learned man in America.
SOME WISE SAYINGS
Lost time is never found again.
One to-day is worth two to-morrows.
God helps them that help themselves.
Plow deep while sluggards sleep,
And you shall have corn to sell and to keep.
--BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
A WEAVING STORY
Abner glanced shuttle loom
Silas musket threaded coax
Deborah offered possible stitch
[Illustration]
It was a spring morning more than one hundred years ago. A young man
was plowing in a field near a low farmhouse.
Four men with guns on their shoulders passed along the road. "There is
Abner White," said one of them. "He ought to join the army. Call to
him."
"Abner, Abner," they shouted.
The young man left his plow and ran to the fence.
"We are raising a company to join Washington's army," they said. "We
march to-morrow. You must go with us, Abner."
Abner walked quickly to the little farmhouse. His mother was standing
in the door.
"My country needs me, mother," he said. "What shall I do?"
"If you feel it is your duty to fight for your country, Abner, you
must go," answered the brave woman. "When will the new company march?"
"To-morrow."
"To-morrow!" exclaimed Mrs. White. "You can not wear those old
trousers. We must make you a new pair."
"A soldier can not wait for new clothes, and I must march with my
company. A pair of trousers can not be made in a day."
"We shall see," thought his mother, as she hurried away to call her
daughters.
"Is there any woolen cloth in the house, Nancy?" she asked.
"Not a yard; I used the last yesterday."
"And there is no yarn, either," said Deborah, the oldest daughter.
"The sheep have not been sheared, and there is no wool. It is not
possible to make Abner a new pair of trousers before he goes. There is
no use to try!" said Nancy.
[Illustration: SPINNING THE WOOL.]
"We can never tell what we can do until we try," replied the mother.
"Where are the sheep?"
"They are in the pasture. I'll catch them," offered Silas, the younger
son.
"And I'll help," said little Faith. "I'll get some salt to coax them
with."
The children ran to the pasture. "Nan, Nan, Nan, Nan," they called.
And the sheep came running for the salt.
Nancy was hurrying to the field with a pair of large shears in her
hand. "Catch that black sheep if you can," she shouted.
Silas caught and held the sheep, while Nancy cut off the long, black
wool.
"Here is a white sheep with beautiful wool," called out Faith.
Silas put his arms around the patient animal, and Nancy cut off its
fine white wool.
"You may carry in all the wool we have, Faith," said Nancy. "Silas and
I will keep on shearing until we have enough."
The wool was quickly combed by Deborah, for there was no time to wash
the newly cut fleece. Very soon the mother commenced to spin. How the
spinning wheel buzzed as it twisted the soft wool into yarn!
Nancy threaded the loom. Deborah wound the shuttle full of new yarn,
and the weaving of the cloth began.
Back and forth the shuttle flew, Deborah and Nancy taking turns. Late
at night the cloth was woven, and Abner's new trousers were cut out.
All night long the sewing went on, every stitch by hand.
The next day at noon Silas sat on the gatepost watching.
Rub-a-dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub, came the sound of drums.
"Here they come! Here they come! tell mother," he shouted.
They all hurried to the fence to see the soldiers march by.
Abner held his musket proudly as he passed. He glanced at his mother
and then down at his new trousers.
"No one looks finer than our Abner," said Deborah, as the soldier boys
marched by on their way to the war.
AMERICA
TO BE MEMORIZED
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing!
Land where my fathers died;
Land of the pilgrims' pride;
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring!
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above!
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
Sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break--
The sound prolong!
Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing!
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light!
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!
A SONG FOR FLAG DAY
Out on the breeze,
O'er land and seas,
A beautiful banner is streaming.
Shining its stars,
Splendid its bars,
Under the sunshine 'tis gleaming.
Over the brave
Long may it wave,
Peace to the world ever bringing.
While to the stars,
Linked with the bars,
Hearts will forever be singing.
--LYDIA COONLEY WARD.
[Illustration]
JUNE
Roses by the garden wall,
Poppies red and lilies tall,
Bobolinks and robins,--all
Tell that June is here.
JULY
The clover meadows call the bees,
The squirrels chatter on the trees,
And robins sing their merry lays:
Hurrah for glad vacation days!
AUGUST
Sing a song of harvest time,
When the golden grain is high,
When the blossoms blow,
And the sun in a glow
Sweeps over a cloudless sky.
THE SEASONS
Sing a song of seasons,
Something bright in all,
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall.
--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
THE MONTHS
In January falls the snow,
In February cold winds blow.
In March peep out the early flowers,
In April fall the sunny showers.
In May the tulips bloom so gay,
In June the farmer mows his hay.
In July harvest is begun,
In August hotly shines the sun.
September turns the green leaves brown,
October winds then shake them down.
November fields are brown and sere,
December comes and ends the year.
FOR THE GIRLS
My fairest child, I have no song to give you,
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray.
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day:--
Be good, sweet maid,
And let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast forever,
One grand, sweet song.
--CHARLES KINGSLEY.
FOR THE BOYS
Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
You have a work that no other can do;
Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,
Angels will hasten the story to tell.
Dare to be right! Dare to be true!
The failings of others can never save you.
Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
Stand like a hero and battle till death.
WHAT WOULD I DO?
If I were a bird I would warble a song,
The sweetest and finest that ever was heard,
And build me a nest in the old elm tree;
Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a bird!
If I were a flower I'd hasten to bloom,
And make myself beautiful all the day through,
With drinking the sunshine, the wind, and the rain;
Oh, if I were a flower, that's what I'd do!
If I were a brook I would sparkle and dance
Among the green fields where sheep and lambs stray,
And call, "Little lambkins, come hither and drink;"
Oh, if I were a brook, that is what I would say!
If I were a star I would shine wide and bright
To guide the lone sailor on ocean afar,
And travelers, lost in the desert and woods;
Oh, that's what I'd do if I were a star!
But I know that for me other tasks have been set,
For I am a child and can nothing else be;
I must sit at my lessons, and, day after day,
Learn to read and to spell, and to add one, two, and three.
Yet perhaps if I try I shall sometime find out
How the birds sing so sweetly, how the roses grow red,
What the merry brook says to the moss-covered stones,
And what makes the stars stay so high overhead.
PRONOUNCING KEY AND WORD LIST
The following key to the pronunciation of words is in accordance with
Webster's International Dictionary. The modified long vowels in
unaccented syllables are indicated by the modified macron, as in
sen'ā̍te, ē̍ vent', ō̍ bey'. The silent letters are printed in
italics.
The list includes the more difficult words of the lessons in the Third
Reader not listed in the preceding books of the series.
ā māte ī pīne ṳ rṳde ow cow
ă măt ĭ pĭn û fûr c can
ä jär ĩ sĩr ụ fụll ç çent
a̤ ca̤ll ȳ mȳ g get
â âir ō nōte y̆ city̆ ġ ġem
ȧ ȧsk ŏ nŏt o͞o mo͞on s so
o̤ do̤ o͝o fo͝ot s̞ as̞
ē wē oi oil ch chair
ĕ wĕt ū ūse oy toy th thin
ẽ hẽr ŭ ŭs ou out t̶h t̶hem
ạ=ŏ whạt ȯ=ŭ sȯn
ã=ẽ cellãr e̱=ā the̱y õ=ẽ com'fõrt ọ=o͝o wọlf
ê=â thêre o̤=o͞o mo̤ve ô=a̤ ôr ṉ=ng iṉk
Ab'nẽr
A'brȧ hăm
ăb'senç_e_
ăc count'
ā'cr_e_
ăd vīç_e_'
ȧ greed'
ăl'cōv_e_
ăl'dẽr
Ăl'ĭç_e_
ȧ lī_gh_t'
Al lē'grȧ
ȧ lo͞of'
ăl'phȧ bĕt
a̤l rĕ_a_d'y̆
a̤l'tẽr_e_d
A mĕr'ĭ cȧ
ȧ mūs̞_e_d'
ān'ġel
ăṉ'gry̆
ănt'lẽr
ăn'vĭl
ā'prĭ cŏt
A'prĭl
ăr rīv_e_'
ăr'rō̍_w_
ăr'rō̍_w_ hĕ_a_d
ȧ shōr_e_'
ăt'tĭc
a̤_u_'bûrn
A̤_u_'gŭst
ȧ wā_i_t'
bā'c_o_n
băng'ing
băn'nẽr
bär'gain (_-gĕn_)
băr'rĕl
bāt̶h_e_
bē_a_rd'ed
b_e_âr'ing
b_ea_ū'tē̍ _o_ŭs
bē̍ hōld'
bĕl'lo_w_s (_lŭs_)
bē̍ lȯv_e_d'
bē̍ nē_a_th'
Bĕn'jȧ mĭn
Bĕt̶h'lē̍ hĕm
bē̍ yŏnd'
bĭs'c_u_ĭt
Bī'bl_e_
bĭt'ter
blă_c_k'smĭth
blăṉ'kĕt
blīt̶h_e_
blood (_blŭd_)
Bly̆ṉ'kĕn
bŏd'ĭ_e_s̞
bŏd'y̆
boil'ẽr
Bŏn _he_ũr'
bŏt'tom
bou_gh_
brāk_e_
brāk_e_' man
br_e_āk
breez'y̆
brĭm
bŭ_c_'kl_e_s̞
bŭd'dĭng
bū'gl_e_
bŭnch
bur'ied (_bĕr'ĭd_)
bûrst'ing
căb'ĭn
căn'dl_e_
cā̍ reer'
câr_e_'fụl
câr_e_'fụl ly̆
căr'rĭ_a_ġ_e_
çē_a_s_e_
çĕl'lãr
chānġ_e_
chānġ_e_'fụl
chăr'ĭ ŏt
cheer
cheer'y̆
chĕr'rĭ_e_s̞
chĕs_t_'nŭt
chĭm'n_e_y̆
choir (_kwīr_)
chŏp'ping
chōs̞_e_
chŭb'by̆
Çĭn'çĭn nä'tĭ
clăm'bẽr
clăm'bẽr_e_d
clȧsp
clĭffs
clō_a_k
clŏs̞'ĕt
clōth'ing
Clō'vẽr no͝ok
Clȳ'tĭ_e_
cō_a_ch
cō_a_rs_e_
cō_a_st'ing
cō_a_x
cŏl'ŭm_n_
cȯm'fõrt
cŏm păn'ĭon
cȯm'pā̍ss
cŏn dŭct'õr
cŏn fĕss'
cŏn'stant
cŏn'stant ly̆
cŏn tĕnt'ed
cŏr'al
côr'nẽr
cō's̞ĭly̆
cŏt'tā̍ġ_e_
cŏt't_o_n
couch
cō_u_rs_e_
cō_u_rt
crăn'bĕr rĭ_e_s̞
crē_a_k
crē̍ ā'tion
crĕpt
crĕv'ĭç_e_
crĭm's̞_o_n
cro͝ok'ed
Crŏp'wĕll
crṳ'ĕl
crṳ'ĕl ly̆
crṳ'ĕl ty̆
crŭm_b_s̞
cûrb
cûrl
cŭr'rants
cŭr'rent
dā_i_n'tī_e_s̞
dăm'ask
dăn'dē̍ līon
dān'ġẽr
dăsh'ing
da̤_ugh_'tẽr
dăz'zl_e_
dĕ_a_th
Dĕb'ō̍ rȧ_h_
Dē̍ çĕm'bẽr
dē̍ cīd'ed
dē̍ lā_y_'
dē̍ lī_gh_t'
dē̍ lī_gh_t'ed
dī'ȧ mȯnd
dĭm'ly̆
dĭp'pẽr
dĭ rĕct'ly̆
dĭs cȯv'ẽr
dĭs'tanç_e_
dĭs tûrb'
dīv_e_
dō_o_r'wā_y_
dȯz'_e_n
draught (_drȧft_)
drē_a_r'y̆
drĭfts
drĭp'ping
drown
drown_e_d
drown'ing
dŭnç_e_
dŭst'y̆
dȳ'ing
ē_a_'gl_e_
ẽ_a_r'nĕst
ē_a_r'rĭngs
E_a_s'tẽr
ē_a_t'_e_n
ĕc_h_'ō̍
ĕd'ū cāt ed
ĕld'est
ĕlm
ĕls_e_'whêr_e_
ĕm broi'dẽr
ĕmp'ty̆
ĕn cămp_e_d'
ĕn'ē̍ mĭ_e_s̞
ĕn'ē̍ my̆
ĕn ġĭ neer'
Eng'lĭsh (_ĭṉ-'_)
Eng'lĭsh man
ē̍ nôr'm_o_ŭs
Ẽr'nĕst
ĕr'rand
ĕs cāp_e_'
Es'kĭ mō̍
ēv_e_
ex ăct'ly̆ (_egz-_)
ĕx clā_i_m'
ex'īl_e_
ex trēm_e_'
ex trēm_e_'ly̆
Fâ_i_r'făx
fa̤ls_e_'ho͝od
fā'm_o_ŭs
făn'çĭ_e_s̞
făn'çy̆
fâr_e_ wĕll'
fâsh'_i_ȯn_e_d
făth'ȯm
fa̤_u_lt
fĕ_a_th'ẽr y̆
Fĕb'rụ ā̍ ry̆
feed'ing
fee'bl_e_
Fẽr'dĭ nănd
fẽrn
fĕs'tĭ val
fī'ẽry̆
fĭfteenth
fĭṉ'gẽr
fĭn'ĭsh
fīre'lī_gh_t
fīr_e_'man
flăsh_e_d
fleeç_e_
fleeç'y̆
flour
flūt_e_
flŭt'tẽr
fō_a_m'ing
fo͝ot'stĕp
fōrç_e_
fōrġ_e_
fŏr ĕv´ẽr
fōrth
Frȧnç_e_
free´dȯm
freez_e_
fr_i_ĕnd´ly̆
frī_gh_t´_e_n
frŏl´ĭc
frŏst´ed
frown
fûr´nĭ tūr_e_
fŭr´rō̍ws̞
fûr´ry̆
fu̇r´thẽr
găl´lẽr y̆
gām_e_
gär´ment
găth´er
ga̤_u_z´y̆
ġĕn´ẽr al
ġĕn´tl_e_ man
g_h_ōst
glăd´dens̞
glȧnç_e_
glee
glōb_e_
glō_w_´ing
gown
grā´çi_o_ŭs
grā_i_n
grăm´mãr
grȧsp
greed
Greek
gr_i_ēv_e_
grīnd´ing
gro̤_u_p
growl_e_d
g_u_ĕst
gŭst
hăb´ĭt
hälf
hälv_e_s̞
Hä´nä
hăn´dl_e_d
hăp´p_e_n
här´nĕss
härsh
hāst_e_
hās´_te_ns̞
hāz_e_
hĕ_a_d
hĕ_a_d qua̤r´tẽrs̞
h´ĕ_a_lth´y̆
hĕav´_e_n
h´_e_ī_gh_t
hĕr´rĭng
Hĭn´dṳ
hō_a_rd
hō_e_´ing
hŏl´lō̍_w_
hōm_e_´stĕ_a_d
_h_ŏn´ĕst
_h_ŏn´ĕst y̆
ho͞ofs
hōp_e_´ful
hŏpp_e_d
hous_e_´hōld
howl_e_d
hūġ_e_
hū´man
hŭm´bl_e_
hŭṉ´gry̆
hûrl_e_d
hụr rä_h_´
hŭr´rĭ_e_d
hŭr´ry̆
hûrt´ing
hy̆m_n_s̞
iç_e_´bẽrg
ī´çy̆
ī´dly̆
ĭm´ā̍ġ_e_
ĭm pā´tienç_e_
ĭn clōs̞_e_´
In´dĭ ăn´ȧ
ĭn stĕ_a_d´
ĭn tĕnd´ing
ĭn´tẽr ĕst ing
ĭn vīt_e_´
Is̞´ȧ bĕl´lȧ
ī_s_´lands̞
ī_s_l_e_s̞
ī´vy̆
Jā´cob
Jăn´ū̍ ā̍ ry̆
Jȧ păn´
Jăp ȧ nēs̞_e_´
jä_u_n´ty̆
join
joy´_o_us
jū_i_ç_e_
Jūn_e_
jŭṉ´gl_e_
Kāt_e_
Kĕn tŭ_c_k´y̆
kīnd´ly̆
kĭng´dȯm
_k_nāv_e_
_k_nees̞
_k_nĕlt
_k_nŏ_w_l´e_d_ġ_e_
lā_i_n
lăm_b_´kĭn
lăṉ´guā̍ġe
la̤_w_n
lā´zy̆
lē_a_d´ẽr
lē_a_p´ing
lĕv´ĕl
lī_gh_t´nĭng
lĭm_b_s
lĭmp´ing
Lĭṉ´co_l_n
lĭs´_te_n_e_d
Lŏng´fĕl lō̍_w_
lōn_e_´sȯm_e_
lo͞om
lō_w_´lănds̞
lō_w_´ly̆
măġ´ĭc
mā_i_d´_e_n
măn´nẽr
mā´pl_e_
märsh
măt´tress
Mā_y_
mē_a_l
mē_a_n
mĕ_a_nt
mĕ_a_s´ū̍r_e_
mĕd´dl_e_
mĕm´ō̍ ry̆
Mẽr´lĭn
mĕr´rĭ ĕst
mĭd´ve̱_i_n
mĭl´lion (_-yŭn_)
mĭn´ĭs tẽr
mĭn´ute (_-ĭt_)
mĭr´rõr
mĭs´chĭ_e_f
mŏd´ĕl
mō´mĕnt
mo͞on´lĭt
mo͞on´shīne
mō´tion (_-shun_)
mouth´fụl
mū´s̞ĭc
mu si´cian (_mū zĭsh´an_)
mŭs´kĕt
Na hănt´
nā_i_l_e_d
năn keen´
nā´tĭv_e_
na̤_ugh_´ty̆
nĕ_c_k´lā̍ç_e_
ne̱_igh_´bõrs̞
ne̱_igh_´ing
nĕt´wọrk
news̞´pā pẽr
nĭb´bling
nī_gh_t´gown
Nī´ṉȧ
nīn_e_´teen
nō´bl_e_
nõ´bŏd y̆
nois̞´y̆
nŏn´sĕns_e_
nŏs´trĭls̞
nō´tĭç_e_
Nō̍ vĕm´bẽr
nûrs´ẽr y̆
ō̍ blīġ_e_d´
ŏb s̞ẽrv_e_´
Oc tō´bẽr
ŏf´fẽr
ŏf´fĭç_e_
ŏf´fĭ çẽrs̞
once (_wŭns_)
ō´p_e_n ing
ŏp´pō̍ s̞ĭt_e_
ôr´chãrd
ō´rĭ ōl_e_
ôr´nȧ ment
ō´vẽr lo͝ok´
owl´ĕt
ō_w_n´ẽr
ŏx´_e_n
pă_c_k´ā̍ġ_e_
pă_c_k_e_d
păd´dl_e_
pâ_i_r
pān_e_
Păr´ȧ dīs_e_
pär´d_o_n
Păr´ĭs
pär´lõr
păr´rȯt
pär´tĭ_e_s̞
păs´sā̍ġ_e_
pȧss´ẽrs̞
pȧs´tū̍r_e_
pā´tient (_-shent_)
păt´tẽr ing
pa̤_u_s̞_e_
p_e_âr
peep_e_d
pĕl´ĭ can
pĕn´çĭl
pẽrch
pĕr´ĭsh
Phā´ē̍ thŏn
Phœ´be (_fē´bē_)
pĭ ăz´zȧ
pĭc´kl_e_s̞
p_i_ēç_e_
pĭ´ġ_e_ȯn
pĭl´lō̍_w_s̞
Pĭn´tȧ
pīp_e_s
plā_i_n´ly̆
plăn´ĕt
plăṉk
plănn_e_d
plăt´fôrm
plā_y_´fĕl lō̍_w_
plow´ing
plūm´y̆
plŭnġ_e_d
pŏ_c_k´ĕts
pōk_e_d
pō̍ līt_e_´
pŏp´côrn
pōrch
pŏs´sĭ bl_e_
pōst
pōst´ā̍ġ_e_
pounç_e_d
pō_u_r_e_d
prā_i_s̞_e_
prăṉk
prâ_ye_rs̞
prē_a_ch´ẽr
prĕ´çĭ_o_ŭs
prĕss_e_d
prīd_e_
prĭm´rōs̞_e_
Prĭnç_e_
prĭnt
prĭnt´ẽr
prīz_e_
prō̍ çĕs´sion
prō̍ mōt´ed
prŏp´ẽr
prō̍ tĕct´
proud´ly̆
prō̍ vīd_e_´
prō̍ vīd´ing
prowl_e_d
prowl´ing
prṳ´dent
pŭb´lĭc
pụd´dĭng
pŭmp´kĭn
pŭn´ĭsh
pŭp´py̆
pu̇sh´ing
quā_i_l
quĭ_c_k
quī´ĕt ly̆
quĭlt