PSAT-Reading 無料問題集「PSAT Preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test - Reading」

For the last hour I have been watching President Lincoln and General McClellan as they sat together in
earnest conversation on the deck of a steamer closer to us. I am thankful, I am happy, that the President
has come--has sprung across the dreadful intervening Washington, and come to see and hear and judge
for his own wise and noble self. While we were at dinner someone said, "Why, there's the President!" and
he proved to be just arriving on the Ariel, at the end of the wharf. I stationed myself at once to watch for
the coming of McClellan. The President stood on deck with a glass, with which, after a time, he inspected
our boat, waving his handkerchief to us. My eyes and soul were in the direction of the general
headquarters, over which the great balloon was slowly descending.
What does the author mean by "the dreadful intervening Washington"?

(1) An incredible hot-air balloon exhibition happened on September 5, 1862.
(2) It was given by Glaisher and Coxwell, two Englishmen.
(3) There was no compressed oxygen for them to breathe in those days.
(4) They got so high that they couldn't use their limbs.
(5) Coxwell had to open the descending valve with his teeth.
(6) Before Glaisher passed out, he recorded an elevation of twenty-nine thousand feet.
(7) Many believe they got eight thousand feet higher before they began to descend, making their ascent
the highest in the nineteenth century.
(8) Now the largest balloon to go up in the nineteenth century was "The Giant."
(9) The balloon held 215,000 cubic feet of air and was 74 feet wide.
(10) It could carry four and a half tons of cargo.
(11) Its flight began in Paris, in 1853, with fifteen passengers.
(12) All of whom returned safely.
(13) The successful trip received a great deal of national and international press because many thought
the hot-air balloon would become a form of common transportation.
Which of the following is the best revision for sentence 8? Now the largest balloon to go up in the
nineteenth century was "The Giant."

In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then
that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window headlong. As the ape approached the
casement with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than
clambering down it, hurried at once home--dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly
abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party
upon the staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, commingled with the
fiendish jabberings of the brute. I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped
from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of the door. It must have closed the window as it
passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum
at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Don was instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (with
some comments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, however well
disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and
was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his own business.
The word "solicitude" in 1st paragraph most nearly means

Amelia Earhart's hope of being the first woman to fly around the globe was __ when she disappeared in
the middle of her __ journey.

The next morning a message came from Lady Berrick, to say that she would see her nephew after
breakfast. Left by myself, I walked toward the pier, and met with a man who asked me to hire his boat. He
had lines and bait, at my service. Most unfortunately, as the event proved, I decided on occupying an hour
or two by sea fishing.
The wind shifted while we were out, and before we could get back to the harbor, the tide had turned
against us. It was six o'clock when I arrived at the hotel. A little open carriage was waiting at the door. I
found Romayne impatiently expecting me, and no signs of dinner on the table. He informed me that he
had accepted an invitation, in which I was included, and promised to explain everything in the carriage.
Our driver took the road that led toward the High Town. I subordinated my curiosity to my sense of
politeness, and asked for news of his aunt's health.
What selection best depicts the reason for the narrator's fishing episode as being "unfortunate?"

Though the new pharmaceutical regime was intended to be beneficial, its actual effect was __________,
a result the medical community __________.

When you are restive, you don't have much __ .

F. Scott Fitzgerald was a prominent American writer of the twentieth century. This passage comes from
one of his short stories and tells the story of a young John Unger leaving home for boarding school. John
T. Unger came from a family that had been well known in Hades a small town on the Mississippi River for
several generations. John's father had held the amateur golf championship through many a heated
contest; Mrs. Unger was known "from hot-box to hot-bed," as the local phrase went, for her political
addresses; and young John T. Unger, who had just turned sixteen, had danced all the latest dances from
New York before he put on long trousers. And now, for a certain time, he was to be away from home
That respect for a New England education which is the bane of all provincial places, which drains them
yearly of their most promising young men, had seized upon his parents. Nothing would suit them but that
he should go to St. Midas's School near Boston-Hades was too small to hold their darling and gifted son.
Now in Hades-as you know if you ever have been there the names of the more fashionable preparatory
schools and colleges mean very little. The inhabitants have been so long out of the world that, though
they make a show of keeping up-to-date in dress and manners and literature, they depend to a great
extent on hearsay, and a function that in Hades would be considered elaborate would doubtless be hailed
by a Chicago beef-princess as "perhaps a little tacky."
John T. Unger was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal fatuity, packed his trunks full of
linen suits and electric fans, and Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with
money. "Remember, you are always welcome here," he said. "You can be sure, boy, that we'll keep the
home fires burning." "I know," answered John huskily.
"Don't forget who you are and where you come from," continued his father proudly, "and you can do
nothing to harm you. You are an Unger-from Hades."
So the old man and the young shook hands, and John walked away with tears streaming from his eyes.
Ten minutes later he had passed outside the city limits and he stopped to glance back for the last time.
Over the gates the old-fashioned Victorian motto seemed strangely attractive to him. His father had tried
time and time again to have it changed to something with a little more push and verve about it, such as
"Hades-Your Opportunity," or else a plain "Welcome" sign set over a hearty handshake pricked out in
electric lights. The old motto was a little depressing, Mr. Unger had thought-but now.
So John took his look and then set his face resolutely toward his destination. And, as he turned away, the
lights of Hades against the sky seemed full of a warm and passionate beauty.
The tone of sentence "their darling and gifted son" can best be described as

Oliver Goldsmith (17301774) wrote criticism, plays, novels, biographies, travelogues, and nearly every
other conceivable kind of composition. This good-humored essay is from a series published in the Public
Ledger and then in book form as The Citizen of the World (1762).
Were we to estimate the learning of the English by the number of books that are every day published
among them, perhaps no country, not even China itself, could equal them in this particular. I have
reckoned not less than twenty-three new books published in one day, which, upon computation, makes
eight thousand three hundred and ninety-five in one year. Most of these are not confined to one single
science, but embrace the whole circle. History, politics, poetry, mathematics, metaphysics, and the
philosophy of nature, are all comprised in a manual no larger than that in which our children are taught the
letters. If then, we suppose the learned of England to read but an eighth part of the works which daily
come from the press and surely non can pretend to learning upon less easy terms), at this rate every
scholar will read a thousand books in one year. From such a calculation, you may conjecture what an
amazing fund of literature a man must be possessed of, who thus reads three new books every day, not
one of which but contains all the good things that ever were said or written.
And yet I know not how it happens, but the English are not, in reality so learned as would seem from this
calculation. We meet but few who know all arts and sciences to perfection; whether it is that the generality
are incapable of such extensive knowledge, or that the authors of those books are not adequate
instructors. In China, the Emperor himself takes cognizance of all the doctors in the kingdom who profess
authorship. In England, every man may be an author, that can write; for they have by law a liberty, not
only of saying what they please, but of being also as dull as they please.
Yesterday, as I testified to my surprise, to the man in black, where writers could be found in sufficient
number to throw off the books I saw daily crowding from the press. I at first imagined that their learned
seminaries might take this method of instructing the world. But, to obviate this objection, my companion
assured me that the doctors of colleges never wrote, and that some of them had actually forgot their
reading. "But if you desire," continued he, "to see a collection of authors, I fancy I can introduce you to a
club, which assembles every Saturday at seven . . . ." I accepted his invitation; we walked together, and
entered the house some time before the usual hour for the company assembling. My friend took this
opportunity of letting me into the characters of the principal members of the club . . . "The first person,"
said he, "of our society is Doctor Nonentity, a metaphysician. Most people think him a profound scholar,
but, as he seldom speaks, I cannot be positive in that particular; he generally spreads himself before the
fire, sucks his pipe, talks little, drinks much, and is reckoned very good company. I'm told he writes
indexes to perfection: he makes essays on the origin of evil, philosophical inquiries upon any subject, and
draws up an answer to any book upon 24 hours' warning . . . ."
The tone of paragraph 2 may best be described as

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured,
garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to
do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that
my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that, if I asked old Wheeler about
him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me nearly to
death with some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be useless to me. If that
was the design, it certainly succeeded. I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove
of the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and
bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance.
He roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some
inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W.
Smiley--Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley--a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a
resident of Angel's Camp. I added that, if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W.
Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.
What is the significance of the information "he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of
winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance" in 2nd paragraph to the narrator?

In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then
that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window headlong. As the ape approached the
casement with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than
clambering down it, hurried at once home--dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly
abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party
upon the staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, commingled with the
fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod,
just before the break of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was
subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes.
Le Don was instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin)
at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, however well disposed to my friend, could not
altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or
two, about the propriety of every person minding his own business.
Which selection best describes the action referred to by "break of the door" 2nd paragraph?

This passage discusses the work of Abe Kobo, a Japanese novelist of the twentieth century.
Abe Kobo is one of the great writers of postwar Japan. His literature is richer, less predictable, and
wider-ranging than that of his famed contemporaries, Mishima Yukio and Nobel laureate Oe Kenzaburo. It
is infused with the passion and strangeness of his experiences in Manchuria, which was a Japanese
colony on mainland China before World War II.
Abe spent his childhood and much of his youth in Manchuria, and, as a result, the orbit of his work would
be far less controlled by the oppressive gravitational pull of the themes of furusato (hometown) and the
emperor than his contemporaries'.
Abe, like most of the sons of Japanese families living in Manchuria, did return to Japan for schooling. He
entered medical school in Tokyo in 1944--just in time to forge himself a medical certificate claiming ill
health; this allowed him to avoid fighting in the war that Japan was already losing and return to Manchuria.
When Japan lost the war, however, it also lost its Manchurian colony. The Japanese living there were
attacked by the Soviet Army and various guerrilla bands. They suddenly found themselves refugees,
desperate for food. Many unfit men were abandoned in the Manchurian desert. At this apocalyptic time,
Abe lost his father to cholera.
He returned to mainland Japan once more, where the young were turning to Marxism as a rejection of the
militarism of the war. After a brief, unsuccessful stint at medical school, he became part of a Marxist group
of avant-garde artists. His work at this time was passionate and outspoken on political matters, adopting
black humor as its mode of critique. During this time, Abe worked in the genres of theater, music, and
photography. Eventually, he mimeographed fifty copies of his first "published" literary work, entitled
Anonymous Poems, in 1947. It was a politically charged set of poems dedicated to the memory of his
father and friends who had died in Manchuria. Shortly thereafter, he published his first novel, For a
Signpost at the End of a Road, which imagined another life for his best friend who had died in the
Manchurian desert. Abe was also active in the Communist Party, organizing literary groups for
workingmen.
Unfortunately, most of this radical early work is unknown outside Japan and underappreciated even in
Japan. In early 1962, Abe was dismissed from the Japanese Liberalist Party. Four months later, he
published the work that would blind us to his earlier oeuvre, Woman in the Dunes. It was director
Teshigahara Hiroshi's film adaptation of Woman in the Dunes that brought Abe's work to the international
stage. The movie's fame has wrongly led readers to view the novel as Abe's masterpiece. It would be
more accurate to say that the novel simply marked a turning point in his career, when Abe turned away
from the experimental and heavily political work of his earlier career. Fortunately, he did not then turn to
furusato and the emperor after all, but rather began a somewhat more realistic exploration of his
continuing obsession with homelessness and alienation. Not completely a stranger to his earlier
commitment to Marxism, Abe turned his attention, beginning in the sixties, to the effects on the individual
of Japan's rapidly urbanizing, growthdriven, increasingly corporate society.
The author's main purpose in the passage is to