Reading and Decoding English 3

Letter 1.3 Reflections

If you know people who have Dyslexia, help them learn to read starting with this column. It takes patiences to teach them the individual sounds.

This is an excerpt from Title: Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley

Thez reflekshonz hav dispeld the ajitashon with hwich I began mi leter, and I fel mi hart glo with an enthooziazum hwich elevats me too heven, for nothing kontribyoots so much too trankwuliz the mind az a stede purpos—a point on hwich the sol ma fiks its intelekchooal eie. This ekspedishon haz ben the favurit drem ov mi erle yearz. I hav red with ardour the akounts ov the varius voiejez hwich hav ben mad in the prospekt ov ariving at the North Pasifik Oshan throo the sez hwich suround the pol. Yoo ma remember that a histore ov al the voiejez mad for purposez ov diskovere kompozd the hol ov our good Unkel Thomas’ librare. Mi ejukashon waz neglekted, yet I waz pashonatle fond ov reding. Thez volumz wer mi stude da and nit, and mi familyiarite with them inkresd that regret hwich I had felt, az a child, on lerning that mi father’s diing injunkshon had forbiden mi unkel too alou me too embark in a sefaring lif.

Thez vizhonz faded hwen I peroozd, for the first tim, thos poets hooz efyoozhonz entransd mi sol and lifted it too heven. I also bekam a poet and for won year livd in a paradis ov mi on kreashon; I imajind that I also mit obtan a nish in the tempel hwer the namz ov Homer and Shakspear ar konsekrated. Yoo ar wel akwanted with my falyoor and hou hevile I bor the disapontment. But just at that tim I inherited the forchun ov mi kuzin, and my thouts wer turned into the chanel ov thir erlier bent.

Letter 1.3 Reflections

These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have been made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through the seas which surround the pole. You may remember that a history of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole of our good Uncle Thomas’ library. My education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father’s dying injunction had forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.

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