万载县某小学六年级英语下册RecycleMike'shappydays第二课时教案人教PEP版3

Recycle Mike’shappydays
第二课时
教学内容
Day 3 & Day 4
教学目标
1.复习动词go,do,play,have的常见词组;并同时复习动词的第三人称单数形式。

2.复习现在进行时和一般过去时。

3.复习形容词比较级。

教学重难点
1.教学重点:谈论自己或他人一天的作息安排;能够正确运用形容词的比较级。

2.教学难点:掌握一般现在时、现在进行时和一般过去时的用法。

教学准备
单词卡片、课文动画、课件。

教学过程
1.热身、复习(Warm-up/Revision)
(1)头脑风暴活动
教师随意说一个词,如:apple,学生根据这个单词继续说单词,如:red,banana...
然后分小组开展活动,小组长随意说一个单词,其他学生说单词。

温馨提示:仔细听,单词不能重复。

(2)快速问答
教师说疑问词,如where,第一个学生说问句,如:Where are you from?第二个学生回答:I’m from Wuhan.其他学生可以接着说不同类型的问答句。

然后教师换疑问词,活动继续。

2.呈现新知(Presentation)
(1)音频、视频导入
教师让学生先闭上眼睛,播放事先准备好的录音,如鸟叫、羊叫等声音。

同时出示农村的短视频,给学生制造出一种身临其境的氛围。

然后教师说:There are many things people often do on the farm.What are they?Who visited the farm before?Can you talk about the life on the farm?
鼓励去过农村的同学向大家介绍农村的生活和自己的经历。

然后罗列出在农村可以做的事情。

(2)智力游戏
请学生打开课本,看看四组词、图片及例句。

指名学生读例句,注意每句的时态。

请学生自己看图片。

根据图意找出合适的单词,写出完整的句子。

指名学生汇报答案,全班集体核对。

(3)看图说话。

教师出示教学挂图,请学生举手说说图上都有什么,图上的人们正在做什么。

出示例句,请学生仿照例句写句子,描述图中人们正在做的事情。

学生独立完成,教师指名学生汇报自己的句子。

提醒学生注意动词的合理选用和固定搭配的正确使用。

(4)看图补全短文
教师出示课本挂图,请学生仔细观察图片,看看Mike 在农场都做什么。

然后让学生阅读短文,根据时间顺序将Mike做的事情填入空格,补全短文。

指名学生读自己补充完整的短文,全班集体核对答案。

(5)猜谜游戏。

带领学生齐读对话,了解游戏规则。

请一名学生起立,示范游戏,其他学生观看。

学生两人一组进行游戏,可以制作不同的动物卡进行替换练习。

3.任务实践(Taskpractice)
任务实践:我们是小画家。

学生以简笔画的形式画一画自己的一天,然后用一般过去时将其说给同伴听。

4.家庭作业(Homework)
完成小超人Recycle部分Day 3 & Day 4的练习。

板书设计
Recycle Mike’s hap py days
go,do,play,have
新概念英语第一册语法总结：副词副词
副词可以修饰形容词，动词，副词或整个句子。

如：
The book is very good.
He runs fast.
She came here quite early.
Certainly I will go with you.
副词变化形式：
• 直接在形容词后加-ly：
careful-carefully, slow-slowly
• 以辅音字母加y结尾的形容词，把y变i, 加-ly：
happy-happily, lucky-luckily
• 有些词形容词和副词的形式相同，不需要做任何变化：
fast, hard, late
• 有些词加上-ly后意思与原词相差很远：
neary-nearly, high-highly, late-lately
UNIT WHAT’S THE WEATHER LIKE?
一、核心词汇
1. 名词： summer 夏天weekend 周末season 季节Friday 星期五nose 鼻子
2. 动词： stay 停留；待
3. 形容词： most 大部分clear 清晰的slow 慢的ill 生病的careful 小心的；仔细的
4. 副词： yesterday 昨天 all 全部地
二、拓展词汇
1. 名词： weather 天气；气候rainbow 彩虹chocolate 巧克力fever 发烧cough 咳嗽toothache 牙疼
2. 动词： spend花费,消耗；度过take 消耗,花费leave 离开catch 感染
3. 形容词： different 不同的；各种各样的wonderful 精彩的；奇妙的afraid 害怕的
三、核心句型
1. — What’s the weather like there? 那里天气怎么样?
— It’s sunny, and windy sometimes. 天气晴朗,有时会有风。

解读：此句是由what引导的询问天气情况的特殊疑问句。

结尾处可以用副词there或here,也可用表示具体地点的短语。

举一反三：— What’s the weather like in Nanjing?南京天气怎么样?
— It’s rainy and wet. 多雨且潮湿。

注意：询问天气还有另一种句型“How is the weather + 地点?”。

2. This is Mike speaking. 我是迈克。

解读：此句型用于打电话时表明说话人的身份,意为“我是……”,注意speaking的形式。

举一反三：— Who is that speaking? 您是哪位?
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— This is Bob speaking. 我是鲍勃。

3. — How long does it take to get there? 到那儿需要多长时间?
— It will only take us three and a half hours to get there by air. 乘飞机到那里只需要三个半小时。

解读：此句型是询问到达某地要花多长时间的句型。

how long 意为“多长时间”,take意为“花费,消耗”。

答语一般为“It takes sb some time to get ….”。

举一反三：— How long does it take to get to Hangzhou? 到杭州需要多长时间?
— It takes me two hours to get there. 需要两个小时。

4. — What’s wrong with you? 你怎么了?
— I caught a cold yesterday. I have a runny nose, and a fever. 我昨天得了感冒。

我流鼻涕,发烧。

解读：此句型一般用来询问某人身体状况如何。

一般答语为“Sb
have/has/catch/caught ….”。

举一反三：— What’s wrong with you, Helen? 你怎么了,海伦?
— I have a cold. 我感冒了。

5. Move the glass or the paper until you can see the rainbow on the paper. 移动水杯或白纸,直到你在白纸上看到彩虹。

解读： until意为“在……之前；直到……为止”。

句中谓语动词是延续性动词,该句是肯定句。

若句中谓语动词是非延续动词,句子则要变为否定句或含有否定词的句子。

举一反三： We stay at the cinema until it is closed. 直到电影院关门,我们才离开。

Nancy doesn’t know the truth until she grows up. 直到南希长大后,她才
知道真相。

四、了解句型
1. But in Kunming, it feels like spring all year round. 但是在昆明,感觉四季如春。

解读： feel like 意为“感觉像是……；摸上去像是……”。

all year round意为“一年到头,全年”。

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2. It’s cooler in Kunming than in Beijing right now. 现在昆明的天气比北京凉爽。

解读：此句中包含比较级,其由形容词原形转化而来,一般在原词后面加er,意为“更……”。

比较级一般句型结构为“主语 + be 动词 + 形容词比较级 + than + 其他”。

3. Thank you for coming, Maomao. 感谢你来看望他,毛毛。

解读：此句用来表示感谢某人做某事。

for为介词,后跟名词、代词或动名词。

4. Sounds wonderful! 听起来不错!
解读： sounds为系动词,用来说明解释主语,此句省略了主语it。

系动词后面一般连接表语(名词、形容词等),说明主语的性质、特征等。

5. I’m afraid he can’t eat anything now. 恐怕他现在不能吃任何东西。

解读：“I’m afraid.”一般表示委婉地提出异议或者说出令人不快的事实。

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the Metal Pig
by Hans Christian Andersen（1842）
IN the city of Florence，not far from the Piazzadel Granduca，runs a little street called Porta Rosa.In this street，just in front o f the market-placewhere vegetables are sold，stands a pig，made ofb rass and curiously formed. The bright color hasbeen changed by age t o dark GREen；but clear，fresh water pours from the snout，which shines asif it had been po lished，and so indeed it has，forhundreds of poor people and child ren seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close tothe mouth of the animal，to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping thewell-formed creature by the head，as he p resses his rosy lips against its jaws. Every one whovisits Florence can very quickly find the place；he has only to ask the first beg gar he meets forthe Metal Pig，and he will be told where it is.
It was late on a winter evening；the mountains were covered with s now，but the moonshone brightly，and moonlight in Italy is like a dull winter's day in the north；indeed it isbetter，for clear ai r seems to raise us above the earth，while in the north a cold，gray，leaden sky appears to press us down to earth，even as the cold da mp earth shall one daypress on us in the grave. In the garden of the grand duke's palace，under the roof of one ofthe wings，where a thousand roses bloom in winter， a little ragged boy had been s itting thewhole day long； a boy，who might serve as a type of It aly，lovely and smiling，and yet stillsuffering. He was hungry and thirsty，yet no one gave him anything；and when it becamedark，
and they were about to close the gardens，the porter turned him ou t. He stood a longtime musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno ，and looking at the glittering stars，reflected in the water which flowed between him and the elegant marb le bridge Della Trinita. Hethen walked away towards the Metal Pig，half knelt down，clasped it with his arms，and thenput his mouth to the shining snout and drank deep draughts of the fresh water. Cl ose by，laya few salad-leaves and two chestnuts，which were to ser ve for his supper. No one was in thestreet but himself；it belonge d only to him，so he boldly seated himself on the pig's back，leaned forward so that his curly head could rest on the head of th e animal，and，before hewas aware，he fell asleep.
It was midnight. the Metal Pig raised himself gently，and the boy heard him say quitedistinctly，“Hold tight，little boy，for I am going to run；”and away he started for a mostwonderful ride. First，they arrived at the Piazza del Granduca，and the metal horse whichbears the duke's statue，n eighed aloud. The painted coats-of-arms on the old council-houseshone like transparent pictures，and Michael Angelo's David tossed his slin g；it was as ifeverything had life. The metallic groups of figures ，among which were Perseus and the Rape ofthe Sabines，looked like living persons，and cries of terror sounded from them all across thenoble square. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi，in the arcade，where the nobility assemble for thecarnival，the Metal Pig stopped. “Hold fast，”said the animal；“hold fast，for I am going upstairs.”
the little boy said not a word；he was half pleased and half afra id. They entered a longgallery，where the boy had been before. The
walls were resplendent with paintings；herestood statues and busts，all in a clear light as if it were day. But the grandest appeare d whenthe door of a side room opened；the little boy could remembe r what beautiful things he hadseen there，but to-night everything sh one in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of abeautiful wom an，as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the GREat maste rs. Hergraceful limbs appeared to move；dolphins sprang at her feet ，and immortality shone fromher eyes. The world called her the Venu s de' Medici. By her side were statues，in which thespirit of life breathed in stone；figures of men，one of whom whetted his sword ，and wasnamed the Grinder；wrestling gladiators formed another grou p，the sword had beensharpened for them，and they strove for the goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by somuch glitter；for the walls were gleaming with bright colors，all appeared living reality.
As they passed from hall to hall，beauty everywhere showed itself；and as the Metal Pigwent step by step from one picture to the ot her，the little boy could see it all plainly. Oneglory eclipsed ano ther；yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little bo y's memory，more especially because of the happy children it represented，for th ese the little boy had seenin daylight. Many pass this picture by w ith indifference，and yet it contains a treasure ofpoetic feeling；
it represents Christ descending into Hades. They are not the lost wh om thespectator sees，but the heathen of olden times. The Florentine ，Angiolo Bronzino，paintedthis picture；most beautiful is the expr ession on the face of the two children，who appear tohave full con fidence that they shall reach heaven at last. They are embracing eac h other，andone little one stretches out his hand towards another w ho stands below him，and points tohimself，as if he were saying，
“I am going to heaven.”The older people stand as ifuncertain，ye t hopeful，and they bow in humble adoration to the Lord Jesus. On thispicture the boy's eyes rested longer than on any other：the M etal Pig stood still before it. Alow sigh was heard. Did it come f rom the picture or from the animal？The boy raised his handstowards the smiling children，and then the Pig ran off with him through the open vestibule.
“Thank you，thank you，you beautiful animal，”said the little bo y，caressing the MetalPig as it ran down the steps.
“Thanks to yourself also，”replied the Metal Pig；“I have helped you and you have helpedme，for it is only when I have an innocent child on my back that I receive the power to ru n.Yes；as you see，I can even venture under the rays of the lamp ，in front of the picture ofthe Madonna，but I may not enter the church；still from without，and while you are upon myback，I ma y look in through the open door. Do not get down yet，for if you do，then I shallbe lifeless，as you have seen me in the Porta Rosa.”
“I will stay with you，my dear creature，”said the little boy. So then they went on at arapid pace through the streets of Florence ，till they came to the square before the church ofSanta Croce. Th e folding-doors flew open，and light streamed from the altar through thechurch into the deserted square. A wonderful blaze of light stre amed from one of themonuments in the left-side aisle，and a thousan d moving stars seemed to form a glory roundit；even the coat-of-arm s on the tomb-stone shone，and a red ladder on a blue field gleam edlike fire. It was the grave of Galileo. The monument is unadorned ，but the red ladder is anemblem of art，signifying that the way
to glory leads up a shining ladder，on which theprophets of mind rise to heaven，like Elias of old. In the right aisle of the ch urch every statueon the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed with life. Here stood Michael Angelo；thereDante，with the laurel wreath round his brow；Alfieri and Machiavelli；for here side by sideres t the GREat men—the pride of Italy.1 The church itself is very bea utiful，even morebeautiful than the marble cathedral at Florence，th ough not so large. It seemed as if thecarved vestments stirred，and as if the marble figures they covered raised their headshigher，to gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar where the white-robed boys swungthe golden censers，amid music and song，while the strong fragrance of incense filled thechurch，and streamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth his hands towards thelight，and at the same moment the Metal Pig started again so rapidly that he wa s obliged tocling tightly to him. The wind whistled in his ears，h e heard the church door creak on itshinges as it closed，and it s eemed to him as if he had lost his senses—then a cold shudderpas sed over him，and he awoke.
It was morning；the Metal Pig stood in its old place on the Porta Rosa，and the boy foundhe had slipped nearly off its back. Fear and trembling came upon him as he thought of hismother；she had se nt him out the day before to get some money，he had not done so ，andnow he was hungry and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of his metal horse，kissed itsnose，and nodded farewell to it. T hen he wandered away into one of the narrowest streets，where there was scarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. A GREat iron-bound door stoodajar；he passed through，and climbed up a br ick staircase，with dirty walls and a rope for abalustrade，till h e came to an open gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of s
teps leddown to a court，where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to the different storiesof the house，and where the water-buckets hung side by side. Sometimes the roller and thebucket d anced in the air，splashing the water all over the court. Another broken-downstaircase led from the gallery，and two Russian sailors ru nning down it almost upset thepoor boy. They were coming from their nightly carousal. A woman not very young，with anunpleasant face a nd a quantity of black hair，followed them. “What have you broughthome？”she asked. when she saw the boy.
“Don't be angry，”he pleaded；“I received nothing，I have nothing at all；”and he seizedhis mo ther's dress and would have kissed it. Then they went into a little room. I need notdescribe it，but only say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles，made for holdingfire，which in Italy is called a marito. This pot she took in her lap，warmed her fi ngers，andpushed the boy with her elbow.
“Certainly you must have some money，”she said. the boy began to cry，and then shestruck him with her foot till he cried out loud er.
“Will you be quiet？or I'll break your screaminghead；”and she s wung about the fire-pot which sheheld in her hand，while the boy c rouched to theearth and screamed.
then a neighbor came in，and she had also amarito under her arm. “Felicita，”she said，“whatare you doing to the child？”
“the child is mine，”she answered；“I canmurder him if I like，and you too，Giannina.”Andthen she swung about the fire-pot. The otherwoman lifted up hers to defend
herself，and the two pots clashed together so violently thatthey wer e dashed to pieces，and fire and ashes flew about the room. The b oy rushed out atthe sight，sped across the courtyard，and fled fro m the house. The poor child ran till he wasquite out of breath；a t last he stopped at the church，the doors of which were opened t o himthe night before，and went in. Here everything was bright，an d the boy knelt down by thefirst tomb on his right，the grave of Michael Angelo，and sobbed as if his heart would break.People came and went，mass was performed，but no one noticed the boy，excep ting anelderly citizen，who stood still and looked at him for a mo ment，and then went away like therest. Hunger and thirst overpowered the child，and he became quite faint and ill. At last hecrept in to a corner behind the marble monuments，and went to sleep. Towards evening hewas awakened by a pull at his sleeve；he started up，and the same old citizen stood beforehim.
“Are you ill？where do you live？have you been here all day？”were some of the questionsasked by the old man. After hearing his answers，the old man took him home to a small houseclose by，in a back street. They entered a glovemaker's shop，where a woman sa t sewingbusily. A little white poodle，so closely shaven that his p ink skin could plainly be seen，friskedabout the room，and gambolle d upon the boy.
“Innocent souls are soon intimate，”said the woman，as she caress ed both the boy andthe dog. These good people gave the child food and drink，and said he should stay with themall night，and that t he next day the old man，who was called Giuseppe，would go and s peakto his mother. A little homely bed was prepared for him，but t o him who had so often slept onthe hard stones it was a royal cou
ch，and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendidpictures and of the Metal Pig. Giuseppe went out the next morning，and the poor child was notglad to see him go，for he knew that the old man wa s gone to his mother，and that，perhaps，he would have to go back. He wept at the thought，and t hen he played with thelittle，lively dog，and kissed it，while th e old woman looked kindly at him to encourage him.And what news did Giuseppe bring back？At first the boy could not hear，for he ta lked aGREat deal to his wife，and she nodded and stroked the boy's cheek.
then she said，“He is a good lad，he shall stay with us，he may become a clev erglovemaker，like you. Look what delicate fingers he has got；Mado nna intended him for aglovemaker.”So the boy stayed with them，an d the woman herself taught him to sew；andhe ate well，and slept well，and became very merry. But at last he began to tease Belli ssima，as the little dog was called. This made the woman angry，and she scolded him and threatenedhim，which made him very unhappy，and he went and sat in his own room full of sadthoughts. This chamber lo oked upon the street，in which hung skins to dry，and there weret hick iron bars across his window. That night he lay awake，thinking of the Metal Pig；indeed，it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly he fancied he heard feet ou tside going pit-a-pat. Hesprung out of bed and went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig？But there was nothing tobe seen；whate ver he had heard had passed already. Next morning，their neighbor，theartist，passed by，carrying a paint-box and a large roll of c anvas.
“Help the gentleman to carry his box of colors，”said the woman to the boy；and heobeyed instantly，took the box，and followed th e painter. They walked on till they reached thepicture gallery，and mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that night on t heMetal Pig. He remembered all the statues and pictures，the beautif ul marble Venus，and againhe looked at the Madonna with the Saviour and St. John. They stopped before the picture byBronzino，in which Christ is represented as standing in the lower world，with the ch ildrensmiling before Him，in the sweet expectation of entering heaven ；and the poor boy smiled，too，for here was his heaven.
“You may go home now，”said the painter，while the boy stood wa tching him，till he hadset up his easel.
“May I see you paint？”asked the boy；“may I see you put the picture on this whitecanvas？”
“I am not going to paint yet，”replied the artist；then he brou ght out a piece of chalk. Hishand moved quickly，and his eye measu red the GREat picture；and though nothing appearedbut a faint line，the figure of the Saviour was as clearly visible as in the colore d picture.
“Why don't you go？”said the painter. Then the boy wandered home silently，and seatedhimself on the table，and learned to sew glov es. But all day long his thoughts were in thepicture gallery；and so he pricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not teaseBell issima. When evening came，and the house door stood open，he slipp ed out. It was abright，beautiful，starlight evening，but rather c old. Away he went through the already-deserted streets，and soon cam
e to the Metal Pig；he stooped down and kissed its shiningnose，a nd then seated himsel
f on its back.
“You happy creature，”he said；“how I have longed for you！we must take a ride to-night.”
But the Metal Pig lay motionless，while the fresh stream gushed for th from its mouth.The little boy still sat astride on its back，wh en he felt something pulling at his clothes. Helooked down，and the re was Bellissima，little smooth-shaven Bellissima，barking as if sh ewould have said，“Here I am too；why are you sitting there？”
A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did the little dog in thisplace.
“Bellissima in the street，and not dressed！”as the old lady cal led it；“what would bethe end of this？”
the dog never went out in winter，unless shewas attired in a littl e lambskin coat which had beenmade for her；it was fastened round the little dog'sneck and body with red ribbons，and was decoratedwit h rosettes and little bells. The dog looked almostlike a little kid when she was allowed to go out inwinter，and trot after her mist ress. And now hereshe was in the cold，and not dressed. Oh，howwo uld it end？All his fancies were quickly put toflight；yet he kis sed the Metal Pig once more，andthen took Bellissima in his arms. The poor little thingtrembled so with cold，that the boy ran homewa rd as fast as he could.
“What are you running away with there？”asked two of the police whom he met，and atwhom the dog barked.
“Where have you stolen that pretty dog？”they asked；and they to okit away from him.
“Oh，I have not stolen it；do give it to me back again，”crie d the boy，despairingly.
“If you have not stolen it，you may say at home that they can s end to the watch-housefor the dog.”Then they told him where the w atch-house was，and went away with Bellissima.
Here was a dreadful trouble. the boy did not know whether he had b etter jump into theArno，or go home and confess everything. They wo uld certainly kill him，he thought.
“Well，I would gladly be killed，”he reasoned；“for then I shall die，and go to heaven：”and so he went home，almost hoping for death.
the door was locked，and he could not reach the knocker. No one w as in the street；sohe took up a stone，and with it made a trem endous noise at the door.
“Who is there？”asked somebody from within.
“It is I，”said he. “Bellissima is gone. Open the door，and then kill me.”
then indeed there was a GREat panic. Madame was so very fond of Be llissima. Sheimmediately looked at the wall where the dog's dress usu ally hung；and there was the littlelambskin.
“Bellissima in the watch-house！”she cried. “You bad boy！how did you entice her out？
Poor little delicate thing，with those rough policemen！and she'll be frozen with cold.”
Giuseppe went off at once，while his wife lamented，and the boy w ept. Several of theneighbors came in，and amongst them the painter. He took the boy between his knees，andquestioned him；and，in b roken sentences，he soon heard the whole story，and also aboutthe Metal Pig，and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery，which was certainly ratherincomprehensible. The painter，however，consoled the little fellow，and tried to soften thelady's anger；but she would not be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima，who had been with the police. Then there was GREat rejoicing，and the paint er caressed the boy，andgave him a number of pictures. Oh，what b eautiful pictures these were！—figures with funnyheads；and，above all，the Metal Pig was there too. Oh，nothing could be more delightful.By means of a few strok es，it was made to appear on the paper；and even the house thats tood behind it had been sketched in. Oh，if he could only draw an d paint！He who could dothis could conjure all the world before hi m. The first leisure moment during the next day，theboy got a penc il，and on the back of one of the other drawings he attempted to copy thedrawing of the Metal Pig，and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked，rather up anddown，one leg thick，and another thin；still it was like the copy，and he was overjoyed atwhat h e had done. The pencil would not go quite as it ought，—he had found that out；butthe next day he tried again. A second pig was drawn by the side of the first，and this looked ahundred times better；and the third attempt was so good，that everybody might know whatit was meant to represent.
And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given by the shops in the townwere not finished quickly；for the Metal Pig had taught the boy that all objects may be drawnupon paper；and Flore nce is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turn ov er itspages. On the Piazza dell Trinita stands a slender pillar，an d upon it is the goddess ofJustice，blindfolded，with her scales i n her hand. She was soon represented on paper，and itwas the glove maker's boy who placed her there. His collection of pictures increase d；but asyet they were only copies of lifeless objects，when one day Bellissima came gambolling beforehim：“Stand still，”cried he，“and I will draw you beautifully，to put amongst my col lection.”
But Bellissima would not stand still，so she must be bound fast in one position. He tied herhead and tail；but she barked and jumped ，and so pulled and tightened the string，that shewas nearly stran gled；and just then her mistress walked in.
“You wicked boy！the poor little creature！”was all she could ut ter.
She pushed the boy from her，thrust him away with her foot，calle d him a mostungrateful，good-for-nothing，wicked boy，and forbade h im to enter the house again. Thenshe wept，and kissed her little h alf-strangled Bellissima. At this moment the painter enteredthe room. In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts at Florence. Twopictures，placed side by side，attracted a large numb er of spectators. The smaller of the tworepresented a little boy sit ting at a table，drawing；before him was a little white poodle，curiously shaven；but as the animal would not stand still，it had
been fastened with a stringto its head and tail，to keep it in one position. The truthfulness and life in this pictureinterested ever y one.
the painter was said to be a young Florentine，who had been found in the streets，when achild，by an old glovemaker，who had brou ght him up. The boy had taught himself to draw：it was also said that a young artist，now famous，had discovered talent in the child just as hewas about to be sent away for having tied up madame's favorite little dog，and using it as amodel. The glovemaker's boy had also become a GREat painter，as the picture proved；butthe larger picture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. It represented a handsomeboy，clothed in rags，lyi ng asleep，and leaning against the Metal Pig in the street of the PortaRosa. All the spectators knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck of the Pig，and he was in a deep sleep.
the lamp before the picture of the Madonna threw a strong，effectiv e light on the pale，delicate face of the child. It was a beautiful picture. A large gil t frame surrounded it，and onone corner of the frame a laurel wrea th had been hung；but a black band，twined unseenamong the GREen leaves，and a streamer of crape，hung down from it；for within t he lastfew days the young artist had—died.。