来自: 海外逸士 2011-10-01 23:30:28

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-08 22:31:38


    Mr. President: No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as
    well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed
    the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights;
    and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen
    if, entertaining as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs,
    I shall speak forth my sentiments freely, and without reserve. This is no
    time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment
    to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question
    of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject
    [1]ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we
    can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfil the great responsibility which we
    hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time,
    through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of treason
    towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven,
    which I revere above all earthly kings.
    Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope.
    We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song
    of that siren[2] till she transforms us into beasts[3]. Is this the part
    of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we
    disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having
    ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation?
    For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know
    the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.
    I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of
    experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And
    judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of
    the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with
    which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the House? Is
    it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received?
    Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves
    to be betrayed with a kiss[4]. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception
    of our petition comports with these war-like preparations which cover our
    waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of
    love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled,
    that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves,
    sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments
    to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array,
    if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any
    other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter
    of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No,
    sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other.
    They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British
    ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them?
    Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years.
    Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the
    subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in
    vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall
    we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you,
    sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done,
    to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated;
    we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and
    have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry
    and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have
    produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded;
    and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In
    vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation?
    There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to
    preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so
    long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in
    which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves
    never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained,
    we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to
    the God of Hosts[5] is all that is left us!
    They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable
    an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or
    the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British
    guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution
    and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying
    supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our
    enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make
    a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power.
    Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such
    a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our
    enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone.
    There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations; and who
    will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not
    to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides,
    sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now
    too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission
    and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains
    of Boston[5]! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir,
    let it come.
    It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace,
    Peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that
    sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms!
    Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it
    that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet,
    as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty
    God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty
    or give me death!

    1) 背景﹕To avoid interference from Lieutenant-Governor Dunmore and his
    Royal Marines, the Second Virginia Convention met March 20, 1775 inland
    at Richmond--in what is now called St. John's Church--instead of the Capitol
    in Williamsburg. Delegate Patrick Henry presented resolutions to raise a
    militia, and to put Virginia in a posture of defense. Henry's opponents urged
    caution and patience until the crown replied to Congress' latest petition
    for reconciliation.
    On the 23rd, Henry presented a proposal to organize a volunteer company
    of cavalry or infantry in every Virginia county. By custom, Henry addressed
    himself to the Convention's president, Peyton Randolph of Williamsburg.
    Henry's words were not transcribed, but no one who heard them forgot their
    eloquence, or Henry's closing words: "Give me liberty, or give me death!"
    2) 生詞﹕自己查。
    3) 註解﹕[1] 請作句子結構分析﹐看這裡有沒問題。[2] In Greek mythology, the
    Sirens are creatures with the head of a female and the body of a bird. They
    lived on an island and with the irresistible charm of their song they lured
    mariners to their destruction on the rocks surrounding their island. [3]
    Through a mythical allusion, he is metaphorically comparing how the British
    are saying things to the colonists which are promising false hopes to how
    Circe in Homer's Odyssey transformed men into swine after charming them
    with her singing. In Greek mythology, Circe is a minor goddess of magic,
    described in the Odyssey as 'The loveliest of all immortals,' living on
    the island of Aeaea, famous for her part in the adventures of Odysseus in
    Homer's Odyssey. [4] According to the Synoptic Gospels, Judas identified
    Jesus to the soldiers by means of a kiss, which occurs in the Garden of
    Gethsemane after the Last Supper, leads directly to the arrest of Jesus
    by the police force of the Sanhedrin (Kilgallen 271). [5] Here it denotes
    the god of war.
    4) 這篇演講條理清楚﹐邏輯性強。擺情況﹐作分析﹐導致最後的必然結論。
    5) 要求﹕能背誦。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-09 22:40:09



  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-10 02:34:23

    Address to Chinese Learners of English

    Learners of English, I'm here appealing to your earnest desire for further studies. I'm here warning you that you should not be satisfied with your basic knowledge only. You must read more and practice writing, if you want to rank among the best. Knowledge and skills can't be gained in a day. There's no shortcut on the way to the peak of learning. Perseverance over a long time is necessary. If you halt in your studies, you will by degrees recede from where you are. You will gradually forget what you have learned so far. You won't be able to fish out some words from your mind when needed, which you diligently memorized before, as you don't use them often. It's just like an old acquaintance made long ago you can't make out whom he is now after many years of separation. Besides holding on to your acquirements so far, you must leap over all the hurdles and march through marshes and woods to the summit of learning so that you can be proud of yourself as a giant in that language. Be assured, I'm always here for you. So, write something for me this very moment, and for yourself, too.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-10 04:27:19


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-15 23:35:49


    IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man *in possession
    of* a good fortune must be *in want of* a wife. 可背誦
    However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first
    entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the
    surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of
    some one or other of their daughters.
    "My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that
    Netherfield Park is let at last?"
    Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
    "But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told
    me all about it."
    Mr. Bennet *made no answer*.
    "Do not you want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.
    ("You want to tell me, and I *have no objection to* hearing it.")
    (This was invitation enough.)
    "Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by
    a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down
    on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted
    with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to *take
    possession* before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the
    house by the end of next week."
    "What is his name?"
    "Is he married or single?"
    "Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or
    five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"
    "How so? (how can it affect them?)"
    "My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You
    must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."
    ("Is that his design in settling here?")
    "Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may
    fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon
    as he comes."
    "I *see no occasion for* that. You and the girls may go, or you may send
    them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for, (as you are
    as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.
    "My dear, you flatter me. I (certainly have had my share of beauty), but
    I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five
    grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."
    "(In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.)"
    "But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into
    the neighbourhood."
    "It is *more than I engage for*, I assure you."
    "But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would
    be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely
    *on that account*, for in general, you know they visit no new comers. Indeed
    you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not."
    "You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad
    to see you; and (I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty
    consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls); though I must
    *throw in a good word for* my little Lizzy."
    "I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the
    others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good
    humoured as Lydia. But you are always *giving her the preference*."
    "They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are all
    silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness
    than her sisters."
    "Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such way? You *take
    delight in* vexing me. You *have no compassion on* my poor nerves."
    "You mistake me, my dear. (I have a high respect for your nerves. They are
    my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty
    years at least.)"
    "Ah! you do not know what I suffer."
    "But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four
    thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."
    "It will *be no use to* us if twenty such should come, since you will not
    visit them."
    "Depend upon it, my dear, that (when there are twenty I will visit them
    Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve,
    and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient
    to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to
    develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and
    uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous.
    The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was
    visiting and news.
    1) 生詞自己查。
    2) 無語言難點﹐無註解。
    3) 說明﹕[1] 有些世界名著常以一個特殊句子結構﹐或表達哲理性的意思開頭。如
    本文開頭﹐句子本身裡面就有個平行結構。再如﹕It was the best of times, it
    was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
    it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the
    season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope,
    it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing
    before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct
    the other way. 狄更斯“雙城記”的開頭。又如﹕The day broke gray and dull.
    這是英國20世紀初的著名作家毛姆的Of Human Bondage裡的開頭句。簡潔漂亮。這
    都是可以學習的亮點。[2] 句子裡有好些可借鑒的用語﹐用*號在前後表出。[3] 有
    4) 凡有志于提高英文寫作水平者﹐可自寫短篇小說或短故事一篇﹐跟貼于後。本人

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-16 21:59:01



  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-22 22:59:43


    The Broken Heart
    by Washington Irving

    IT is a common practice with those who have outlived the susceptibility
    of early feeling, or have been brought up in the gay heartlessness of dissipated
    life, to laugh at all love stories, and to treat the tales of romantic passion
    as mere fictions of novelists and poets. My observations on human nature
    have induced me to think otherwise. They have convinced me that, however
    the surface of the character may be chilled and frozen by the cares of the
    world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts of society, still there
    are dormant fires lurking in the depths of the coldest bosom, which, when
    once enkindled, become impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their
    effects. Indeed, I am a true believer in the blind deity, and go to the full
    extent of his doctrines. Shall I confess it?--I believe in broken hearts,
    and the possibility of dying of disappointed love! I do not, however, consider
    it a malady often fatal to my own sex; but I firmly believe that it withers
    down many a lovely woman into an early grave.

    Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature leads him forth
    into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the embellishment
    of his early life, or a song piped in the
    intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the
    world's thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a woman's whole life
    is a history of the affections. The heart is her world; it is there her
    ambition strives for empire--it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures.
    She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; she embarks her whole soul
    in the
    traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless--for it is
    a bankruptcy of the heart.

    To a man, the disappointment of love may occasion some bitter pangs; it
    wounds some feelings of tenderness--it blasts some prospects of felicity;
    but he is an active being--he may
    dissipate his thoughts in the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge
    into the tide of pleasure; or, if the scene of disappointment be too full
    of painful associations, he can shift his abode at will, and taking, as
    it were, the wings of the morning, can "fly to the uttermost parts of the
    earth, and be at rest."

    But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and meditative life. She
    is more the companion of her own thoughts and feelings; and if they are
    turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look for consolation? Her
    lot is to be wooed and won; and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like
    some fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and abandoned, and left

    How many bright eyes grow dim--how many soft cheeks grow pale--how many
    lovely forms fade away into the tomb, and none can tell the cause that blighted
    their loveliness! As the dove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover
    and conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals--so is it the nature
    of woman, to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection. The love
    of a
    delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely
    breathes it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses
    of her bosom, and there lets it cower
    and brood among the ruins of her peace. With her, the desire of her heart
    has failed--the great charm of existence is at an end. She neglects all
    the cheerful exercises which gladden the
    spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life in healthful currents
    through the veins. Her rest is broken--the sweet refreshment of sleep is
    poisoned by melancholy dreams--"dry
    sorrow drinks her blood," until her enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest
    external injury. Look for her, after a little while, and you find friendship
    weeping over her untimely grave,
    and wondering that one, who but lately glowed with all the radiance of health
    and beauty, should so speedily be brought down to "darkness and the worm."
    You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual indisposition, that laid
    her low;--but no one knows of the mental malady which previously sapped
    her strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler.

    She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the grove; graceful
    in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the worm preying at its heart.
    We find it suddenly withering, when it should be most fresh and luxuriant.
    We see it drooping its branches to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf,
    until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the forest;
    and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the
    blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with decay.

    I have seen many instances of women running to waste and self-neglect, and
    disappearing gradually from the earth, almost as if they had been exhaled
    to heaven; and have repeatedly
    fancied that I could trace their deaths through the various declensions
    of consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, until I reached the
    first symptom of disappointed love. But an
    instance of the kind was lately told to me; the circumstances are well known
    in the country where they happened, and I shall but give them in the manner
    in which they were related.

    Every one must recollect the tragical story of young E----, the Irish patriot;
    it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland,
    he was tried, condemned, and executed,
    on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy.
    He was so young--so intelligent--so generous--so brave--so everything that
    we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so
    lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge
    of treason against his country--the eloquent vindication of his name--and
    his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation,
    --all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies
    lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.

    But there was one heart whose anguish it would be impossible to describe.
    In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful
    and interesting girl, the daughter of a
    late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor
    of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself
    against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around
    his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then,
    his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been
    the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image? Let those
    tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and
    the being they most loved on earth--who have sat at its threshold, as one
    shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that was most lovely and
    loving had departed.

    But then the horrors of such a grave!--so frightful, so dishonored! There
    was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation--
    none of those tender, though
    melancholy circumstances which endear the parting scene--nothing to melt
    sorrow into those blessed tears, sent like the dews of heaven, to revive
    the heart in the parting hour of anguish.

    To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's
    displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the parental
    roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a
    spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no
    want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities.
    The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of
    wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all
    kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from
    the tragical story of her loves. But it
    was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch
    the soul--which penetrate to the vital seat of happiness--and blast it,
    never again to put forth bud or blossom.
    She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone
    there as in the depths of solitude; walking about in a sad revery, apparently
    unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe
    that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the
    song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely."

    The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can
    be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than
    to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely
    and joyless, where all around is gay--to see it dressed out in the trappings
    of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to
    cheat the poor heart into momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling
    through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction,
    she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and, looking about for
    some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish
    scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a
    little plaintive
    air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple,
    so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness--that she drew
    a crowd, mute and silent, around her and melted every one into tears.

    The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest
    in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a
    brave officer, who paid his addresses to her,
    and thought that one so true to the dead, could not but prove affectionate
    to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably
    engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his
    suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by
    her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent
    situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he
    at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance,
    that her heart was unalterably another's.

    He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear
    out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife,
    and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent
    and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted
    away in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave,
    the victim
    of a broken heart.

    1) 生詞自己查
    2) 作者介紹﹕Washington Irving (1783-1859) American writer. Washington Irving'
    s pseudonyms included: Dietrich Knickerbocker, Jonathan Oldstyle, and Geoffrey
    Crayon. Washington Irving was a short story writer, famous for works like
    "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." These works were both
    a part of "The Sketch Book," a collection of short stories. Washington Irving
    has been called the father of the American short story because of his unique
    contributions to the form.
    3) 如果能看出裡面哪些句子是寫得好的﹐欣賞水平已達到文學層次。如果能寫出那
    4) 如果你被感動了﹐你看懂了整篇故事。
    5) 希望能背誦。帶有感情地。
    6) 如果能寫篇愛情故事﹐跟貼於此。本人將抽時間修改評述。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-23 22:58:28


    單詞。但記在本子上不等於自己所有﹐必須背記在心裡。所以每天背記20--30 單詞。
    如卍字﹐SWASTIKA 和納粹用的FYLFOT。甚至外國人都把這兩個詞搞混了。還有動詞
    義詞字典可查﹐但裡面的詞列得並不多。譬如說﹐在我的本子上記下的HAPPY 及 SAD
    的同義詞﹐各有20幾個。而動詞GLISTEN 的同義詞也有10 個左右。第三本專記特殊
    的句型結構和名句﹐如TOO ---- TO + 動詞﹐表示“太----而不----”﹔SO AS
    TO + 動詞等結構。剛學到時﹐覺得有點特殊﹐記下後﹐再做幾個造句練習練習。再
    如莎翁的名劇“凱撒大帝”裡有個漂亮的句子﹕It is not that I love Caesar less,
    but that I love Rome more. 這個結構我就用在自己的英語散文TIME 裡﹕It is not
    that I love English literature less, but that I love Chinese literature more.

    if you have any questions, please post here.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-24 22:13:51

    瑞典買不到﹐只能上網去看。你可把 WASHINGTON POST 或 NEW YORK TIMES 輸入



  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-25 22:53:25


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-26 22:21:19


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-27 22:02:45


    我不知道你那邊有什麼英文雜誌。可去圖書館借閱TIMES﹐READER DIGEST等雜誌。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-29 00:42:05

    shiyidemichong@163.com ]


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-29 22:01:42


    Psalm of Life
    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
    Life is but an empty dream! ─
    For the soul is dead that slumbers,
    And things are not what they seem.

    Life is real ! Life is earnest!
    And the grave is not its goal;
    Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
    Was not spoken of the soul.

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way;
    But to act, that each to-morrow
    Find us farther than to-day.

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
    Still, like muffled drums, are beating
    Funeral marches to the grave.

    In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
    Be a hero in the strife!

    Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
    Let the dead Past bury its dead!
    Act,─ act in the living Present!
    Heart within, and God o'erhead!

    Lives of great men all remind us
    We can make our lives sublime,
    And, departing, leave behind us
    Footprints on the sands of time.

    Footprints, that perhaps another,
    Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
    Seeing, shall take heart again.

    Let us, then, be up and doing,
    With a heart for any fate;
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
    Learn to labor and to wait.
    1) 生詞字典裡都能找到。
    2) 詩人介紹﹕Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 每 March 24,
    1882) was an American poet and educator. Longfellow was born in Portland,
    Maine, then part of Massachusetts, and studied at Bowdoin College. After
    spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and, later, at
    Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night
    (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). Longfellow retired from teaching
    in 1854 to focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge,
    Massachusetts, in a former headquarters of George Washington. His first
    wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances
    Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining burns from her dress catching fire.
    After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and
    focused on his translation. He died in 1882.
    3) 此詩主要說人生是真實的﹐鼓勵人向前﹐積極進取。
    4) 不管中英文詩﹐詩行不能太長﹐否則讀上去就沒有詩感。詩行要有輕重交替的節
    5) 能背誦。
    6) 有興趣者可以寫首英文詩﹐跟貼在此。本人會評改。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-10-30 23:47:13

    OK. I already sent you what you need via that email. when you get it, let me know.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-01 22:32:33

    material sent to sym-1991@163.com
    please check it

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-03 22:17:12

    material sent to xuyian32@yahoo.com.cn
    please check it.

    can you tell me sth about your studies? I really like to help a sstudent in English major to become a master of that language.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-04 23:18:32

    I sent the material you want to the email address sym-1991@163.com

    please check it. If not yet this time, maybe, sth wrong with your email.

    welcome both of you to talk with me via the email address I gave you.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-06 00:32:38

    stuff sent to amay126@126.com and xijuandadi@sina.com

    please check.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-06 00:33:08


    Jane Eyre
    by Charlotte Bronte
    Chapter 1

    There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering,
    indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner
    (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind
    had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further
    out-door exercise was now out of the question.
    I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons:
    dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers
    and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and
    humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John,
    and Georgiana Reed.
    The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama
    in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with
    her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked
    perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, "She
    regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that
    until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that
    I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike
    disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner-- something lighter,
    franker, more natural, as it were--she really must exclude me from privileges
    intended only for contented, happy, little children."
    "What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.
    "Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something
    truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated
    somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."
    A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained
    a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should
    be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up
    my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen
    curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.
    Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left
    were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the
    drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book,
    I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank
    of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless
    rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.
    I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress
    thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain
    introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank.
    They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of "the solitary
    rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded
    with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North
    Cape -
    "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, Boils round the naked, melancholy
    isles Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy
    Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland,
    Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast sweep
    of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,--that reservoir
    of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries
    of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and
    concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of these death-white realms
    I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions
    that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive. The
    words in these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding
    vignettes, and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea
    of billow and spray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to
    the cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just
    I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with
    its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled
    by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the hour of eventide.

    The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.

    The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over quickly:
    it was an object of terror.
    So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant
    crowd surrounding a gallows.
    Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding
    and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: as interesting
    as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced
    to be in good humour; and when, having brought her ironing-table to the
    nursery hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs.
    Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap borders, fed our eager attention
    with passages of love and adventure taken from old fairy tales and other
    ballads; or (as at a later period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela,
    and Henry, Earl of Moreland.
    With Bewick 指書on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way.
    I feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-room
    door opened.
    "Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: he found
    the room apparently empty.
    "Where the dickens is she!" he continued. "Lizzy! Georgy! (calling to his
    sisters) Joan is not here: tell mama she is run out into the rain--bad animal!
    "It is well I drew the curtain," thought I; and I wished fervently he might
    not discover my hiding-place: nor would John Reed have found it out himself;
    he was not quick either of vision or conception; but Eliza just put her
    head in at the door, and said at once -
    "She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack."
    And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being dragged
    forth by the said Jack.
    "What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.
    "Say, 'What do you want, Master Reed?'" was the answer. "I want you to come
    here;" and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a gesture that
    I was to approach and stand before him.
    John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I,
    for I was but ten: large and stout for his age, with a dingy and unwholesome
    skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and large extremities.
    He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him bilious, and gave
    him a dim and bleared eye and flabby cheeks. He ought now to have been at
    school; but his mama had taken him home for a month or two, "on account of
    his delicate health." Mr. Miles, the master, affirmed that he would do very
    well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeats sent him from home; but the mother'
    s heart turned from an opinion so harsh, and inclined rather to the more
    refined idea that John's sallowness was owing to over-application and, perhaps,
    to pining after home.
    John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy
    to me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, nor
    once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had feared him,
    and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near. There were
    moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no
    appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions; the servants
    did not like to offend their young master by taking my part against him,
    and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject: she never saw him strike
    or heard him abuse me, though he did both now and then in her very presence,
    more frequently, however, behind her back.
    Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair: he spent some three
    minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could without damaging
    the roots: I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the blow, I mused
    on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would presently deal it.
    I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, all at once, without speaking,
    he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered, and on regaining my equilibrium
    retired back a step or two from his chair.
    "That is for your impudence in answering mama awhile since," said he, "and
    for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, and for the look you had
    in your eyes two minutes since, you rat!"
    Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it;
    my care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow the insult.

    "What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked.
    "I was reading."
    "Show the book."
    I returned to the window and fetched it thence.
    "You have no business to take our books; you are a dependent, mama says;
    you have no money; your father left you none; you ought to beg, and not
    to live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals we
    do, and wear clothes at our mama's expense. Now, I'll teach you to rummage
    my bookshelves: for they ARE mine; all the house belongs to me, or will
    do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of the mirror
    and the windows."
    I did so, not at first aware what was his intention; but when I saw him
    lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctively started
    aside with a cry of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volume was flung,
    it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door and cutting it.
    The cut bled, the pain was sharp: my terror had passed its climax; other
    feelings succeeded.
    "Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a murderer--you are like a
    slave-driver--you are like the Roman emperors!"
    I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of Nero,
    Caligula, &c. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never thought
    thus to have declared aloud.
    "What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza
    and Georgiana? Won't I tell mama? but first--"
    He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had
    closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer.
    I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was
    sensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time predominated
    over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very well know what
    I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and bellowed out aloud.
    Aid was near him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone
    upstairs: she now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid Abbot.
    We were parted: I heard the words -
    "Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"
    "Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"
    Then Mrs. Reed subjoined -
    "Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in there." Four hands were
    immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs.
    1) 請自己查字典。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Charlotte Bront? (21 April 1816 -- 31 March 1855) was an English
    novelist and poet, the eldest of the three Bront? sisters who survived into
    adulthood, whose novels are English literature standards. She wrote Jane
    Eyre under the pen name Currer Bell.
    3) 有興趣者可自己網上找到全書看完。還有電影。
    4) 注意有些幽默的筆調。
    5) 如能學習用幽默的筆調寫一小段﹐貼在這裡。本人會抽空評改。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-12 22:42:45



    by Charlotte Bronte

    Life, believe, is not a dream
    So dark as sages say;
    Oft a little morning rain
    Foretells a pleasant day.
    Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
    But these are transient all;
    If the shower will make the roses bloom,
    O why lament its fall ?

    Rapidly, merrily,
    Life's sunny hours flit by,
    Gratefully, cheerily,
    Enjoy them as they fly !

    What though Death at times steps in
    And calls our Best away ?
    What though sorrow seems to win,
    O'er hope, a heavy sway ?
    Yet hope again elastic springs,
    Unconquered, though she fell;
    Still buoyant are her golden wings,
    Still strong to bear us well.
    Manfully, fearlessly,
    The day of trial bear,
    For gloriously, victoriously,
    Can courage quell despair !

    1) 如有生詞﹐請自己查。
    2) 既然Charlotte Bronte說小說家﹐又是詩人﹐就看一首她的詩。她對生活的態度
    3) 能背誦。
    4) 是否你寫首同題英文詩﹖表達一下你對人生的看法。可貼這裡﹐我會抽空討論。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-19 22:42:11


    Wuthering Heights 呼嘯山莊
    by Emily Bronte

    Chapter 1
    1801. - I have just returned from a visit to my landlord - the solitary
    neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country!
    In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation
    so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's
    heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation
    between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards
    him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows,
    as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous
    resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
    'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.
    A nod was the answer.
    'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as
    soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced
    you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange:
    I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts - '
    'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I should
    not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it - walk in!'

    The 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment,
    'Go to the Deuce:' even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising
    movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept
    the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly
    reserved than myself.
    When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out
    his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling,
    as we entered the court, - 'Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring
    up some wine.'
    'Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,' was the
    reflection suggested by this compound order. 'No wonder the grass grows
    up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.'
    Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and
    sinewy. 'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure,
    while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly
    that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest
    his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.

    Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering'
    being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric
    tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing
    ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess
    the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant
    of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns
    all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily,
    the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply
    set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.
    Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque
    carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door;
    above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little
    boys, I detected the date '1500,' and the name 'Hareton Earnshaw.' I would
    have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from
    the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy
    entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience
    previous to inspecting the penetralium.
    One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory
    lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house' pre-eminently. It includes
    kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen
    is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished
    a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and
    I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace;
    nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One
    end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense
    pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row
    after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never
    been under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except
    where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef,
    mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous
    old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three
    gaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth,
    white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green:
    one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser
    reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing
    puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.
    The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging
    to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart
    limbs set out to advantage in knee- breeches and gaiters. Such an individual
    seated in his arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before
    him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills,
    if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular
    contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in
    aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as
    many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with
    his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose.
    Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of under-bred pride;
    I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort:
    I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays
    of feeling - to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He'll love and hate
    equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved
    or hated again. No, I'm running on too fast: I bestow my own attributes
    over-liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons
    for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be acquaintance,
    to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar:
    my dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only
    last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.
    While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown into
    the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as
    long as she took no notice of me. I 'never told my love' vocally; still,
    if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head
    and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return - the sweetest of
    all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame - shrunk
    icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther;
    till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed
    with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By
    this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate
    heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
    I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which
    my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting
    to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking
    wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth
    watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.
    'You'd better let the dog alone,' growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking
    fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. 'She's not accustomed to
    be spoiled - not kept for a pet.' Then, striding to a side door, he shouted
    again, 'Joseph!'
    Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation
    of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me VIS-A-VIS the
    ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her
    a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact
    with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand
    tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the
    trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly
    broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened
    to interpose the table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive:
    half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from
    hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar
    subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually
    as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance
    from some of the household in re-establishing peace.
    Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm:
    I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth
    was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant
    of the kitchen made more despatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare
    arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a
    frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that
    the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea
    after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene.
    'What the devil is the matter?' he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could
    ill endure, after this inhospitable treatment.
    'What the devil, indeed!' I muttered. 'The herd of possessed swine could
    have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You
    might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!'
    'They won't meddle with persons who touch nothing,' he remarked, putting
    the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. 'The dogs do right
    to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine?'
    'No, thank you.'
    'Not bitten, are you?'
    'If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.' Heathcliff's countenance
    relaxed into a grin.
    'Come, come,' he said, 'you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little
    wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I
    am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir?'
    I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be
    foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs; besides,
    I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his
    humour took that turn. He - probably swayed by prudential consideration of
    the folly of offending a good tenant - relaxed a little in the laconic style
    of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he
    supposed would be a subject of interest to me, - a discourse on the advantages
    and disadvantages of my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent
    on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged so far
    as to volunteer another visit to-morrow. He evidently wished no repetition
    of my intrusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable
    I feel myself compared with him.

    1) 生詞都能查到。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Wuthering Heights is a novel by Emily Bronte? published in
    1847. It was her only novel and written between December 1845 and July 1846.
    It remained unpublished until July 1847 and was not printed until December
    after the success of her sister Charlotte Bront?'s novel Jane Eyre. It was
    finally printed under the pseudonym Ellis Bell; a posthumous second edition
    was edited by Charlotte.
    The title of the novel comes from the Yorkshire manor on the moors of the
    story. The narrative centres on the all-encompassing, passionate but doomed
    love between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, and how this unresolved
    passion eventually destroys them and many around them.
    3) 這章較“簡‧愛”那章描寫複雜難懂。都能讀懂了﹐說明英文水平很好。
    4) 這也是本世界古典名著。要真正學好英語﹐必須讀些古典名著﹐就像學中文要讀

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-20 23:01:41




  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-11-26 23:36:08


    The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
    by Anne Bronte

    Chapter 1
    You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.
    My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in -shire; and I,
    by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quiet occupation, not very
    willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims, and self-conceit assured
    me that, in disregarding its voice, I was burying my talent in the earth,
    and hiding my light under a bushel. My mother had done her utmost to persuade
    me that I was capable of great achievements; but my father, who thought
    ambition was the surest road to ruin, and change but another word for destruction,
    would listen to no scheme for bettering either my own condition, or that
    of my fellow mortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and exhorted me,
    with his dying breath, to continue in the good old way, to follow his steps,
    and those of his father before him, and let my highest ambition be to walk
    honestly through the world, looking neither to the right hand nor to the
    left, and to transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, as
    flourishing a condition as he left them to me.
    'Well! - an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful members
    of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation of my farm, and
    the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall thereby benefit, not
    only my own immediate connections and dependants, but, in some degree, mankind
    at large:- hence I shall not have lived in vain.' With such reflections as
    these I was endeavouring to console myself, as I plodded home from the fields,
    one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the close of October. But the gleam
    of a bright red fire through the parlour window had more effect in cheering
    my spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings, than all the sage reflections
    and good resolutions I had forced my mind to frame; - for I was young then,
    remember - only four-and-twenty - and had not acquired half the rule over
    my own spirit that I now possess - trifling as that may be.
    However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged my
    miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for a respectable
    coat, and made myself generally presentable before decent society; for my
    mother, with all her kindness, was vastly particular on certain points.

    In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart, pretty girl
    of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face, bright, blooming cheeks,
    glossy, clustering curls, and little merry brown eyes. I need not tell
    you this was my sister Rose. She is, I know, a comely matron still, and,
    doubtless, no less lovely - in your eyes - than on the happy day you first
    beheld her. Nothing told me then that she, a few years hence, would be the
    wife of one entirely unknown to me as yet, but destined hereafter to become
    a closer friend than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerly lad
    of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage, on coming down, and
    well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who, in correction for his impudence,
    received a resounding whack over the sconce, which, however, sustained
    no serious injury from the infliction; as, besides being more than commonly
    thick, it was protected by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that
    my mother called auburn.
    On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady seated in her arm-chair
    at the fireside, working away at her knitting, according to her usual custom,
    when she had nothing else to do. She had swept the hearth, and made a bright
    blazing fire for our reception; the servant had just brought in the tea-tray;
    and Rose was producing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy from the cupboard in
    the black oak side-board, that shone like polished ebony, in the cheerful
    parlour twilight.
    'Well! here they both are,' cried my mother, looking round upon us without
    retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering needles. 'Now
    shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets the tea ready; I'm
    sure you must be starved; - and tell me what you've been about all day;
    - I like to know what my children have been about.'
    'I've been breaking in the grey colt - no easy business that - directing
    the ploughing of the last wheat stubble - for the ploughboy has not the
    sense to direct himself - and carrying out a plan for the extensive and
    efficient draining of the low meadowlands.'
    'That's my brave boy! - and Fergus, what have you been doing?'
    And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport, and the
    respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; my mother
    pretending to listen with deep attention, and watching his animated countenance
    with a degree of maternal admiration I thought highly disproportioned to
    its object.
    'It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus,' said I, as soon
    as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in a word.
    'What can I do?' replied he; 'my mother won't let me go to sea or enter
    the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else - except make myself such
    a nuisance to you all, that you will be thankful to get rid of me on any
    Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, and tried
    to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the table, in obedience
    to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.
    'Now take your tea,' said she; 'and I'll tell you what I've been doing.
    I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn't
    go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!'
    'Well! what of her?'
    'Oh, nothing! - I'm not going to tell you about her; - only that she's a
    nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour, and I shouldn't
    mind calling her - '
    'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered my mother
    earnestly, holding up her finger.
    'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was going to tell you an important piece of news
    I heard there - I have been bursting with it ever since. You know it was
    reported a month ago, that somebody was going to take Wildfell Hall - and
    - what do you think? It has actually been inhabited above a week! - and
    we never knew!'
    'Impossible!' cried my mother.
    'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.
    'It has indeed! - and by a single lady!'
    'Good gracious, my dear! The place is in ruins!'
    'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she lives, all
    alone - except an old woman for a servant!'
    'Oh, dear! that spoils it - I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed Fergus,
    while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.
    'Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't it strange, mamma?'
    'Strange! I can hardly believe it.'
    'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her. She went with her
    mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood,
    would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and got all she could
    out of her. She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is in mourning - not widow's
    weeds, but slightish mourning - and she is quite young, they say, - not
    above five or six and twenty, - but so reserved! They tried all they could
    to find out who she was and where she came from, and, all about her, but
    neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts,
    nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a
    single satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or chance expression
    calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon
    her history, circumstances, or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil
    to them, and evidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you
    do.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to
    offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known
    to have entered the neighbourhood early last week. She did not make her appearance
    at church on Sunday; and she - Eliza, that is - will beg to accompany him,
    and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of her - you know,
    Gilbert, she can do anything. And we should call some time, mamma; it's
    only proper, you know.'
    'Of course, my dear. Poor thing! How lonely she must feel!'
    'And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how much sugar
    she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she wears, and all
    about it; for I don't know how I can live till I know,' said Fergus, very
    But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke of wit, he
    signally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was not much disconcerted
    at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and butter and was about
    to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour of the thing burst upon him with such
    irresistible force, that he was obliged to jump up from the table, and rush
    snorting and choking from the room; and a minute after, was heard screaming
    in fearful agony in the garden.
    As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishing
    the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister went on talking, and
    continued to discuss the apparent or non-apparent circumstances, and probable
    or improbable history of the mysterious lady; but I must confess that, after
    my brother's misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and
    put it down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I should injure
    my dignity by a similar explosion.
    The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the
    fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went; though my mother
    declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had not gained much
    good, she flattered herself she had imparted some, and that was better:
    she had given some useful advice, which, she hoped, would not be thrown away;
    for Mrs. Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and appeared somewhat
    self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of reflection, - though she did not
    know where she had been all her life, poor thing, for she betrayed a lamentable
    ignorance on certain points, and had not even the sense to be ashamed of
    'On what points, mother?' asked I.
    'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and such
    things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she be required
    to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. I gave her some useful
    pieces of information, however, and several excellent receipts, the value
    of which she evidently could not appreciate, for she begged I would not trouble
    myself, as she lived in such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure she should
    never make use of them. "No matter, my dear," said I; "it is what every
    respectable female ought to know; - and besides, though you are alone now,
    you will not be always so; you have been married, and probably - I might
    say almost certainly - will be again." "You are mistaken there, ma'am," said
    she, almost haughtily; "I am certain I never shall." - But I told her I
    knew better.'
    'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end her days
    in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed - but it won't last
    'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very disconsolate
    after all; and she's excessively pretty - handsome rather - you must see
    her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly
    pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.'
    'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though not
    more charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, I maintain
    that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.'
    'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'
    'Just so - saving my mother's presence.'
    'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don't mean it;
    it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting up, and bustling
    out of the room, under pretence of household business, in order to escape
    the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.
    After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting Mrs. Graham.
    Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture of the room she
    inhabited, were all set before me, with rather more clearness and precision
    than I cared to see them; but, as I was not a very attentive listener, I
    could not repeat the description if I would.
    The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered whether or
    not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's remonstrance, and come
    to church. I confess I looked with some interest myself towards the old
    family pew, appertaining to Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimson cushions
    and lining had been unpressed and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
    with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned so sternly from
    the wall above.
    And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in black. Her face was
    towards me, and there was something in it which, once seen, invited me to
    look again. Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossy ringlets,
    a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days, but always graceful and
    becoming; her complexion was clear and pale; her eyes I could not see, for,
    being bent upon her prayer-book, they were concealed by their drooping lids
    and long black lashes, but the brows above were expressive and well defined;
    the forehead was lofty and intellectual, the nose, a perfect aquiline and
    the features, in general, unexceptionable - only there was a slight hollowness
    about the cheeks and eyes, and the lips, though finely formed, were a little
    too thin, a little too firmly compressed, and had something about them that
    betokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in my heart
    - 'I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than be the
    partner of your home.'
    Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I did not choose
    to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book, but with a momentary,
    indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that was inexpressibly provoking
    to me.
    'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I. 'Humph! - she shall change
    her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'
    But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts for a
    place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present occasion, was anything
    but what it ought to be. Previous, however, to directing my mind to the
    service, I glanced round the church to see if any one had been observing
    me; - but no, - all, who were not attending to their prayer-books, were attending
    to the strange lady, - my good mother and sister among the rest, and Mrs.
    Wilson and her daughter; and even Eliza Millward was slily glancing from
    the corners of her eyes towards the object of general attraction. Then she
    glanced at me, simpered a little, and blushed, modestly looked at her prayer-
    book, and endeavoured to compose her features.
    Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensible of it
    by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pert brother. For the
    present, I could only resent the insult by pressing my foot upon his toes,
    deferring further vengeance till we got out of church.
    Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza Millward
    was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaging little creature,
    for whom I felt no small degree of partiality; - and she knew it, though
    I had never come to any direct explanation, and had no definite intention
    of so doing, for my mother, who maintained there was no one good enough for
    me within twenty miles round, could not bear the thoughts of my marrying
    that insignificant little thing, who, in addition to her numerous other
    disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call her own. Eliza's figure
    was at once slight and plump, her face small, and nearly as round as my
    sister's, - complexion, something similar to hers, but more delicate and
    less decidedly blooming, - nose, retrousse, - features, generally irregular;
    and, altogether, she was rather charming than pretty. But her eyes - I must
    not forget those remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay
    - in outward aspect at least; - they were long and narrow in shape, the irids
    black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and ever changing, but
    always either preternaturally - I had almost said diabolically - wicked,
    or irresistibly bewitching - often both. Her voice was gentle and childish,
    her tread light and soft as that of a cat:- but her manners more frequently
    resembled those of a pretty playful kitten, that is now pert and roguish,
    now timid and demure, according to its own sweet will.
    Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller, and of
    a larger, coarser build - a plain, quiet, sensible girl, who had patiently
    nursed their mother, through her last long, tedious illness, and been the
    housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence to the present time. She was
    trusted and valued by her father, loved and courted by all dogs, cats, children,
    and poor people, and slighted and neglected by everybody else.
    The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly gentleman,
    who placed a shovel hat above his large, square, massive-featured face,
    carried a stout walking-stick in his hand, and incased his still powerful
    limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters, - or black silk stockings on state occasions.
    He was a man of fixed principles, strong prejudices, and regular habits,
    intolerant of dissent in any shape, acting under a firm conviction that his
    opinions were always right, and whoever differed from them must be either
    most deplorably ignorant, or wilfully blind.
    In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a feeling
    of reverential awe - but lately, even now, surmounted, for, though he had
    a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a strict disciplinarian,
    and had often sternly reproved our juvenile failings and peccadilloes; and
    moreover, in those days, whenever he called upon our parents, we had to stand
    up before him, and say our catechism, or repeat, 'How doth the little busy
    bee,' or some other hymn, or - worse than all - be questioned about his
    last text, and the heads of the discourse, which we never could remember.
    Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would reprove my mother for being over-indulgent
    to her sons, with a reference to old Eli, or David and Absalom, which was
    particularly galling to her feelings; and, very highly as she respected him,
    and all his sayings, I once heard her exclaim, 'I wish to goodness he had
    a son himself! He wouldn't be so ready with his advice to other people then;
    - he'd see what it is to have a couple of boys to keep in order.'
    He had a laudable care for his own bodily health - kept very early hours,
    regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastly particular about warm
    and dry clothing, had never been known to preach a sermon without previously
    swallowing a raw egg - albeit he was gifted with good lungs and a powerful
    voice, - and was, generally, extremely particular about what he ate and drank,
    though by no means abstemious, and having a mode of dietary peculiar to
    himself, - being a great despiser of tea and such slops, and a patron of
    malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and other strong meats, which
    agreed well enough with his digestive organs, and therefore were maintained
    by him to be good and wholesome for everybody, and confidently recommended
    to the most delicate convalescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to
    derive the promised benefit from his prescriptions, were told it was because
    they had not persevered, and if they complained of inconvenient results
    therefrom, were assured it was all fancy.
    I will just touch upon two other persons whom I have mentioned, and then
    bring this long letter to a close. These are Mrs. Wilson and her daughter.
    The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, a narrow-minded, tattling
    old gossip, whose character is not worth describing. She had two sons, Robert,
    a rough countrified farmer, and Richard, a retiring, studious young man,
    who was studying the classics with the vicar's assistance, preparing for
    college, with a view to enter the church.
    Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and more ambition. She
    had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-school education, superior
    to what any member of the family had obtained before. She had taken the
    polish well, acquired considerable elegance of manners, quite lost her provincial
    accent, and could boast of more accomplishments than the vicar's daughters.
    She was considered a beauty besides; but never for a moment could she number
    me amongst her admirers. She was about six and twenty, rather tall and very
    slender, her hair was neither chestnut nor auburn, but a most decided bright,
    light red; her complexion was remarkably fair and brilliant, her head small,
    neck long, chin well turned, but very short, lips thin and red, eyes clear
    hazel, quick, and penetrating, but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling.
    She had, or might have had, many suitors in her own rank of life, but scornfully
    repulsed or rejected them all; for none but a gentleman could please her
    refined taste, and none but a rich one could satisfy her soaring ambition.
    One gentleman there was, from whom she had lately received some rather pointed
    attentions, and upon whose heart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she
    had serious designs. This was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire, whose family
    had formerly occupied Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteen years
    ago, for a more modern and commodious mansion in the neighbouring parish.

    Now, Halford, I bid you adieu for the present. This is the first instalment
    of my debt. If the coin suits you, tell me so, and I'll send you the rest
    at my leisure: if you would rather remain my creditor than stuff your purse
    with such ungainly, heavy pieces, - tell me still, and I'll pardon your
    bad taste, and willingly keep the treasure to myself.
    Yours immutably,

    1) 自查生詞。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Anne Bronte (17 January 1820 -- 28 May 1849) was a British
    novelist and poet, the youngest member of the Bronte literary family. The
    Tenant of Wildfell Hall is the second and final novel by Anne Bronte, published
    in 1848 under the pseudonym Acton Bell. Probably the most shocking of the
    Brontes' novels, this novel had an instant phenomenal success, but after
    Anne's death, her sister Charlotte prevented re-publication of it.
    The novel is framed as a letter from Gilbert Markham to his friend and brother-
    in-law about the events leading to his meeting his wife.
    3) Bronte sisters的作品可以作泛讀材料。偶有不懂的地方﹐可以置之不顧﹐讀下

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-03 23:00:23


    Ode to the West Wind 西風頌
    by Percy Bysshe Shelley

    O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,(1)
    Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead(2)
    Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,(1)

    Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,(2)
    Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,(3)
    Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed(2)

    The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,(3)
    Each like a corpse within its grave,until(4)
    Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow(3)

    Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill(4)
    (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)(5)
    With living hues and odours plain and hill:(4)

    Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;(5)
    Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!(5)

    Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
    Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
    Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

    Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
    On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
    Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

    Of some fierce Maenad [1], even from the dim verge
    Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
    The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

    Of the dying year, to which this closing night
    Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
    Vaulted with all thy congregated might

    Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
    Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!

    Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
    The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
    Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,

    Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's [2] bay,
    And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
    Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

    All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
    So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
    For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

    Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
    The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
    The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

    Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
    And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

    If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
    If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
    A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

    The impulse of thy strength, only less free
    Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
    I were as in my boyhood, and could be

    The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
    As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
    Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

    As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
    Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
    I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

    A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
    One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

    Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
    What if my leaves are falling like its own!
    The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

    Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
    Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
    My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

    Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
    Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
    And, by the incantation of this verse,

    Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
    Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
    Be through my lips to unawakened Earth

    The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
    If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 詩人介紹﹕Percy Bysshe Shelley ( 4 August 1792 -- 8 July 1822) was one
    of the major English Romantic poets and is critically regarded as among
    the finest lyric poets in the English language. Shelley was famous for his
    association with John Keats and Lord Byron. The novelist Mary Shelley was
    his second wife.
    He became an idol of the next three or four generations of poets, including
    important Victorian and Pre-Raphaelite poets. He was admired by Karl Marx,
    Oscar Wilde, Thomas Hardy, George Bernard Shaw, Bertrand Russell, William
    Butler Yeats, Upton Sinclair and Isadora Duncan.[
    3) 註解﹕[1] In Greek mythology, maenads were the female followers of Dionysus
    (Bacchus in the Roman pantheon), the most significant members of the Thiasus,
    the god's retinue. Their name literally translates as "raving ones". Often
    the maenads were portrayed as inspired by him into a state of ecstatic frenzy,
    through a combination of dancing and drunken intoxication. In this state,
    they would lose all self-control, begin shouting excitedly, engage in uncontrolled
    sexual behavior, and ritualistically hunt down and tear to pieces animals
    -- and, in myth at least, sometimes men and children -- devouring the raw
    flesh. During these rites, the maenads would dress in fawn skins and carry
    a thyrsus, a long stick wrapped in ivy or vine leaves and tipped by a cluster
    of leaves; they would weave ivy-wreaths around their heads, and often handle
    or wear snakes. [2] Baiae in the Campania region of Italy was a Roman seaside
    resort on the Bay of Naples. It was said to have been named after Baius,
    who was supposedly buried there. Michael Baius (1513 -- September 16, 1589)
    was a Belgian theologian. In 1552 Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, appointed
    him professor of scriptural interpretation in the university.
    4) 能背誦。這是首經典名詩。最後一句更為大家所熟知並引用。注意﹐有時一行詩

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-08 03:22:29




    My Dear Miss So-and-So,
    Since I made your acquaintance, your lovely image has loomed in my mind's
    eye. Just as an ancient Chinese poem has it, it seems that three autumns
    have elapsed if we don't see each other for a day. Although I can hear your
    sweet voice over the phone, and see your pretty face on the computer screen,
    thanks to modern technology, yet I wish that we can be close together so
    that I can hold your hands in mine to have a feeling of reality. I always
    imagine that we are rowing a boat on a smooth lake, face to face with each
    other, or walking side by side on a footpath among flowers and trees. I
    can imagine that I am hugging you and you resting your head on my chest,
    and we dancing to the soft music, you so gracefully. 這裡﹐如果要用此文的
    I wish that we can unite in holy matrimony in the nearest future so that
    we can both turn over a new page -- a page with the mixture of two individuals
    into a happy union and a page with the fond hope for a new life born to
    us. You can be rest assured that I will love you for the rest of my life
    with all my heart, until seas go dry and rocks turn rotten. I'm eagerly awaiting
    your earliest reply.
    Best regards.


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-09 23:30:23


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-10 23:21:00


    Gong With the Wind 飄
    by Margaret Mitchell

    Chapter 1
    Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught
    by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended
    the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent,
    and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face,
    pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch
    of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends.
    Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique
    line in her magnolia-white skin -- that skin so prized by Southern women
    and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia
    Seated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool shade of the porch of
    Tara, her father's plantation, that bright April afternoon of 1861, she
    made a pretty picture. Her new green flowered-muslin dress spread its twelve
    yards of billowing material over her hoops and exactly matched the flat-heeled
    green morocco slippers her father had recently brought her from Atlanta.
    The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the smallest in
    three counties, and the tightly fitting basque showed breasts well matured
    for her sixteen years. But for all the modesty of her spreading skirts,
    the demureness of hair netted smoothly into a chignon and the quietness
    of small white hands folded in her lap, her true self was poorly concealed.
    The green eyes in the carefully sweet face were turbulent, willful, lusty
    with life, distinctly at variance with her decorous demeanor. Her manners
    had been imposed upon her by her mother's gentle admonitions and the sterner
    discipline of her mammy; her eyes were her own.
    On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs, squinting
    at the sunlight through tall mint-garnished glasses as they laughed and
    talked, their long legs, booted to the knee and thick with saddle muscles,
    crossed negligently. Nineteen years old, six feet two inches tall, long of
    bone and hard of muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their
    eyes merry and arrogant, their bodies clothed in identical blue coats and
    mustard-colored breeches, they were as much alike as two bolls of cotton.
    Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in the yard, throwing into
    gleaming brightness the dogwood trees that were solid masses of white blossoms
    against the background of new green. The twins' horses were hitched in the
    driveway, big animals, red as their masters' hair; and around the horses'
    legs quarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds that accompanied
    Stuart and Brent wherever they went. A little aloof, as became an aristocrat,
    lay a black-spotted carriage dog, muzzle on paws, patiently waiting for
    the boys to go home to supper.
    Between the hounds and the horses and the twins there was a kinship deeper
    than that of their constant companionship. They were all healthy, thoughtless
    young animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the boys as mettlesome as
    the horses they rode, mettlesome and dangerous but, withal, sweet-tempered
    to those who knew how to handle them.
    Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and foot since
    infancy, the faces of the three on the porch were neither slack nor soft.
    They had the vigor and alertness of country people who have spent all their
    lives in the open and troubled their heads very little with dull things
    in books. Life in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and,
    according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a little
    crude. The more sedate and older sections of the South looked down their
    noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in north Georgia, a lack of
    the niceties of classical education carried no shame, provided a man was
    smart in the things that mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well,
    shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and
    carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered.
    In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally outstanding
    in their notorious inability to learn anything contained between the covers
    of books. Their family had more money, more horses, more slaves than any
    one else in the County, but the boys had less grammar than most of their
    poor Cracker neighbors.
    It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling on the
    porch of Tara this April afternoon. They had just been expelled from the
    University of Georgia, the fourth university that had thrown them out in
    two years; and their older brothers, Tom and Boyd, had come home with them,
    because they refused to remain at an institution where the twins were not
    welcome. Stuart and Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke,
    and Scarlett, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville
    Female Academy the year before, thought it just as amusing as they did.
    "I know you two don't care about being expelled, or Tom either," she said.
    "But what about Boyd? He's kind of set on getting an education, and you
    two have pulled him out of the University of Virginia and Alabama and South
    Carolina and now Georgia. He'll never get finished at this rate."
    "Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee's office over in Fayetteville," answered
    Brent carelessly. "Besides, it don't matter much. We'd have had to come
    home before the term was out anyway."
    "The war, goose! The war's going to start any day, and you don't suppose
    any of us would stay in college with a war going on, do you?"
    "You know there isn't going to be any war," said Scarlett, bored. "It's
    all just talk. Why, Ashley Wilkes and his father told Pa just last week
    that our commissioners in Washington would come to -- to --an -- amicable
    agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees
    are too scared of us to fight. There won't be any war, and I'm tired of hearing
    about it."
    "Not going to be any war!" cried the twins indignantly, as though they had
    been defrauded.
    "Why, honey, of course there's going to be a war," said Stuart. "The Yankees
    may be scared of us, but after the way General Beauregard shelled them out
    of Fort Sumter day before yesterday, they'll have to fight or stand branded
    as cowards before the whole world. Why, the Confederacy --"
    Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.
    "If you say 'war' just once more, I'll go in the house and shut the door.
    I've never gotten so tired of any one word in my life as 'war', unless it's
    'secession'. Pa talks war morning, noon and night, and all the gentlemen
    who come to see him shout about Fort Sumter and States' Rights and Abe Lincoln
    till I get so bored I could scream! And that's all the boys talk about, too,
    that and their old Troop. There hasn't been any fun at any party this spring
    because the boys can't talk about anything else. I'm mighty glad Georgia
    waited till after Christmas before it seceded or it would have ruined the
    Christmas parties, too. If you say 'war' again, I'll go in the house."
    She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any conversation
    of which she was not the chief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, consciously
    deepening her dimple and fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly
    as butterflies' wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them
    to be, and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none
    the less of her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought more. War
    was men's business, not ladies', and they took her attitude as evidence
    of her femininity.
    Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she went back
    with interest to their immediate situation.
    "What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?"
    The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother's conduct three months
    ago when they had come home, by request, from the University of Virginia.
    "Well," said Stuart, "she hasn't had a chance to say anything yet. Tom and
    us left home early this morning before she got up, and Tom's laying out
    over at the Fontaines' while we came over here."
    "Didn't she say anything when you got home last night?"
    "We were in luck last night. Just before we got home that new stallion Ma
    got in Kentucky last month was brought in, and the place was in a stew.
    The big brute -- he's a grand horse, Scarlett; you must tell your pa to
    come over and see him right away -- he'd already bitten a hunk out of his
    groom on the way down here and he'd trampled two of Ma's darkies who met
    the train at Jonesboro. And just before we got home, he'd about kicked the
    stable down and half-killed Strawberry, Ma's old stallion. When we got home,
    Ma was out in the stable with a sackful of sugar smoothing him down and
    doing it mighty well, too. The darkies were hanging from the rafters, popeyed,
    they were so scared, but Ma was talking to the horse like he was folks
    and he was eating out of her hand. There ain't nobody 這是沒文化人用的錯誤
    的雙重否定 like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us she said: 'In Heaven's
    name, what are you four doing home again? You're worse than the plagues
    of Egypt!' And then the horse began snorting and rearing and she said: 'Get
    out of here! Can't you see he's nervous, the big darling? I'll tend to you
    four in the morning!' So we went to bed, and this morning we got away before
    she could catch us and left Boyd to handle her."
    "Do you suppose she'll hit Boyd?" Scarlett, like the rest of the County,
    could never get used to the way small Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons
    and laid her riding crop on their backs if the occasion seemed to warrant
    Beatrice Tarleton was a busy woman, having on her hands not only a large
    cotton plantation, a hundred negroes and eight children, but the largest
    horse-breeding farm in the state as well. She was hot-tempered and easily
    plagued by the frequent scrapes of her four sons, and while no one was permitted
    to whip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and then didn't do the
    boys any harm.
    "Of course she won't hit Boyd. She never did beat Boyd much because he's
    the oldest and besides he's the runt of the litter," said Stuart, proud
    of his six feet two. "That's why we left him at home to explain things to
    her. God'lmighty, Ma ought to stop licking us! We're nineteen and Tom's
    twenty-one, and she acts like we're six years old."
    "Will your mother ride the new horse to the Wilkes barbecue tomorrow?"
    "She wants to, but Pa says he's too dangerous. And, anyway, the girls won't
    let her. They said they were going to have her go to one party at least
    like a lady, riding in the carriage."
    "I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow," said Scarlett. "It's rained nearly every
    day for a week. There's nothing worse than a barbecue turned into an indoor
    "Oh, it'll be clear tomorrow and hot as June," said Stuart. "Look at that
    sunset. I never saw one redder. You can always tell weather by sunsets."
    They looked out across the endless acres of Gerald O'Hara's newly plowed
    cotton fields toward the red horizon. Now that the sun was setting in a
    welter of crimson behind the hills across the Flint River, the warmth of
    the April day was ebbing into a faint but balmy chill.
    Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing
    of pink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river
    swamp and far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished, and the
    bloody glory of the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia
    clay to even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the
    cotton seeds, showed pinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and
    scarlet and maroon where shadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The
    whitewashed brick plantation house seemed an island set in a wild red sea,
    a sea of spiraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at the
    moment when the pink-tipped waves were breaking into surf. For here were
    no long, straight furrows, such as could be seen in the yellow clay fields
    of the flat middle Georgia country or in the lush black earth of the coastal
    plantations. The rolling foothill country of north Georgia was plowed in
    a million curves to keep the rich earth from washing down into the river
    It was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains, brick dust in droughts,
    the best cotton land in the world. It was a pleasant land of white houses,
    peaceful plowed fields and sluggish yellow rivers, but a land of contrasts,
    of brightest sun glare and densest shade. The plantation clearings and miles
    of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At their edges
    rose the virgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons, mysterious,
    a little sinister, the soughing pines seeming to wait with an age-old patience,
    to threaten with soft sighs: "Be careful! Be careful! We had you once.
    We can take you back again."
    To the ears of the three on the porch came the sounds of hooves, the jingling
    of harness chains and the shrill careless laughter of negro voices, as the
    field hands and mules came in from the fields. From within the house floated
    the soft voice of Scarlett's mother, Ellen O'Hara, as she called to the
    little black girl who carried her basket of keys. The high-pitched, childish
    voice answered "Yas'm," and there were sounds of footsteps going out the
    back way toward the smokehouse where Ellen would ration out the food to
    the home-coming hands. There was the click of china and the rattle of silver
    as Pork, the valet-butler of Tara, laid the table for supper.
    At these last sounds, the twins realized it was time they were starting
    home. But they were loath to face their mother and they lingered on the
    porch of Tara, momentarily expecting Scarlett to give them an invitation
    to supper.
    "Look, Scarlett. About tomorrow," said Brent. "Just because we've been away
    and didn't know about the barbecue and the ball, that's no reason why we
    shouldn't get plenty of dances tomorrow night. You haven't promised them
    all, have you?"
    "Well, I have! How did I know you all would be home? I couldn't risk being
    a wallflower just waiting on you two."
    "You a wallflower!" The boys laughed uproariously.
    "Look, honey. You've got to give me the first waltz and Stu the last one
    and you've got to eat supper with us. We'll sit on the stair landing like
    we did at the last ball and get Mammy Jincy to come tell our fortunes again."

    "I don't like Mammy Jincy's fortunes. You know she said I was going to marry
    a gentleman with jet-black hair and a long black mustache, and I don't like
    black-haired gentlemen."
    "You like 'em (them) red-headed, don't you, honey?" grinned Brent. "Now,
    come on, promise us all the waltzes and the supper."
    "If you'll promise, we'll tell you a secret," said Stuart.
    "What?" cried Scarlett, alert as a child at the word.
    "Is it what we heard yesterday in Atlanta, Stu? If it is, you know we promised
    not to tell."
    "Well, Miss Pitty told us."
    "Miss Who?"
    "You know, Ashley Wilkes' cousin who lives in Atlanta, Miss Pittypat Hamilton
    -- Charles and Melanie Hamilton's aunt."
    "I do, and a sillier old lady I never met in all my life."
    "Well, when we were in Atlanta yesterday, waiting for the home train, her
    carriage went by the depot and she stopped and talked to us, and she told
    us there was going to be an engagement announced tomorrow night at the Wilkes
    "Oh. I know about that," said Scarlett in disappointment. "That silly nephew
    of hers, Charlie Hamilton, and Honey Wilkes. Everybody's known for years
    that they'd get married some time, even if he did seem kind of lukewarm
    about it."
    "Do you think he's silly?" questioned Brent. "Last Christmas you sure let
    him buzz round you plenty."
    "I couldn't help him buzzing," Scarlett shrugged negligently. "I think he's
    an awful sissy."
    "Besides, it isn't his engagement that's going to be announced," said Stuart
    triumphantly. "It's Ashley's to Charlie's sister, Miss Melanie!"
    Scarlett's face did not change but her lips went white -- like a person
    who has received a stunning blow without warning and who, in the first moments
    of shock, does not realize what has happened. So still was her face as she
    stared at Stuart that he, never analytic, took it for granted that she was
    merely surprised and very interested.
    "Miss Pitty told us they hadn't intended announcing it till next year, because
    Miss Melly hasn't been very well; but with all the war talk going around,
    everybody in both families thought it would be better to get married soon.
    So it's to be announced tomorrow night at the supper intermission. Now,
    Scarlett, we've told you the secret, so you've got to promise to eat supper
    with us."
    "Of course I will," Scarlett said automatically.
    "And all the waltzes?"
    "You're sweet! I'll bet the other boys will be hopping mad."
    "Let 'em be mad," said Brent. "We two can handle 'em. Look, Scarlett. Sit
    with us at the barbecue in the morning."
    Stuart repeated his request.
    "Of course."
    The twins looked at each other jubilantly but with some surprise. Although
    they considered themselves Scarlett's favored suitors, they had never before
    gained tokens of this favor so easily. Usually she made them beg and plead,
    while she put them off, refusing to give a Yes or No answer, laughing if
    they sulked, growing cool if they became angry. And here she had practically
    promised them the whole of tomorrow -- seats by her at the barbecue, all
    the waltzes (and they'd see to it that the dances were all waltzes!) and
    the supper intermission. This was worth getting expelled from the university.

    Filled with new enthusiasm by their success, they lingered on, talking about
    the barbecue and the ball and Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton, interrupting
    each other, making jokes and laughing at them, hinting broadly for invitations
    to supper. Some time had passed before they realized that Scarlett was having
    very little to say. The atmosphere had somehow changed. Just how, the twins
    did not know, but the fine glow had gone out of the afternoon. Scarlett seemed
    to be paying little attention to what they said, although she made the correct
    answers. Sensing something they could not understand, baffled and annoyed
    by it, the twins struggled along for a while, and then rose reluctantly,
    looking at their watches.
    The sun was low across the new-plowed fields and the tall woods across the
    river were looming blackly in silhouette. Chimney swallows were darting
    swiftly across the yard, and chickens, ducks and turkeys were waddling and
    strutting and straggling in from the fields.
    Stuart bellowed: "Jeems!" And after an interval a tall black boy of their
    own age ran breathlessly around the house and out toward the tethered horses.
    Jeems was their body servant and, like the dogs, accompanied them everywhere.
    He had been their childhood playmate and had been given to the twins for
    their own on their tenth birthday. At the sight of him, the Tarleton hounds
    rose up out of the red dust and stood waiting expectantly for their masters.
    The boys bowed, shook hands and told Scarlett they'd be over at the Wilkeses'
    early in the morning, waiting for her. Then they were off down the walk
    at a rush, mounted their horses and, followed by Jeems, went down the avenue
    of cedars at a gallop, waving their hats and yelling back to her.
    When they had rounded the curve of the dusty road that hid them from Tara,
    Brent drew his horse to a stop under a clump of dogwood. Stuart halted,
    too, and the darky boy pulled up a few paces behind them. The horses, feeling
    slack reins, stretched down their necks to crop the tender spring grass,
    and the patient hounds lay down again in the soft red dust and looked up
    longingly at the chimney swallows circling in the gathering dusk. Brent's
    wide ingenuous face was puzzled and mildly indignant.
    "Look," he said. "Don't it look to you like she would of (have) asked us
    to stay for supper?"
    "I thought she would," said Stuart. "I kept waiting for her to do it, but
    she didn't. What do you make of it?"
    "I don't make anything of it. But it just looks to me like she might of.
    After all, it's our first day home and she hasn't seen us in quite a spell.
    And we had lots more things to tell her."
    "It looked to me like she was mighty glad to see us when we came."
    "I thought so, too."
    "And then, about a half-hour ago, she got kind of quiet, like she had a
    "I noticed that but I didn't pay it any mind then. What do you suppose ailed
    "I dunno (don't know). Do you suppose we said something that made her mad?"
    They both thought for a minute.
    "I can't think of anything. Besides, when Scarlett gets mad, everybody knows
    it. She don't hold herself in like some girls do."
    "Yes, that's what I like about her. She don't go around being cold and hateful
    when she's mad -- she tells you about it. But it was something we did or
    said that made her shut up talking and look sort of sick. I could swear
    she was glad to see us when we came and was aiming to ask us to supper."
    "You don't suppose it's because we got expelled?"
    "Hell, no! Don't be a fool. She laughed like everything when we told her
    about it. And besides Scarlett don't set any more store by book learning
    than we do."
    Brent turned in the saddle and called to the negro groom.
    "Suh (Sir)?" 表示沒文化人的發音不準。凡括弧註的﹐下同。
    "You heard what we were talking to Miss Scarlett about?"
    "Nawsuh (No, Sir), Mist' (Mister) Brent! Huccome you think Ah be spyin'
    (spying) on w'ite (white) folks?"
    "Spying, my God! You darkies know everything that goes on. Why, you liar,
    I saw you with my own eyes sidle round the corner of the porch and squat
    in the cape jessamine bush by the wall. Now, did you hear us say anything
    that might have made Miss Scarlett mad -- or hurt her feelings?"
    Thus appealed to, Jeems gave up further pretense of not having overheard
    the conversation and furrowed his black brow.
    "Nawsuh, Ah din' (didn't) notice y'all (ye all) say anything ter (to) mek
    (make) her mad. Look ter me lak (like) she sho (so) glad ter see you an'
    (and) sho had missed you, an' she cheep along happy as a bird, tell 'bout
    (about) de (the) time y'all got ter talkin' 'bout Mist' Ashley an' Miss Melly
    Hamilton gittin' (getting) mah'ied (married). Den (Then) she quiet down lak
    a bird w'en (when) de hawk fly ober (over)."
    The twins looked at each other and nodded, but without comprehension.
    "Jeems is right. But I don't see why," said Stuart. "My Lord! Ashley don't
    mean anything to her, 'cept (except) a friend. She's not crazy about him.
    It's us she's crazy about."
    Brent nodded an agreement.
    "But do you suppose," he said, "that maybe Ashley hadn't told her he was
    going to announce it tomorrow night and she was mad at him for not telling
    her, an old friend, before he told everybody else? Girls set a big store
    on knowing such things first."
    "Well, maybe. But what if he hadn't told her it was tomorrow? It was supposed
    to be a secret and a surprise, and a man's got a right to keep his own engagement
    quiet, hasn't he? We wouldn't have known it if Miss Melly's aunt hadn't
    let it out. But Scarlett must have known he was going to marry Miss Melly
    sometime. Why, we've known it for years. The Wilkes and Hamiltons always
    marry their own cousins. Everybody knew he'd probably marry her some day,
    just like Honey Wilkes is going to marry Miss Melly's brother, Charles."
    "Well, I give it up. But I'm sorry she didn't ask us to supper. I swear
    I don't want to go home and listen to Ma take on about us being expelled.
    It isn't as if this was the first time."
    "Maybe Boyd will have smoothed her down by now. You know what a slick talker
    that little varmint is. You know he always can smooth her down."
    "Yes, he can do it, but it takes Boyd time. He has to talk around in circles
    till Ma gets so confused that she gives up and tells him to save his voice
    for his law practice. But he ain,t had time to get good started yet. Why,
    I'll bet you Ma is still so excited about the new horse that she'll never
    even realize we're home again till she sits down to supper tonight and sees
    Boyd. And before supper is over she'll be going strong and breathing fire.
    And it'll be ten o'clock before Boyd gets a chance to tell her that it wouldn'
    t have been honorable for any of us to stay in college after the way the
    Chancellor talked to you and me. And it'll be midnight before he gets her
    turned around to where she's so mad at the Chancellor she'll be asking Boyd
    why he didn't shoot him. No, we can't go home till after midnight."
    The twins looked at each other glumly. They were completely fearless of
    wild horses, shooting affrays and the indignation of their neighbors, but
    they had a wholesome fear of their red-haired mother's outspoken remarks
    and the riding crop that she did not scruple to lay across their breeches.
    "Well, look," said Brent. "Let's go over to the Wilkes. Ashley and the girls'
    ll be glad to have us for supper."
    Stuart looked a little discomforted.
    "No, don't let's go there. They'll be in a stew getting ready for the barbecue
    tomorrow and besides -- "
    "Oh, I forgot about that," said Brent hastily. "No, don't let's go there."
    They clucked to their horses and rode along in silence for a while, a flush
    of embarrassment on Stuart's brown cheeks. Until the previous summer, Stuart
    had courted India Wilkes with the approbation of both families and the entire
    County. The County felt that perhaps the cool and contained India Wilkes
    would have a quieting effect on him. They fervently hoped so, at any rate.
    And Stuart might have made the match, but Brent had not been satisfied. Brent
    liked India but he thought her mighty plain and tame, and he simply could
    not fall in love with her himself to keep Stuart company. That was the first
    time the twins' interest had ever diverged, and Brent was resentful of his
    brother's attentions to a girl who seemed to him not at all remarkable.
    Then, last summer at a political speaking in a grove of oak trees at Jonesboro,
    they both suddenly became aware of Scarlett O'Hara. They had known her
    for years, and, since their childhood, she had been a favorite playmate,
    for she could ride horses and climb trees almost as well as they. But now
    to their amazement she had become a grown-up young lady and quite the most
    charming one in all the world.
    They noticed for the first time how her green eyes danced, how deep her
    dimples were when she laughed, how tiny her hands and feet and what a small
    waist she had. Their clever remarks sent her into merry peals of laughter
    and, inspired by the thought that she considered them a remarkable pair,
    they fairly outdid themselves.
    It was a memorable day in the life of the twins. Thereafter, when they talked
    it over, they always wondered just why they had failed to notice Scarlett's
    charms before. They never arrived at the correct answer, which was that
    Scarlett on that day had decided to make them notice. She was constitutionally
    unable to endure any man being in love with any woman not herself, and the
    sight of India Wilkes and Stuart at the speaking had been too much for her
    predatory nature. Not content with Stuart alone, she had set her cap for
    Brent as well, and with a thoroughness that overwhelmed the two of them.
    Now they were both in love with her, and India Wilkes and Letty Munroe,
    from Lovejoy, whom Brent had been half-heartedly courting, were far in the
    back of their minds. Just what the loser would do, should Scarlett accept
    either one of them, the twins did not ask. They would cross that bridge
    when they came to it. For the present they were quite satisfied to be in
    accord again about one girl, for they had no jealousies between them. It
    was a situation which interested the neighbors and annoyed their mother,
    who had no liking for Scarlett.
    "It will serve you right if that sly piece does accept one of you," she
    said. "Or maybe she'll accept both of you, and then you'll have to move
    to Utah, if the Mormons'll have you -- which I doubt. . . All that bothers
    me is that some one of these days you're both going to get lickered up and
    jealous of each other about that two-faced, little, green-eyed baggage, and
    you'll shoot each other. But that might not be a bad idea either."
    Since the day of the speaking, Stuart had been uncomfortable in India's
    presence. Not that India ever reproached him or even indicated by look or
    gesture that she was aware of his abruptly changed allegiance. She was too
    much of a lady. But Stuart felt guilty and ill at ease with her. He knew
    he had made India love him and he knew that she still loved him and, deep
    in his heart, he had the feeling that he had not played the gentleman. He
    still liked her tremendously and respected her for her cool good breeding,
    her book learning and all the sterling qualities she possessed. But, damn
    it, she was just so pallid and uninteresting and always the same, beside
    Scarlett's bright and changeable charm. You always knew where you stood
    with India and you never had the slightest notion with Scarlett. That was
    enough to drive a man to distraction, but it had its charm.
    "Well, let's go over to Cade Calvert's and have supper. Scarlett said Cathleen
    was home from Charleston. Maybe she'll have some news about Fort Sumter
    that we haven't heard."
    "Not Cathleen. I'll lay you two to one she didn't even know the fort was
    out there in the harbor, much less that it was full of Yankees until we
    shelled them out. All she'll know about is the balls she went to and the
    beaux she collected."
    "Well, it's fun to hear her gabble. And it'll be somewhere to hide out till
    Ma has gone to bed."
    "Well, hell! I like Cathleen and she is fun and I'd like to hear about Caro
    Rhett and the rest of the Charleston folks; but I'm damned if I can stand
    sitting through another meal with that Yankee stepmother of hers."
    "Don't be too hard on her, Stuart. She means well."
    "I'm not being hard on her. I feel sorry for her, but I don't like people
    I've got to feel sorry for. And she fusses around so much, trying to do
    the right thing and make you feel at home, that she always manages to say
    and do just exactly the wrong thing. She gives me the fidgets! And she thinks
    Southerners are wild barbarians. She even told Ma so. She's afraid of Southerners.
    Whenever we're there she always looks scared to death. She reminds me of
    a skinny hen perched on a chair, her eyes kind of bright and blank and scared,
    all ready to flap and squawk at the slightest move anybody makes."
    "Well, you can't blame her. You did shoot Cade in the leg."
    "Well, I was lickered up or I wouldn't have done it," said Stuart. "And
    Cade never had any hard feelings. Neither did Cathleen or Raiford or Mr.
    Calvert. It was just that Yankee stepmother who squalled and said I was
    a wild barbarian and decent people weren't safe around uncivilized Southerners.
    "Well, you can't blame her. She's a Yankee and ain't got very good manners;
    and, after all, you did shoot him and he is her stepson."
    "Well, hell! That's no excuse for insulting me! You are Ma's own blood son,
    but did she take on that time Tony Fontaine shot you in the leg? No, she
    just sent for old Doc Fontaine to dress it and asked the doctor what ailed
    Tony's aim. Said she guessed licker was spoiling his marksmanship. Remember
    how mad that made Tony?"
    Both boys yelled with laughter.
    "Ma's a card!" said Brent with loving approval. "You can always count on
    her to do the right thing and not embarrass you in front of folks."
    "Yes, but she's mighty liable to talk embarrassing in front of Father and
    the girls when we get home tonight," said Stuart gloomily. "Look, Brent.
    I guess this means we don't go to Europe. You know Mother said if we got
    expelled from another college we couldn't have our Grand Tour."
    "Well, hell! We don't care, do we? What is there to see in Europe? I'll
    bet those foreigners can't show us a thing we haven't got right here in
    Georgia. I'll bet their horses aren't as fast or their girls as pretty,
    and I know damn well they haven't got any rye whisky that can touch Father's."

    "Ashley Wilkes said they had an awful lot of scenery and music. Ashley liked
    Europe. He's always talking about it."
    "Well -- you know how the Wilkes are. They are kind of queer about music
    and books and scenery. Mother says it's because their grandfather came from
    Virginia. She says Virginians set quite a store by such things."
    "They can have 'em. Give me a good horse to ride and some good licker to
    drink and a good girl to court and a bad girl to have fun with and anybody
    can have their Europe. . . What do we care about missing the Tour? Suppose
    we were in Europe now, with the war coming on? We couldn't get home soon
    enough. I'd heap rather go to a war than go to Europe."
    "So would I, any day. . . Look, Brent! I know where we can go for supper.
    Let's ride across the swamp to Abel Wynder's place and tell him we're all
    four home again and ready for drill."
    "That's an idea!" cried Brent with enthusiasm. "And we can hear all the
    news of the Troop and find out what color they finally decided on for the
    "If it's Zouave, I'm damned if I'll go in the troop. I'd feel like a sissy
    in those baggy red pants. They look like ladies' red flannel drawers to
    "Is y'all aimin' ter go ter Mist' Wynder's? 'Cause ef (if) you is, you ain'
    gwine git (get) much supper," said Jeems. "Dey (They=their) cook done died,
    an' dey ain' (ain't) bought a new one. Dey got a fe'el (female) han' (hand)
    cookin', an' de niggers tells me she is de wustest (worstest=worst) cook
    in de state."
    "Good God! Why don't they buy another cook?"
    "Huccome (how come) po' (poor) w'ite trash buy any niggers? Dey ain' never
    owned mo'n (none) fo' (for) at de mostes'."
    There was frank contempt in Jeems' voice. His own social status was assured
    because the Tarletons owned a hundred negroes and, like all slaves of large
    planters, he looked down on small farmers whose slaves were few.
    "I'm going to beat your hide off for that," cried Stuart fiercely. Don't
    you call Abel Wynder 'po' white.' Sure he's poor, but he ain't trash; and
    I'm damned if I'll have any man, darky or white, throwing off on him. There
    ain't a better man in this County, or why else did the Troop elect him lieutenant?"

    "Ah (I) ain' never figgered (figured) dat (that) out, mahseff (myself),"
    replied Jeems, undisturbed by his master's scowl. "Look ter me lak dey'd
    'lect (elect) all de awficers (officers) frum (from) rich gempmum (gentlemen)
    , 'stead (instead) of swamp trash."
    "He ain't trash! Do you mean to compare him with real white trash like the
    Slatterys? Able just ain't rich. He's a small farmer, not a big planter,
    and if the boys thought enough of him to elect him lieutenant, then it's
    not for any darky to talk impudent about him. The Troop knows what it's
    The troop of cavalry had been organized three months before, the very day
    that Georgia seceded from the Union, and since then the recruits had been
    whistling for war. The outfit was as yet unnamed, though not for want of
    suggestions. Everyone had his own idea on that subject and was loath to
    relinquish it, just as everyone had ideas about the color and cut of the
    uniforms. "Clayton Wild Cats," "Fire Eaters," "North Georgia Hussars," "Zouaves,
    " "The Inland Rifles" (although the Troop was to be armed with pistols,
    sabers and bowie knives, and not with rifles), "The Clayton Grays," "The
    Blood and Thunderers," "The Rough and Readys," all had their adherents.
    Until matters were settled, everyone referred to the organization as the
    Troop and, despite the high-sounding name finally adopted, they were known
    to the end of their usefulness simply as "The Troop."
    The officers were elected by the members, for no one in the County had had
    any military experience except a few veterans of the Mexican and Seminole
    wars and, besides, the Troop would have scorned a veteran as a leader if
    they had not personally liked him and trusted him. Everyone liked the four
    Tarleton boys and the three Fontaines, but regretfully refused to elect them,
    because the Tarletons got lickered up too quickly and liked to skylark,
    and the Fontaines had such quick, murderous tempers. Ashley Wilkes was elected
    captain, because he was the best rider in the County and because his cool
    head was counted on to keep some semblance of order. Raiford Calvert was
    made first lieutenant, because everybody liked Raif, and Able Wynder, son
    of a swamp trapper, himself a small farmer, was elected second lieutenant.
    Abel was a shrewd, grave giant, illiterate, kind of heart, older than the
    other boys and with as good or better manners in the presence of ladies.
    There was little snobbery in the Troop. Too many of their fathers and grandfathers
    had come up to wealth from the small farmer class for that. Moreover, Able
    was the best shot in the Troop, a real sharpshooter who could pick out the
    eye of a squirrel at seventy-five yards, and, too, he knew all about living
    outdoors, building fires in the rain, tracking animals and finding water.
    The Troop bowed to real worth and moreover, because they liked him, they
    made him an officer. He bore the honor gravely and with no untoward conceit,
    as though it were only his due. But the planters' ladies and the planters'
    slaves could not overlook the fact that he was not born a gentleman, even
    if their men folks could.
    In the beginning, the Troop had been recruited exclusively from the sons
    of planters, a gentleman's outfit, each man supplying his own horse, arms,
    equipment, uniform and body servant. But rich planters were few in the young
    county of Clayton, and, in order to muster a full-strength troop, it had
    been necessary to raise more recruits among the sons of small farmers, hunters
    in the backwoods, swamp trappers, Crackers and, in a very few cases, even
    poor whites, if they were above the average of their class.
    These latter young men were as anxious to fight the Yankees, should war
    come, as were their richer neighbors; but the delicate question of money
    arose. Few small farmers owned horses. They carried on their farm operations
    with mules and they had no surplus of these, seldom more than four. The
    mules could not be spared to go off to war, even if they had been acceptable
    for the Troop, which they emphatically were not. As for the poor whites,
    they considered themselves well off if they owned one mule. The backwoods
    folks and the swamp dwellers owned neither horses nor mules. They lived
    entirely off the produce of their lands and the game in the swamp, conducting
    their business generally by the barter system and seldom seeing five dollars
    in cash a year, and horses and uniforms were out of their reach. But they
    were as fiercely proud in their poverty as the planters were in their wealth,
    and they would accept nothing that smacked of charity from their rich neighbors.
    So, to save the feelings of all and to bring the Troop up to full strength,
    Scarlett's father, John Wilkes, Buck Munroe, Jim Tarleton, Hugh Calvert,
    in fact every large planter in the County with the one exception of Angus
    MacIntosh, had contributed money to completely outfit the Troop, horse and
    man. The upshot of the matter was that every planter agreed to pay for equipping
    his own sons and a certain number of the others, but the manner of handling
    the arrangements was such that the less wealthy members of the outfit could
    accept horses and uniforms without offense to their honor.
    The Troop met twice a week in Jonesboro to drill and to pray for the war
    to begin. Arrangements had not yet been completed for obtaining the full
    quota of horses, but those who had horses performed what they imagined to
    be cavalry maneuvers in the field behind the courthouse, kicked up a great
    deal of dust, yelled themselves hoarse and waved the Revolutionary-war swords
    that had been taken down from parlor walls. Those who, as yet, had no horses
    sat on the curb in front of Bullard's store and watched their mounted comrades,
    chewed tobacco and told yarns. Or else engaged in shooting matches. There
    was no need to teach any of the men to shoot. Most Southerners were born
    with guns in their hands, and lives spent in hunting had made marksmen of
    them all.
    From planters' homes and swamp cabins, a varied array of firearms came to
    each muster. There were long squirrel guns that had been new when first
    the Alleghenies were crossed, old muzzle-loaders that had claimed many an
    Indian when Georgia was new, horse pistols that had seen service in 1812,
    in the Seminole wars and in Mexico, silver-mounted dueling pistols, pocket
    derringers, double-barreled hunting pieces and handsome new rifles of English
    make with shining stocks of fine wood.
    Drill always ended in the saloons of Jonesboro, and by nightfall so many
    fights had broken out that the officers were hard put to ward off casualties
    until the Yankees could inflict them. It was during one of these brawls
    that Stuart Tarleton had shot Cade Calvert and Tony Fontaine had shot Brent.
    The twins had been at home, freshly expelled from the University of Virginia,
    at the time the Troop was organized and they had joined enthusiastically;
    but after the shooting episode, two months ago, their mother had packed
    them off to the state university, with orders to stay there. They had sorely
    missed the excitement of the drills while away, and they counted education
    well lost if only they could ride and yell and shoot off rifles in the company
    of their friends.
    "Well, let's cut across country to Abel's," suggested Brent. "We can go
    through Mr. O'Hara's river bottom and the Fontaine's pasture and get there
    in no time."
    "We ain' gwine git nothin' ter eat 'cept possum an' greens," argued Jeems.
    "You ain't going to get anything," grinned Stuart. "Because you are going
    home and tell Ma that we won't be home for supper."
    "No, Ah ain'!" cried Jeems in alarm. "No, Ah ain!" Ah doan (don't) git no
    mo'(more) fun outer havin' Miss Beetriss lay me out dan (than) y'all does.
    Fust (First) place she'll ast (ask) me huccome Ah let y'all git expelled
    agin (again). An' nex' thing, huccome Ah din' bring y'all home ternight
    (tonight) so she could lay you out. An' den she'll light on me lak a duck
    on a June bug, an' fust thing Ah know Ah'll be ter blame fer (for) it all.
    Ef (If) y'all doan tek (take) me ter Mist' Wynder's, Ah'll lay out in de
    woods all night an' maybe de patterollers (patrollers) git me, 'cause Ah
    heap (hope) ruther (rather) de patterollers git me dan Miss Beetriss when
    she in a state."
    The twins looked at the determined black boy in perplexity and indignation.
    "He'd be just fool enough to let the patterollers get him and that would
    give Ma something else to talk about for weeks. I swear, darkies are more
    trouble. Sometimes I think the Abolitionists have got the right idea."
    "Well, it wouldn't be right to make Jeems face what we don't want to face.
    We'll have to take him. But, look, you impudent black fool, if you put on
    any airs in front of the Wynder darkies and hint that we all the time have
    fried chicken and ham, while they don't have nothing but rabbit and possum,
    I'll -- I'll tell Ma. And we won't let you go to the war with us, either."
    "Airs? Me put on airs fo' dem cheap niggers? Nawsuh, Ah got better manners.
    Ain' Miss Beetriss taught me manners same as she taught y'all?"
    "She didn't do a very good job on any of the three of us," said Stuart.
    "Come on, let's get going."
    He backed his big red horse and then, putting spurs to his side, lifted
    him easily over the split rail fence into the soft field of Gerald O'Hara's
    plantation. Brent's horse followed and then Jeems', with Jeems clinging
    to pommel and mane. Jeems did not like to jump fences, but he had jumped
    higher ones than this in order to keep up with his masters.
    As they picked their way across the red furrows and down the hill to the
    river bottom in the deepening dusk, Brent yelled to his brother:
    "Look, Stu! Don't it seem like to you that Scarlett WOULD have asked us
    to supper?"
    "I kept thinking she would," yelled Stuart. "Why do you suppose . . .?"

    1) 自查生詞。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell (November 8, 1900 -- August 16,
    1949) was an American author and journalist. She won the Pulitzer Prize
    for Fiction in 1937 for her epic American Civil War era novel, Gone with
    the Wind, the only novel by Mitchell published during her lifetime. It
    is a romance novel, set in Clayton County, Georgia and Atlanta during the
    American Civil War and Reconstruction. The novel depicts the experiences
    of Scarlett O'Hara, the spoiled daughter of a well-to-do plantation owner,
    who must use every means at her disposal to come out of the poverty that
    she finds herself in after Sherman's March to the Sea. The book is the source
    of the 1939 film of the same name.
    3) 英文小說裡經常有把發音不正確的詞按不正確的發音拼寫出來。也經常用’來表
    4) “飄”也是一部世界名著﹐反映了美國南北戰爭期間的場景。可作泛讀材料。此

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-12 00:21:43

    1) 要改掉中式英文﹐應該多讀英文作品﹐逐漸積累﹐獲得英文語感﹐才能寫出純粹
    2) 多聽電臺電視﹐對口語有幫助。也可以多接觸外國人講。
    3) 對泛讀﹐老師一般是這樣教的。因為泛讀是要求獲得一般知識與語感。但是學生

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-14 22:54:55





  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-14 22:55:50



    My dear So-and-So
    Sorry, long time no write. I am busy recently as I will soon have promotion
    and must work harder. You know, promotion means more money. More money means
    that I can buy you a more expensive gift when we meet next time.
    Oh, my dear, I always think of you as we live far apart and can't see each
    other every weekend, nor even every month. Sometimes I see you in my dreams,
    but you disappear when I wake up. I feel lonely when I am not working. So
    I often work overtime to make myself occupied, but still with your pretty
    image in my mind.
    I wish that you will be free the last weekend next month. I will meet you
    then and have a heart-to-heart talk and a nice dinner together. And a big
    surprise will be waiting for you.
    Hoping to hear from you soon. Please say hello for me to your family.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-17 23:41:06


    A Christmas Carol聖誕頌歌
    by Charles Dickens

    Chapter 1 - Marley's Ghost
    Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The
    register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker,
    and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon
    'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead
    as a door-nail.
    Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is
    particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself,
    to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
    But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands
    shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit
    me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
    Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge
    and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole
    executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee,
    his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully
    cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on
    the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

    The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from.
    There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood,
    or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were
    not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began,
    there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in
    an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other
    middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot --
    say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance -- literally to astonish his son's
    weak mind.
    Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, years afterwards,
    above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge
    and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge,
    and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same
    to him.
    Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing,
    wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and
    sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret,
    and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze
    his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened
    his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly
    in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows,
    and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with
    him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at
    External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
    warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he,
    no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open
    to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain,
    and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only
    one respect. They often came down handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
    Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear
    Scrooge, how are you. When will you come to see me.'' No beggars implored
    him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man
    or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place,
    of Scrooge. Even the blindmen's dogs appeared to know him; and when they
    saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and
    then would wag their tails as though they said, "No eye at all is better
    than an evil eye, dark master! ''
    But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way
    along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its
    distance, was what the knowing ones call nuts to Scrooge.
    Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve --
    old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather:
    foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing
    up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their
    feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just
    gone three, but it was quite dark already: it had not been light all day:
    and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like
    ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every
    chink and keyhole, and was so dense without (=outside), that although the
    court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see
    the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have
    thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.
    The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye
    upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was
    copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was
    so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish
    it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk
    came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary
    for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried
    to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong
    imagination, he failed.
    "A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!'' cried a cheerful voice. It was
    the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was
    the first intimation he had of his approach.
    "Bah!'' said Scrooge, "Humbug!''
    He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew
    of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome;
    his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
    "Christmas a humbug, uncle!'' said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean that,
    I am sure.''
    "I do,'' said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry?
    what reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.''
    "Come, then,'' returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be dismal?
    what reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.''
    Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!'
    ' again; and followed it up with "Humbug.''
    "Don't be cross, uncle,'' said the nephew.
    "What else can I be,'' returned the uncle, "when I live in such a world
    of fools as this Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas
    time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding
    yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your
    books and having every item in 'em [them] through a round dozen of months
    presented dead against you? If I could work my will,'' said Scrooge indignantly,
    "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should
    be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through
    his heart. He should!''
    "Uncle!'' pleaded the nephew.
    "Nephew!'' returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way,
    and let me keep it in mine.''
    "Keep it!'' repeated Scrooge's nephew. “But you don't keep it.''
    "Let me leave it alone, then,'' said Scrooge." Much good may it do you!
    Much good it has ever done you!''
    "There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I
    have not profited, I dare say,'' returned the nephew: "Christmas among the
    rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has
    come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin,
    if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind,
    forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long
    calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their
    shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really
    were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound
    on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap
    of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will
    do me good; and I say, God bless it!''
    The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible
    of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark
    for ever.
    "Let me hear another sound from you,'' said Scrooge, "and you'll keep your
    Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir,''
    he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament.''

    "Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow.''
    Scrooge said that he would see him -- yes, indeed he did. He went the whole
    length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity
    "But why?'' cried Scrooge's nephew. "Why?''
    "Why did you get married?'' said Scrooge.
    "Because I fell in love.''
    "Because you fell in love!'' growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one
    thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good afternoon!''

    "Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give
    it as a reason for not coming now?''
    "Good afternoon, [=goodbye here]'' said Scrooge.
    "I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?''

    "Good afternoon,'' said Scrooge.
    "I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had
    any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in
    homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A
    Merry Christmas, uncle!''
    "Good afternoon!'' said Scrooge.
    "And A Happy New Year!''
    "Good afternoon!'' said Scrooge.
    His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped
    at the outer door to bestow the greeting of the season on the clerk, who,
    cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.

    "There's another fellow,'' muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "my clerk,
    with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry
    Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam.''
    This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people
    in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with
    their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their
    hands, and bowed to him.
    "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe,'' said one of the gentlemen, referring
    to his list. ``Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr Scrooge, or Mr Marley?''

    "Mr Marley has been dead these seven years,'' Scrooge replied. "He died
    seven years ago, this very night.''
    "We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner,
    '' said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.
    It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous
    word ``liberality'', Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the
    credentials back.
    "At this festive season of the year, Mr Scrooge,'' said the gentleman, taking
    up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight
    provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present
    time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands
    are in want of common comforts, sir.''
    "Are there no prisons?'' asked Scrooge.
    "Plenty of prisons,'' said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
    "And the Union workhouses?'' demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?'
    "They are. Still,'' returned the gentleman, `"I wish I could say they were
    "The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?'' said Scrooge.

    "Both very busy, sir.''
    "Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred
    to stop them in their useful course,'' said Scrooge. "I'm very glad to hear
    "Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind
    or body to the multitude,'' returned the gentleman, "a few of us are endeavouring
    to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth.
    We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly
    felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?''
    "Nothing!'' Scrooge replied.
    "You wish to be anonymous?''
    "I wish to be left alone,'' said Scrooge. ``Since you ask me what I wish,
    gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and
    I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments
    I have mentioned: they cost enough: and those who are badly off must go
    "Many can't go there; and many would rather die.''
    "If they would rather die,'' said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease
    the surplus population. Besides -- excuse me -- I don't know that.''
    "But you might know it,'' observed the gentleman.
    "It's not my business,'' Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to understand
    his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies
    me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!''
    Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen
    withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself,
    and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
    Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with
    flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages,
    and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff
    old bell was always peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a gothic window
    in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds,
    with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in
    its frozen head up there. The cold became intense. In the main street, at
    the corner of the court, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and
    had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men
    and boys were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes before
    the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings
    sullenly congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the
    shops where holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp-heat of the windows,
    made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers' and grocers' trades became
    a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next to impossible
    to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to
    do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the might Mansion House, gave orders
    to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor's household
    should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five shillings on
    the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred
    up tomorrow's pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied
    out to buy the beef.
    Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good Saint
    Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit's nose with a touch of such weather
    as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed he would have
    roared to lusty purpose. The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled
    by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge's
    keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol: but at the first sound of God
    bless you, merry gentleman! May nothing you dismay! Scrooge seized the ruler
    with such energy of action that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole
    to the fog and even more congenial frost.
    At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an ill-will
    Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the
    expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put
    on his hat.
    "You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?'' said Scrooge.
    "If quite convenient, Sir.''
    "It's not convenient,'' said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was to stop
    half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?''
    The clerk smiled faintly.
    "And yet,'' said Scrooge, "you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's
    wages for no work.''
    The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
    "A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!''
    said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. "But I suppose you must
    have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning!''
    The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The
    office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his
    white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat),
    went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times,
    in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as
    hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.
    Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having
    read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker'
    s-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to
    his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile
    of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could
    scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house,
    playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out
    again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it
    but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was
    so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with
    his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house,
    that it seemed as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation
    on the threshold.
    Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker
    on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge
    had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place;
    also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any
    man in the City of London, even including -- which is a bold word -- the
    corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge
    had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven-year'
    s dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he
    can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door,
    saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change:
    not a knocker, but Marley's face.
    Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in
    the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a
    dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley
    used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up upon its ghostly forehead.
    The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot-air; and, though the
    eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid
    colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face
    and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
    As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
    To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of
    a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would
    be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned
    it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
    He did pause, with a moment's irresolution, before he shut the door; and
    he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified
    with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking out into the hall. But there
    was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held
    the knocker on, so he said ``Pooh, pooh!'' and closed it with a bang.
    The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and
    every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below, appeared to have a separate
    peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes.
    He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs, slowly
    too: trimming his candle as he went.
    You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight
    of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you
    might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with
    the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades:
    and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to spare;
    which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse
    going on before him in the gloom. Half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of the street
    wouldn't have lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it was
    pretty dark with Scrooge's dip.
    Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that: darkness is cheap, and Scrooge
    liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms
    to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to
    desire to do that.
    Sitting-room, bed-room, lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody under
    the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin
    ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge has a cold in his head)
    upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his
    dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the
    wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-baskets,
    washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.
    Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; double-locked
    himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he
    took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his night-cap;
    and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
    It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged
    to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least
    sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old
    one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint
    Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains and
    Abels, Pharaoh's daughters, Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending
    through the air on clouds like feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles
    putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts;
    and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet'
    s rod, and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank
    at first, with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed
    fragments of his thoughts, there would have been a copy of old Marley's head
    on every one.
    ``Humbug!'' said Scrooge; and walked across the room.
    After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the
    chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung
    in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber
    in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and
    with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin
    to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound;
    but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
    This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour.
    The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking
    noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over
    the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have
    heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.
    The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise
    much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming
    straight towards his door.
    "It's humbug still!'' said Scrooge. "I won't believe it.''
    His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the
    heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in,
    the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, "I know him! Marley's Ghost!''
    and fell again.
    The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights,
    and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his
    coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about
    his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made
    (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers,
    deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that
    Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the
    two buttons on his coat behind.
    Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never
    believed it until now.
    No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through
    and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling
    influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded
    kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed
    before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
    "How now!'' said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with
    "Much!'' -- Marley's voice, no doubt about it.
    "Who are you?''
    "Ask me who I was.''
    "Who were you then.'' said Scrooge, raising his voice. "You're particular,
    for a shade.'' He was going to say "to a shade,'' but substituted this,
    as more appropriate.
    "In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.''
    "Can you -- can you sit down?'' asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.

    "I can.''
    "Do it, then.''
    Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost so transparent
    might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the
    event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing
    explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace,
    as if he were quite used to it.
    "You don't believe in me,'' observed the Ghost.
    "I don't,'' said Scrooge.
    "What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?''

    "I don't know,'' said Scrooge.
    "Why do you doubt your senses?''
    "Because,'' said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder
    of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef,
    a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.
    There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!''
    Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in
    his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be
    smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his
    terror; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.

    To sit, staring at those fixed, glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would
    play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful,
    too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its
    own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for
    though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels,
    were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.
    "You see this toothpick?'' said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge,
    for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second,
    to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself.
    "I do,'' replied the Ghost.
    "You are not looking at it,'' said Scrooge.
    "But I see it,'' said the Ghost, "notwithstanding.''
    "Well!'' returned Scrooge, "I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest
    of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug,
    I tell you; humbug!''
    At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such
    a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to
    save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror,
    when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too
    warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!
    Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
    "Mercy!'' he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?''
    "Man of the worldly mind!'' replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or
    "I do,'' said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why
    do they come to me?''
    "It is required of every man,'' the Ghost returned, "that the spirit within
    him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and
    if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death.
    It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness
    what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!
    Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung its shadowy
    "You are fettered,'' said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?''
    "I wear the chain I forged in life,'' replied the Ghost. "I made it link
    by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my
    own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?''
    Scrooge trembled more and more.
    "Or would you know,'' pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of the strong
    coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven
    Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!'
    Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself
    surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see
    "Jacob,'' he said, imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort
    to me, Jacob.''
    "I have none to give,'' the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions,
    Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of
    men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted
    to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit
    never walked beyond our counting-house -- mark me! -- in life my spirit never
    roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys
    lie before me!''
    It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands
    in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so
    now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.
    "You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,'' Scrooge observed, in a
    business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
    "Slow!'' the Ghost repeated.
    "Seven years dead,'' mused Scrooge. "And travelling all the time?''
    "The whole time,'' said the Ghost. ``No rest, no peace. Incessant torture
    of remorse.''
    "You travel fast?'' said Scrooge.
    "On the wings of the wind,'' replied the Ghost.
    "You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,'' said
    The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so
    hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been
    justified in indicting it for a nuisance.
    "Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,'' cried the phantom, "not to know,
    that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must
    pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed.
    Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere,
    whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means
    of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one
    life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!''
    "But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,'' faultered Scrooge,
    who now began to apply this to himself.
    "Business!'' cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my
    business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance,
    and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but
    a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!''
    It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its
    unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
    "At this time of the rolling year,'' the spectre said, "I suffer most. Why
    did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and
    never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode
    [denoting the story of the birth of Christ]? Were there no poor homes to
    which its light would have conducted me!''
    Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate,
    and began to quake exceedingly.
    "Hear me!'' cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone.''
    "I will,'' said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery, Jacob!
    "How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not
    tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.''
    It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration
    from his brow.
    "That is no light part of my penance,'' pursued the Ghost. "I am here tonight
    to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A
    chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.''
    "You were always a good friend to me,'' said Scrooge. "Thank'ee!''
    "You will be haunted,'' resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits.''
    Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done.
    "Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?'' he demanded, in a faltering
    "It is.''
    "I -- I think I'd rather not,'' said Scrooge.
    "Without their visits,'' said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the path
    I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls One.''
    "Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?'' hinted Scrooge.

    "Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the
    next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to
    see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has
    passed between us.''
    When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table,
    and bound it round its head, as before. Scrooge knew this, by the smart
    sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage.
    He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor
    confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about
    its arm.
    The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the
    window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was
    wide open.
    It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two
    paces of each other, Marley's Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come
    no nearer. Scrooge stopped.
    Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of
    the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds
    of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory.
    The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge;
    and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
    Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.

    The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless
    haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley's
    Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together;
    none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives.
    He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with
    a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being
    unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon
    a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to
    interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.

    Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he could
    not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night
    became as it had been when he walked home.
    Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had
    entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and
    the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say ``Humbug!'' but stopped at the
    first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues
    of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversation
    of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose; went straight
    to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.

    1) 自查字典。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Charles John Huffam Dickens was an English novelist, generally
    considered the greatest of the Victorian period. Dickens enjoyed a wider
    popularity and fame than had any previous author during his lifetime, and
    he remains popular, having been responsible for some of English literature's
    most iconic novels and characters. Many of his writings were originally published
    serially, in monthly instalments or parts, a format of publication which
    Dickens himself helped popularise at that time. Unlike other authors who
    completed entire novels before serialisation, Dickens often created the
    episodes as they were being serialised. The practice lent his stories a
    particular rhythm, punctuated by cliffhangers to keep the public looking
    forward to the next instalment. The continuing popularity of his novels and
    short stories is such that they have never gone out of print.
    A Christmas Carol is a novella first published by Chapman & Hall on 17 December
    1843. The story tells of sour and stingy Ebenezer Scrooge's ideological,
    ethical, and emotional transformation after the supernatural visits of Jacob
    Marley and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. The novella
    met with instant success and critical acclaim.
    3) 聖誕頌歌也是有名的小說。每逢聖誕﹐紐約會演出該劇。有些教會活動中會演出

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-24 22:11:07


    先讀課文 SHORT STORY﹕
    The Little Match Girl 賣火柴的小女孩
    by Hans Christian Andersen 安徒生

    Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-
    -the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along
    the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she
    left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that?
    They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large
    were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across
    the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.
    One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by
    an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for
    a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the
    little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and
    blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she
    held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the
    whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.
    She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow,
    the poor little thing!
    The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls
    around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From
    all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of
    roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.
    In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other,
    she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn
    close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did
    not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing
    of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it
    was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind
    whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and
    Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford
    her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle,
    draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out.
    "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like
    a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed
    really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron
    stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned
    with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl
    had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame
    went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match
    in her hand.
    She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light
    fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that
    she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth;
    upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming
    famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more
    capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about
    on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor
    little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp
    wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting
    under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more
    decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the
    rich merchant's house. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches,
    and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked
    down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the
    match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher,
    she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail
    of fire.
    "Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the
    only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that
    when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.
    She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the
    lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild,
    and with such an expression of love.
    "Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away
    when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious
    roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the
    whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite
    sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant
    light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother
    been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and
    both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above
    was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.
    But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy
    cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death
    on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there
    with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm
    herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful
    things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with
    her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Hans Christian Andersen (April 2, 1805 -- August 4, 1875) was
    a Danish author, fairy tale writer and poet noted for his children's stories.
    These include "The Steadfast Tin Soldier," "The Snow Queen," "The Little
    Mermaid," "Thumbelina," "The Little Match Girl," and "The Ugly Duckling."
    During his lifetime he was acclaimed for having delighted children worldwide,
    and was feted by royalty. His poetry and stories have been translated into
    more than 150 languages. They have inspired motion pictures, plays, ballets,
    and animated films.
    The Little Match Girl (Danish: Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne, meaning
    "The little girl with the matchsticks") is a short story by Danish poet
    and author Hans Christian Andersen. The story is about a dying child's dreams
    and hope, and was first published in 1845. It has been adapted to various
    media including animated film, and a television musical.
    3) 讀完這個故事﹐你應該同情這可憐的孩子。請想起世界上還有許多同樣可憐的孩
    子。4) 這是一個有名的安徒生童話故事。按理說﹐每個人在小時候都會讀過或聽到

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2011-12-26 00:58:19


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-01 03:35:21


    by William Wordsworth

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

    1) 生詞應該不多吧。自己查。
    2) 詩人介紹﹕William Wordsworth (7 April 1770 -- 23 April 1850) was a major
    English Romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped to launch
    the Romantic Age in English literature with the 1798 joint publication Lyrical
    Ballads. Wordsworth was Britain's Poet Laureate from 1843 until his death
    in 1850.
    3) 詩裡有好些GAY的同義詞(請別想到歪裡去)﹐可以收集到你的筆記本裡。這類
    可以先查看ROGET'S THESAURUS 這本書。
    4) 能背誦。
    5) Wordsworth也是個有名的英國詩人。他的這首詩常被有的本子收入。這首詩是六

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-03 00:23:54


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-03 22:40:40


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-07 22:29:07


    The Happy Prince 快樂王子
    by Oscar Wilde

    High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.
    He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two
    bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.
    He was very much admired indeed. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock,"
    remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for
    having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest
    people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.
    "Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her
    little boy who was crying for the moon. "The Happy Prince never dreams of
    crying for anything."
    "I am glad there is someone in the world who is quite happy," muttered a
    disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.
    "He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out
    of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

    "How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master, "you have never seen one."
    "Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the Mathematical
    Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children
    One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone
    away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in
    love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as
    he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted
    by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.
    "Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at
    once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching
    the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship,
    and it lasted all through the summer.
    "It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has
    no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full
    of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.
    After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.
    "She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a coquette,
    for she is always flirting with the wind." And certainly, whenever the wind
    blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. "I admit that she is domestic,
    " he continued, "but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should
    love travelling also."
    "Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook
    her head, she was so attached to her home.
    "You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!
    " and he flew away.
    All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where shall
    I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."
    Then he saw the statue on the tall column.
    "I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of
    fresh air." So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.
    "I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round,
    and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under
    his wing a large drop of water fell on him. "What a curious thing!" he cried;
    "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright,
    and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.
    The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."
    Then another drop fell.
    "What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I
    must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.
    But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up,
    and saw -Ah! what did he see?
    The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running
    down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that
    the little Swallow was filled with pity.
    "Who are you?" he said.
    "I am the Happy Prince."
    "Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched
    "When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not
    know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci [1], where
    sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions
    in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round
    the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond
    it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy
    Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and
    so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that
    I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my
    heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose but weep."
    "What! is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite
    to make any personal remarks out loud.
    "Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a
    little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through
    it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she
    has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress.
    She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of
    the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in
    the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and
    is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water,
    so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her
    the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and
    I cannot move."
    "I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up
    and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will
    go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in
    his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices.
    Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
    with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the
    mother so sad."
    "I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I
    was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who
    were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows
    fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its
    agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."
    But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. "It
    is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night, and
    be your messenger."
    "Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.
    So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew
    away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.
    He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured.
    He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl
    came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the stars are," he
    said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"
    "I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered;
    "I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses
    are so lazy."
    He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the
    ships. He passed over the Ghetto [2], and saw the old Jews bargaining with
    each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to
    the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed,
    and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid
    the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently
    round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel,"
    said the boy, "I must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

    Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had
    done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although
    it is so cold."
    "That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And the
    little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always
    made him sleepy.
    When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "What a remarkable
    phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the
    bridge. "A swallow in winter!" And he wrote a long letter about it to the
    local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that
    they could not understand.
    "To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at
    the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on
    top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and
    said to each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself
    very much.
    When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Have you any commissions
    for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
    with me one night longer?"
    "I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow. "To-morrow my friends
    will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among
    the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon [3]. All
    night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters
    one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down
    to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their
    roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the
    city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with
    papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets.
    His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and
    he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director
    of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in
    the grate, and hunger has made him faint."
    "I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had
    a good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"
    "Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I have
    left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a
    thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell
    it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."
    "Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to weep.
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."
    So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's
    garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through
    this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried
    in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when
    he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.
    "I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great admirer.
    Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.
    The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of
    a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold
    with ropes. "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up. "I am going
    to Egypt"! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose
    he flew back to the Happy Prince.
    "I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay
    with me one night longer?"
    "It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here.
    In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie
    in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest
    in the Temple of Baalbec [4], and the pink and white doves are watching
    them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will
    never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels
    in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red
    rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."
    "In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little match-girl.
    She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her
    father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying.
    She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my
    other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her."
    "I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot
    pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."
    "Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."
    So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped
    past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. "What
    a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.
    Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he said,
    "so I will stay with you always."
    "No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."
    "I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's
    All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of
    what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand
    in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks;
    of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert,
    and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their
    camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains
    of the Moon [name of a picture by Charles Robinson http://www.wikigallery.org/
    1913], who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great
    green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it
    with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat
    leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.
    "Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous things,
    but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women.
    There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow,
    and tell me what you see there."
    So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in
    their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He
    flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking
    out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little
    boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. "How
    hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here," shouted the Watchman,
    and they wandered out into the rain.
    Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.
    "I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off, leaf
    by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make
    them happy."
    Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy
    Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought
    to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and
    played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.
    Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked
    as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long
    icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody
    went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on
    the ice.
    The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the
    Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door
    when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping
    his wings.
    But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly
    up to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he murmured,
    "will you let me kiss your hand?"
    "I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the
    Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips,
    for I love you."
    "It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to the
    House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"
    And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.
    At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something
    had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.
    It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.
    Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company
    with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the
    statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.
    "How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with
    the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.
    "The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden
    no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is little better than a beggar!"
    "Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.
    "And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor. "We
    must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die
    here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.
    So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no longer
    beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the University.
    Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of
    the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We must have
    another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of myself."
    "Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When
    I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.
    "What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.
    "This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away."
    So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.
    "Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of
    His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
    "You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this
    little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince
    shall praise me."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde (16 October 1854 -- 30
    November 1900) was an Irish writer and poet. After writing in different
    forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of London's most popular playwrights
    in the early 1890s. He died destitute in Paris at the age of forty-six.
    3) 註解﹕[1] Sans Souci is the name of the former summer palace of Frederick
    the Great, King of Prussia, in Potsdam, near Berlin. The palace was designed
    by Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff between 1745 and 1747 to fulfill King
    Frederick's need for a private residence where he could relax away from
    the pomp and ceremony of the Berlin court. The palace's name emphasises
    this; it is a French phrase (sans souci), which translates as "without concerns"
    , meaning "without worries" or "carefree", symbolising that the palace was
    a place for relaxation rather than a seat of power. [2] The term was originally
    used in Venice to describe the area where Jews were compelled to live. The
    term now refers to an overcrowded urban area often associated with specific
    ethnic or racial populations living below the poverty line. [3] In Greek
    myth, God Memnon is Son of EOS and Ethiopian leader Tithonus, the Trojan
    hero who finally came up in single combat against Achilles and lost. [4]
    Baalbek is a town in the Beqaa Valley of Lebanon, altitude 1,170 metres
    (3,840 ft), situated east of the Litani River. It is famous for its exquisitely
    detailed yet monumentally scaled temple ruins of the Roman period, when
    Baalbek, then known as Heliopolis, was one of the largest sanctuaries in
    the Empire.
    4) 快樂王子也是名篇。在49年前高中英文課本裡就有選入。我就在那裡第一次讀到

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-10 22:23:57

    理解得很對。特別House在這裡大寫了。這跟語法沒關係。worthy 帶有諷刺的意味。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-14 21:52:14


    The Necklace項鏈
    by Guy De Maupassant莫泊桑

    She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had
    blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage portion,
    no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded
    by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to
    a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because
    she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though
    she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty,
    grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy,
    their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark
    of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.

    She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and
    luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls,
    worn chairs, and ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of
    her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The
    sight of the little Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house
    aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined
    silent antechambers, heavy with Oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty
    bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large
    arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast
    saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting
    priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for
    little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after,
    whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings.
    When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-
    old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen,
    exclaiming delightedly: "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined
    delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk
    of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate
    food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with
    an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings
    of asparagus chicken.
    < 2 >
    She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things
    she loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly
    to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.
    She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit,
    because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole
    days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery.
    * * *
    One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large
    envelope in his hand.
    "Here's something for you," he said.
    Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were
    these words:
    "The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the pleasure
    of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the evening
    of Monday, January the 18th."
    Instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation
    petulantly across the table, murmuring:
    "What do you want me to do with this?"
    "Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this
    is a great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants
    one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the
    really big people there."
    She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what
    do you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"
    He had not thought about it; he stammered:
    "Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It looks very nice, to me
    . . ."
    He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife
    was beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of
    her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.
    < 3 >
    "What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he faltered.

    But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm
    voice, wiping her wet cheeks:
    "Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go to this party. Give
    your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better
    than I shall."
    He was heart-broken.
    "Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. "What would be the cost of a suitable
    dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?"

    She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering
    for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate
    refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.
    At last she replied with some hesitation:
    "I don't know exactly, but I think I could do it on four hundred francs.
    He grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been
    saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the
    plain of Nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays.

    Nevertheless he said: "Very well. I'll give you four hundred francs.
    But try and get a really nice dress with the money."
    The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy
    and anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said
    to her:
    "What's the matter with you? You've been very odd for the last three
    "I'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone,
    to wear," she replied. "I shall look absolutely no one. I would almost rather
    not go to the party."
    < 4 >
    "Wear flowers," he said. "They're very smart at this time of the year.
    For ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses."
    She was not convinced.
    "No . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle
    of a lot of rich women."
    "How stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "Go and see Madame Forestier
    and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her quite well enough for
    She uttered a cry of delight.
    "That's true. I never thought of it."
    Next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble.
    Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought
    it to Madame Loisel, opened it, and said:
    "Choose, my dear."
    First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian
    cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of
    the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to
    leave them, to give them up. She kept on asking:
    "Haven't you anything else?"
    "Yes. Look for yourself. I don't know what you would like best."
    Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace;
    her heart began to beat covetously. Her hands trembled as she lifted it.
    She fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy
    at sight of herself.
    Then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish:
    "Could you lend me this, just this alone?"
    "Yes, of course."
    She flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly,
    and went away with her treasure. The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel
    was a success. She was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling,
    and quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her, inquired
    her name, and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of
    State were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her.
    < 5 >
    She danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought
    for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success,
    in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration,
    of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear
    to her feminine heart.
    She left about four o'clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband
    had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men
    whose wives were having a good time. He threw over her shoulders the garments
    he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty
    clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and
    was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other
    women putting on their costly furs.
    Loisel restrained her.
    "Wait a little. You'll catch cold in the open. I'm going to fetch a
    But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase.
    When they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to
    look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.

    They walked down towards the Seine, desperate and shivering. At last
    they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are
    only to be seen in Paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their
    shabbiness in the daylight.
    It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they
    walked up to their own apartment. It was the end, for her. As for him, he
    was thinking that he must be at the office at ten.
    She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so
    as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered
    a cry. The necklace was no longer round her neck!
    < 6 >
    "What's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed.

    She turned towards him in the utmost distress.
    "I . . . I . . . I've no longer got Madame Forestier's necklace. .
    . ."
    He started with astonishment.
    "What! . . . Impossible!"
    They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat,
    in the pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.
    "Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the
    ball?" he asked.
    "Yes, I touched it in the hall at the Ministry."
    "But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall."

    "Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab?"
    "No. You didn't notice it, did you?"
    They stared at one another, dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his
    clothes again.
    "I'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if I can't
    find it."
    And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength
    to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought.

    Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.
    He went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward,
    to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.
    She waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this
    fearful catastrophe.
    Loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered
    < 7 >
    "You must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've
    broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will give
    us time to look about us."
    She wrote at his dictation.

    * * *
    By the end of a week they had lost all hope.
    Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
    "We must see about replacing the diamonds."
    Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to
    the jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.
    "It was not I who sold this necklace, Madame; I must have merely supplied
    the clasp."
    Then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace
    like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish
    of mind.
    In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which
    seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth
    forty thousand francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand.

    They begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. And they arranged
    matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four
    thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of February.

    Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father.
    He intended to borrow the rest.
    He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from
    another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes of hand, entered
    into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of
    money-lenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence,
    risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled
    at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon
    him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture,
    he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter
    thirty-six thousand francs.
    < 8 >
    When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the
    latter said to her in a chilly voice:
    "You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have needed it."

    She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed
    the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said?
    Would she not have taken her for a thief?
    * * *
    Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the
    very first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid
    off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat;
    they took a garret under the roof.
    She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of
    the kitchen. She washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse
    pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts
    and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she
    took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping
    on each landing to get her breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went
    to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling,
    insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money.
    Every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained.

    Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's
    accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page.

    And this life lasted ten years.
    At the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer'
    s charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.
    Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong,
    hard, coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done, her skirts
    were awry, her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice, and the water
    slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes, when her
    husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that
    evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much
    < 9 >
    What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows?
    Who knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin
    or to save!
    One Sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to
    freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly
    of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier,
    still young, still beautiful, still attractive.
    Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her?
    Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?

    She went up to her.
    "Good morning, Jeanne."
    The other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly
    addressed by a poor woman.
    "But . . . Madame . . ." she stammered. "I don't know . . . you must
    be making a mistake."
    "No . . . I am Mathilde Loisel."
    Her friend uttered a cry.
    "Oh! . . . my poor Mathilde, how you have changed! . . ."
    "Yes, I've had some hard times since I saw you last; and many sorrows
    . . . and all on your account."
    "On my account! . . . How was that?"
    "You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the
    "Yes. Well?"
    "Well, I lost it."
    "How could you? Why, you brought it back."
    "I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years
    we have been paying for it. You realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no
    money. . . . Well, it's paid for at last, and I'm glad indeed."
    < 10 >
    Madame Forestier had halted.
    "You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"
    "Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much alike."
    And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.
    Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.
    "Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the
    very most five hundred francs! . . . "

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant (5 August 1850 -- 6 July
    1893) was a popular 19th-century French writer, considered one of the fathers
    of the modern short story and one of the form's finest exponents.
    3) 這個短篇小說告訴讀者﹐不要追慕不自量力的虛榮﹐從而引來可悲的結局。作者
    4) 莫泊桑也是中國讀者熟悉的法國小說作家。這篇項鏈是有名的小說﹐好些課本都

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-21 22:09:57


    Pygmalion 賣花女
    by George Bernard Shaw 蕭伯納

    ACT V
    Mrs. Higgins's drawing-room. She is at her writing-table as before. The
    parlor-maid comes in.
    THE PARLOR-MAID [at the door] Mr. Henry, mam, is downstairs with Colonel
    MRS. HIGGINS. Well, shew Mbshow} them up.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. They're using the telephone, mam. Telephoning to the
    police, I think.
    MRS. HIGGINS. What!
    THE PARLOR-MAID [coming further in and lowering her voice] Mr. Henry's
    in a state, 指情緒激動或發怒 mam. I thought I'd better tell you.
    MRS. HIGGINS. If you had told me that Mr. Henry was not in a state it
    would have been more surprising. Tell them to come up when they've finished
    with the police. I suppose he's lost something.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam [going].
    MRS. HIGGINS. Go upstairs and tell Miss Doolittle that Mr. Henry and the
    Colonel are here. Ask her not to come down till I send for her.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam.
    Higgins bursts in. He is, as the parlor-maid has said, in a state.
    HIGGINS. Look here, mother: here's a confounded thing!
    MRS. HIGGINS. Yes, dear. Good-morning. [He checks his impatience and kisses
    her, whilst the parlor-maid goes out]. What is it?
    HIGGINS. Eliza's bolted.
    MRS. HIGGINS [calmly continuing her writing] You must have frightened
    HIGGINS. Frightened her! nonsense! She was left last night, as usual,
    to turn out the lights and all that; and instead of going to bed she changed
    her clothes and went right off: her bed wasn't slept in. She came in a cab
    for her things before seven this morning; and that fool Mrs. Pearce let
    her have them without telling me a word about it. What am I to do?
    MRS. HIGGINS. Do without, I'm afraid, Henry. The girl has a perfect right
    to leave if she chooses.
    HIGGINS [wandering distractedly across the room] But I can't find anything.
    I don't know what appointments I've got. I'm〞 [Pickering comes in. Mrs.
    Higgins puts down her pen and turns away from the writing-table].
    PICKERING [shaking hands] Good-morning, Mrs. Higgins. Has Henry told you?
    [He sits down on the ottoman].
    HIGGINS. What does that ass of an inspector say? Have you offered a reward?

    MRS. HIGGINS [rising in indignant amazement] You don't mean to say you
    have set the police after Eliza?
    HIGGINS. Of course. What are the police for? What else could we do? [He
    sits in the Elizabethan chair].
    PICKERING. The inspector made a lot of difficulties. I really think he
    suspected us of some improper purpose.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Well, of course he did. What right have you to go to the
    police and give the girl's name as if she were a thief, or a lost umbrella,
    or something? Really! [She sits down again, deeply vexed].
    HIGGINS. But we want to find her.
    PICKERING. We can't let her go like this, you know, Mrs. Higgins. What
    were we to do?
    MRS. HIGGINS. You have no more sense, either of you, than two children.
    The parlor-maid comes in and breaks off the conversation.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Mr. Henry: a gentleman wants to see you very particular.
    He's been sent on from Wimpole Street.
    HIGGINS. Oh, bother! I can't see anyone now. Who is it?
    THE PARLOR-MAID. A Mr. Doolittle, sir.
    PICKERING. Doolittle! Do you mean the dustman?
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Dustman! Oh no, sir: a gentleman.
    HIGGINS [springing up excitedly] By George {=by God, 驚嘆語}, Pick, it's
    some relative of hers that she's gone to. Somebody we know nothing about.
    [To the parlor-maid] Send him up, quick.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, sir. [She goes].
    HIGGINS [eagerly, going to his mother] Genteel relatives! now we shall
    hear something. [He sits down in the Chippendale chair].
    MRS. HIGGINS. Do you know any of her people?
    PICKERING. Only her father: the fellow we told you about.
    THE PARLOR-MAID [announcing] Mr. Doolittle. [She withdraws].
    Doolittle enters. He is brilliantly dressed in a new fashionable frock-coat,
    with white waistcoat and grey trousers. A flower in his buttonhole, a dazzling
    silk hat, and patent leather shoes complete the effect. He is too concerned
    with the business he has come on to notice Mrs. Higgins. He walks straight
    to Higgins, and accosts him with vehement reproach.
    DOOLITTLE [indicating his own person] See here! Do you see this? You done
    HIGGINS. Done what, man?
    DOOLITTLE. This, I tell you. Look at it. Look at this hat. Look at this
    PICKERING. Has Eliza been buying you clothes?
    DOOLITTLE. Eliza! not she. Not half. Why would she buy me clothes?
    MRS. HIGGINS. Good-morning, Mr. Doolittle. Won't you sit down?
    DOOLITTLE [taken aback as he becomes conscious that he has forgotten his
    hostess] Asking your pardon, maam. [He approaches her and shakes her proffered
    hand]. Thank you. [He sits down on the ottoman, on Pickering's right]. I
    am that full of what has happened to me that I can't think of anything else.

    HIGGINS. What the dickens {=the hell, 驚嘆語} has happened to you?
    DOOLITTLE. I shouldn't mind if it had only happened to me: anything might
    happen to anybody and nobody to blame but Providence, as you might say.
    But this is something that you done to me: yes, you, Henry Higgins.
    HIGGINS. Have you found Eliza? That's the point.
    DOOLITTLE. Have you lost her?
    HIGGINS. Yes.
    DOOLITTLE. You have all the luck, you have. I ain't found her; but she'll
    find me quick enough now after what you done to me.
    MRS. HIGGINS. But what has my son done to you, Mr. Doolittle?
    DOOLITTLE. Done to me! Ruined me. Destroyed my happiness. Tied me up and
    delivered me into the hands of middle class morality.
    HIGGINS [rising intolerantly and standing over Doolittle] You're raving.
    You're drunk. You're mad. I gave you five pounds. After that I had two conversations
    with you, at half-a-crown an hour. I've never seen you since.
    DOOLITTLE. Oh! Drunk! am I? Mad! am I? Tell me this. Did you or did you
    not write a letter to an old blighter in America that was giving five millions
    to found Moral Reform Societies all over the world, and that wanted you
    to invent a universal language for him?
    HIGGINS. What! Ezra D. Wannafeller! He's dead. [He sits down again carelessly].

    DOOLITTLE. Yes: he's dead; and I'm done for. Now did you or did you not
    write a letter to him to say that the most original moralist at present
    in England, to the best of your knowledge, was Alfred Doolittle, a common
    HIGGINS. Oh, after your last visit I remember making some silly joke of
    the kind.
    DOOLITTLE. Ah! you may well call it a silly joke. It put the lid on me
    right enough. Just give him the chance he wanted to shew that Americans
    is not like us: that they recognize and respect merit in every class of
    life, however humble. Them {their} words is in his blooming {a curse word}
    will 遺囑, in which, Henry Higgins, thanks to your silly joking, he leaves
    me a share in his Pre-digested Cheese Trust worth three thousand a year
    on condition that I lecture for his Wannafeller Moral Reform World League
    as often as they ask me up to six times a year.
    HIGGINS. The devil he does! Whew! [Brightening suddenly] What a lark!

    PICKERING. A safe thing for you, Doolittle. They won't ask you twice.

    DOOLITTLE. It ain't the lecturing I mind. I'll lecture them blue in the
    face, I will, and not turn a hair. It's making a gentleman of me that I
    object to. Who asked him to make a gentleman of me? I was happy. I was free.
    I touched pretty nigh everybody for money when I wanted it, same as I touched
    you, Henry Higgins. Now I am worrited; tied neck and heels; and everybody
    touches me for money. It's a fine thing for you, says my solicitor. Is it?
    says I. You mean it's a good thing for you, I says. When I was a poor man
    and had a solicitor once when they found a pram in the dust cart, he got
    me off, and got shut of me and got me shut of him as quick as he could.
    Same with the doctors: used to shove me out of the hospital before I could
    hardly stand on my legs, and nothing to pay. Now they finds out that I'm
    not a healthy man and can't live unless they looks after me twice a day.
    In the house I'm not let do a hand's turn for myself: somebody else must
    do it and touch me for it. A year ago I hadn't a relative in the world except
    two or three that wouldn't speak to me. Now I've fifty, and not a decent
    week's wages among the lot of them. I have to live for others and not for
    myself: that's middle class morality. You talk of losing Eliza. Don't you
    be anxious: I bet she's on my doorstep by this: she that could support herself
    easy by selling flowers if I wasn't respectable. And the next one to touch
    me will be you, Henry Higgins. I'll have to learn to speak middle class
    language from you, instead of speaking proper English. That's where you'll
    come in; and I daresay that's what you done it for.
    MRS. HIGGINS. But, my dear Mr. Doolittle, you need not suffer all this
    if you are really in earnest. Nobody can force you to accept this bequest.
    You can repudiate it. Isn't that so, Colonel Pickering?
    PICKERING. I believe so.
    DOOLITTLE: [softening his manner in deference to her sex] That's the tragedy
    of it, maam. It's easy to say chuck it; but I haven't the nerve. Which of
    us has? We're all intimidated. Intimidated, maam: that's what we are. What
    is there for me if I chuck it but the workhouse in my old age? I have to
    dye my hair already to keep my job as a dustman. If I was one of the deserving
    poor, and had put by a bit, I could chuck it; but then why should I, acause
    {because} the deserving poor might as well be millionaires for all the happiness
    they ever has. They don't know what happiness is. But I, as one of the undeserving
    poor, have nothing between me and the pauper's uniform but this here blasted
    three thousand a year that shoves me into the middle class. (Excuse the
    expression, maam: you'd use it yourself if you had my provocation). They've
    got you every way you turn: it's a choice between the Skilly of the workhouse
    and the Char Bydis of the middle class; and I havn't the nerve for the workhouse.
    Intimidated: that's what I am. Broke. Bought up. Happier men than me will
    call for my dust, and touch me for their tip; and I'll look on helpless,
    and envy them. And that's what your son has brought me to. [He is overcome
    by emotion].
    MRS. HIGGINS. Well, I'm very glad you're not going to do anything foolish,
    Mr. Doolittle. For this solves the problem of Eliza's future. You can provide
    for her now.
    DOOLITTLE [with melancholy resignation] Yes, maam: I'm expected to provide
    for everyone now, out of three thousand a year.
    HIGGINS [jumping up] Nonsense! he can't provide for her. He shan't provide
    for her. She doesn't belong to him. I paid him five pounds for her. Doolittle:
    either you're an honest man or a rogue.
    DOOLITTLE [tolerantly] A little of both, Henry, like the rest of us: a
    little of both.
    HIGGINS. Well, you took that money for the girl; and you have no right
    to take her as well.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Henry: don't be absurd. If you really want to know where
    Eliza is, she is upstairs.
    HIGGINS [amazed] Upstairs!!! Then I shall jolly soon fetch her downstairs.
    [He makes resolutely for the door].
    MRS. HIGGINS [rising and following him] Be quiet, Henry. Sit down.
    HIGGINS. I. . .
    MRS. HIGGINS. Sit down, dear; and listen to me.
    HIGGINS. Oh very well, very well, very well. [He throws himself ungraciously
    on the ottoman, with his face towards the windows]. But I think you might
    have told me this half an hour ago.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Eliza came to me this morning. She passed the night partly
    walking about in a rage, partly trying to throw herself into the river and
    being afraid to, and partly in the Carlton Hotel. She told me of the brutal
    way you two treated her.
    HIGGINS [bounding up again] What!
    PICKERING [rising also] My dear Mrs. Higgins, she's been telling you stories.
    We didn't treat her brutally. We hardly said a word to her; and we parted
    on particularly good terms. [Turning on Higgins]. Higgins, did you bully
    her after I went to bed?
    HIGGINS. Just the other way about. She threw my slippers in my face. She
    behaved in the most outrageous way. I never gave her the slightest provocation.
    The slippers came bang into my face the moment I entered the room before
    I had uttered a word. And used perfectly awful language.
    PICKERING [astonished] But why? What did we do to her?
    MRS. HIGGINS. I think I know pretty well what you did. The girl is naturally
    rather affectionate, I think. Isn't she, Mr. Doolittle?
    DOOLITTLE. Very tender-hearted, maam. Takes after me.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Just so. She had become attached to you both. She worked
    very hard for you, Henry! I don't think you quite realize what anything
    in the nature of brain work means to a girl like that. Well, it seems that
    when the great day of trial came, and she did this wonderful thing for you
    without making a single mistake, you two sat there and never said a word
    to her, but talked together of how glad you were that it was all over and
    how you had been bored with the whole thing. And then you were surprised
    because she threw your slippers at you! I should have thrown the fire-irons
    at you.
    HIGGINS. We said nothing except that we were tired and wanted to go to
    bed. Did we, Pick?
    PICKERING [shrugging his shoulders] That was all.
    MRS. HIGGINS [ironically] Quite sure?
    PICKERING. Absolutely. Really, that was all.
    MRS. HIGGINS. You didn't thank her, or pet her, or admire her, or tell
    her how splendid she'd been.
    HIGGINS [impatiently] But she knew all about that. We didn't make speeches
    to her, if that's what you mean.
    PICKERING [conscience stricken] Perhaps we were a little inconsiderate.
    Is she very angry?
    MRS. HIGGINS [returning to her place at the writing-table] Well, I'm afraid
    she won't go back to Wimpole Street, especially now that Mr. Doolittle is
    able to keep up the position you have thrust on her; but she says she is
    quite willing to meet you on friendly terms and to let bygones be bygones.

    HIGGINS [furious] Is she, by George? Ho!
    MRS. HIGGINS. If you promise to behave yourself, Henry, I'll ask her to
    come down. If not, go home; for you have taken up quite enough of my time.

    HIGGINS. Oh, all right. Very well. Pick: you behave yourself. Let us put
    on our best Sunday manners for this creature that we picked out of the mud.
    [He flings himself sulkily into the Elizabethan chair].
    DOOLITTLE [remonstrating] Now, now, Henry Higgins! have some consideration
    for my feelings as a middle class man.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Remember your promise, Henry. [She presses the bell-button
    on the writing-table]. Mr. Doolittle: will you be so good as to step out
    on the balcony for a moment. I don't want Eliza to have the shock of your
    news until she has made it up with these two gentlemen. Would you mind?

    DOOLITTLE. As you wish, lady. Anything to help Henry to keep her off my
    hands. [He disappears through the window].
    The parlor-maid answers the bell. Pickering sits down in Doolittle's place.

    MRS. HIGGINS. Ask Miss Doolittle to come down, please.
    THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam. [She goes out].
    MRS. HIGGINS. Now, Henry: be good.
    HIGGINS. I am behaving myself perfectly.
    PICKERING. He is doing his best, Mrs. Higgins.
    A pause. Higgins throws back his head; stretches out his legs; and begins
    to whistle.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Henry, dearest, you don't look at all nice in that attitude.

    HIGGINS [pulling himself together] I was not trying to look nice, mother.

    MRS. HIGGINS. It doesn't matter, dear. I only wanted to make you speak.

    HIGGINS. Why?
    MRS. HIGGINS. Because you can't speak and whistle at the same time.
    Higgins groans. Another very trying pause.
    HIGGINS [springing up, out of patience] Where the devil is that girl?
    Are we to wait here all day?
    Eliza enters, sunny, self-possessed, and giving a staggeringly convincing
    exhibition of ease of manner. She carries a little work-basket, and is very
    much at home. Pickering is too much taken aback to rise.
    LIZA. How do you do, Professor Higgins? Are you quite well?
    HIGGINS [choking] Am I? [He can say no more].
    LIZA. But of course you are: you are never ill. So glad to see you again,
    Colonel Pickering. [He rises hastily; and they shake hands]. Quite chilly
    this morning, isnt it? [She sits down on his left. He sits beside her].

    HIGGINS. Don't you dare try this game on me. I taught it to you; and it
    doesn't take me in. Get up and come home; and don't be a fool.
    Eliza takes a piece of needlework from her basket, and begins to stitch
    at it, without taking the least notice of this outburst.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Very nicely put, indeed, Henry. No woman could resist such
    an invitation.
    HIGGINS. You let her alone, mother. Let her speak for herself. You will
    jolly soon see whether she has an idea that I havn't put into her head or
    a word that I havn't put into her mouth. I tell you I have created this
    thing out of the squashed cabbage leaves of Covent Garden 倫敦地名。他在
    那裡碰到賣花女; and now she pretends to play the fine lady with me.
    MRS. HIGGINS [placidly] Yes, dear; but you'll sit down, won't you?
    Higgins sits down again, savagely.
    LIZA [to Pickering, taking no apparent notice of Higgins, and working
    away deftly] Will you drop me altogether now that the experiment is over,
    Colonel Pickering?
    PICKERING. Oh don't. You mustn't think of it as an experiment. It shocks
    me, somehow.
    LIZA. Oh, I'm only a squashed cabbage leaf!
    PICKERING [impulsively] No.
    LIZA [continuing quietly] but I owe so much to you that I should be very
    unhappy if you forgot me.
    PICKERING. It's very kind of you to say so, Miss Doolittle.
    LIZA. It's not because you paid for my dresses. I know you are generous
    to everybody with money. But it was from you that I learnt really nice manners;
    and that is what makes one a lady, isn't it? You see it was so very difficult
    for me with the example of Professor Higgins always before me. I was brought
    up to be just like him, unable to control myself, and using bad language
    on the slightest provocation. And I should never have known that ladies and
    gentlemen didn't behave like that if you hadn't been there.
    HIGGINS. Well!!
    PICKERING. Oh, that's only his way, you know. He doesn't mean it.
    LIZA. Oh, I didn't mean it either, when I was a flower girl. It was only
    my way. But you see I did it; and that's what makes the difference after
    PICKERING. No doubt. Still, he taught you to speak; and I couldn't have
    done that, you know.
    LIZA [trivially] Of course: that is his profession.
    HIGGINS. Damnation!
    LIZA [continuing] It was just like learning to dance in the fashionable
    way: there was nothing more than that in it. But do you know what began
    my real education?
    PICKERING. What?
    LIZA [stopping her work for a moment] Your calling me Miss Doolittle that
    day when I first came to Wimpole Street. That was the beginning of self-respect
    for me. [She resumes her stitching]. And there were a hundred little things
    you never noticed, because they came naturally to you. Things about standing
    up and taking off your hat and opening door.
    PICKERING. Oh, that was nothing.
    LIZA. Yes: things that shewed you thought and felt about me as if I were
    something better than a scullery-maid; though of course I know you would
    have been just the same to a scullery-maid if she had been let in the drawing-
    room. You never took off your boots in the dining room when I was there.

    PICKERING. You mustn't mind that. Higgins takes off his boots all over
    the place.
    LIZA. I know. I am not blaming him. It is his way, isn't it? But it made
    such a difference to me that you didn't do it. You see, really and truly,
    apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way
    of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl
    is not how she behaves, but how she's treated. I shall always be a flower
    girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl,
    and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat
    me as a lady, and always will.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Please don't grind your teeth, Henry.
    PICKERING. Well, this is really very nice of you, Miss Doolittle.
    LIZA. I should like you to call me Eliza, now, if you would.
    PICKERING. Thank you. Eliza, of course.
    LIZA. And I should like Professor Higgins to call me Miss Doolittle.

    HIGGINS. I'll see you damned first.
    MRS. HIGGINS. Henry! Henry!
    PICKERING [laughing] Why don't you slang back at him? Don't stand it.
    It would do him a lot of good.
    LIZA. I can't. I could have done it once; but now I can't go back to it.
    Last night, when I was wandering about, a girl spoke to me; and I tried
    to get back into the old way with her; but it was no use. You told me, you
    know, that when a child is brought to a foreign country, it picks up the
    language in a few weeks, and forgets its own. Well, I am a child in your
    country. I have forgotten my own language, and can speak nothing but yours.
    That's the real break-off with the corner of Tottenham Court Road. Leaving
    Wimpole Street finishes it.
    PICKERING [much alarmed] Oh! but you're coming back to Wimpole Street,
    arn't you? You'll forgive Higgins?
    HIGGINS [rising] Forgive! Will she, by George! Let her go. Let her find
    out how she can get on without us. She will relapse into the gutter in three
    weeks without me at her elbow.
    Doolittle appears at the centre window. With a look of dignified reproach
    at Higgins, he comes slowly and silently to his daughter, who, with her
    back to the window, is unconscious of his approach.
    PICKERING. He's incorrigible, Eliza. You won't relapse, will you?
    LIZA. No: Not now. Never again. I have learnt my lesson. I don't believe
    I could utter one of the old sounds if I tried. [Doolittle touches her on
    her left shoulder. She drops her work, losing her self-possession utterly
    at the spectacle of her father's splendor] A-a-a-a-a-ah-ow-ooh!
    HIGGINS [with a crow of triumph] Aha! Just so. A-a-a-a-ah-ow-ooh! A-a-a-a-ah-
    ow-ooh! A-a-a-a-ah-ow-ooh! Victory! Victory! [He throws himself on the divan,
    folding his arms, and spraddling arrogantly].
    DOOLITTLE. Can you blame the girl? Don't look at me like that, Eliza.
    It ain't my fault. I've come into some money.
    LIZA. You must have touched a millionaire this time, dad.
    DOOLITTLE. I have. But I'm dressed something special today. I'm going
    to St. George's, Hanover Square. Your stepmother is going to marry me.

    LIZA [angrily] You're going to let yourself down to marry that low common
    PICKERING [quietly] He ought to, Eliza. [To Doolittle] Why has she changed
    her mind?
    DOOLITTLE [sadly] Intimidated, Governor. Intimidated. Middle class morality
    claims its victim. Won't you put on your hat, Liza, and come and see me
    turned off?
    LIZA. If the Colonel says I must, I -- I'll [almost sobbing] I'll demean
    myself. And get insulted for my pains, like enough.
    DOOLITTLE. Don't be afraid: she never comes to words with anyone now,
    poor woman! Respectability has broke all the spirit out of her.
    PICKERING [squeezing Eliza's elbow gently] Be kind to them, Eliza. Make
    the best of it.
    LIZA [forcing a little smile for him through her vexation] Oh well, just
    to shew there's no ill feeling. I'll be back in a moment. [She goes out].

    DOOLITTLE [sitting down beside Pickering] I feel uncommon nervous about
    the ceremony, Colonel. I wish you'd come and see me through it.
    PICKERING. But you've been through it before, man. You were married to
    Eliza's mother.
    DOOLITTLE. Who told you that, Colonel?
    PICKERING. Well, nobody told me. But I concluded naturally.
    DOOLITTLE. No: that ain't the natural way, Colonel: it's only the middle
    class way. My way was always the undeserving way. But don't say nothing
    to Eliza. She don't know: I always had a delicacy about telling her.
    PICKERING. Quite right. We'll leave it so, if you don't mind.
    DOOLITTLE. And you'll come to the church, Colonel, and put me through
    PICKERING. With pleasure. As far as a bachelor can.
    MRS. HIGGINS. May I come, Mr. Doolittle? I should be very sorry to miss
    your wedding.
    DOOLITTLE. I should indeed be honored by your condescension, maam; and
    my poor old woman would take it as a tremenjous compliment. She's been very
    low, thinking of the happy days that are no more.
    MRS. HIGGINS [rising] I'll order the carriage and get ready. [The men
    rise, except Higgins]. I shan't be more than fifteen minutes. [As she goes
    to the door Eliza comes in, hatted and buttoning her gloves]. I'm going
    to the church to see your father married, Eliza. You had better come in
    the brougham with me. Colonel Pickering can go on with the bridegroom.
    Mrs. Higgins goes out. Eliza comes to the middle of the room between the
    centre window and the ottoman. Pickering joins her.
    DOOLITTLE. Bridegroom! What a word! It makes a man realize his position,
    somehow. [He takes up his hat and goes towards the door].
    PICKERING. Before I go, Eliza, do forgive him and come back to us.
    LIZA. I don't think papa would allow me. Would you, dad?
    DOOLITTLE [sad but magnanimous] They played you off very cunning, Eliza,
    them two sportsmen. If it had been only one of them, you could have nailed
    him. But you see, there was two; and one of them chaperoned the other, as
    you might say. [To Pickering] It was artful of you, Colonel; but I bear
    no malice: I should have done the same myself. I been the victim of one
    woman after another all my life; and I don't grudge you two getting the better
    of Eliza. I shan't interfere. It's time for us to go, Colonel. So long,
    Henry. See you in St. George's, Eliza. [He goes out].
    PICKERING [coaxing] Do stay with us, Eliza. [He follows Doolittle].
    Eliza goes out on the balcony to avoid being alone with Higgins. He rises
    and joins her there. She immediately comes back into the room and makes
    for the door; but he goes along the balcony quickly and gets his back to
    the door before she reaches it.
    HIGGINS. Well, Eliza, you've had a bit of your own back, as you call it.
    Have you had enough? And are you going to be reasonable? Or do you want
    any more?
    LIZA. You want me back only to pick up your slippers and put up with your
    tempers and fetch and carry for you.
    HIGGINS. I havn't said I wanted you back at all.
    LIZA. Oh, indeed. Then what are we talking about?
    HIGGINS. About you, not about me. If you come back I shall treat you just
    as I have always treated you. I can't change my nature; and I don't intend
    to change my manners. My manners are exactly the same as Colonel Pickering's.

    LIZA. That's not true. He treats a flower girl as if she was a duchess.

    HIGGINS. And I treat a duchess as if she was a flower girl.
    LIZA. I see. [She turns away composedly, and sits on the ottoman, facing
    the window]. The same to everybody.
    HIGGINS. Just so.
    LIZA. Like father.
    HIGGINS [grinning, a little taken down] Without accepting the comparison
    at all points, Eliza, it's quite true that your father is not a snob, and
    that he will be quite at home in any station of life to which his eccentric
    destiny may call him. [Seriously] The great secret, Eliza, is not having
    bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but
    having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you
    were in Heaven, where there are no third-class carriages, and one soul is
    as good as another.
    LIZA. Amen. You are a born preacher.
    HIGGINS [irritated] The question is not whether I treat you rudely, but
    whether you ever heard me treat anyone else better.
    LIZA [with sudden sincerity] I don't care how you treat me. I don't mind
    your swearing at me. I don't mind a black eye: I've had one before this.
    But [standing up and facing him] I won't be passed over.
    HIGGINS. Then get out of my way; for I won't stop for you. You talk about
    me as if I were a motor bus.
    LIZA. So you are a motor bus: all bounce and go, and no consideration
    for anyone. But I can do without you: don't think I can't.
    HIGGINS. I know you can. I told you you could.
    LIZA [wounded, getting away from him to the other side of the ottoman
    with her face to the hearth] I know you did, you brute. You wanted to get
    rid of me.
    HIGGINS. Liar.
    LIZA. Thank you. [She sits down with dignity].
    HIGGINS. You never asked yourself, I suppose, whether I could do without
    LIZA [earnestly] Don't you try to get round me. You'll have to do without
    HIGGINS [arrogant] I can do without anybody. I have my own soul: my own
    spark of divine fire. But [with sudden humility] I shall miss you, Eliza.
    [He sits down near her on the ottoman]. I have learnt something from your
    idiotic notions: I confess that humbly and gratefully. And I have grown
    accustomed to your voice and appearance. I like them, rather.
    LIZA. Well, you have both of them on your gramophone and in your book
    of photographs. When you feel lonely without me, you can turn the machine
    on. It's got no feelings to hurt.
    HIGGINS. I can't turn your soul on. Leave me those feelings; and you can
    take away the voice and the face. They are not you.
    LIZA. Oh, you are a devil. You can twist the heart in a girl as easy as
    some could twist her arms to hurt her. Mrs. Pearce warned me. Time and again
    she has wanted to leave you; and you always got round her at the last minute.
    And you don't care a bit for her. And you don't care a bit for me.
    HIGGINS. I care for life, for humanity; and you are a part of it that
    has come my way and been built into my house. What more can you or anyone
    LIZA. I won't care for anybody that doesn't care for me.
    HIGGINS. Commercial principles, Eliza. Like [reproducing her Covent Garden
    pronunciation with professional exactness] s'yollin voylets [selling violets],
    isnt it?
    LIZA. Don't sneer at me. It's mean to sneer at me.
    HIGGINS. I have never sneered in my life. Sneering doesn't become either
    the human face or the human soul. I am expressing my righteous contempt
    for Commercialism. I don't and won't trade in affection. You call me a brute
    because you couldn't buy a claim on me by fetching my slippers and finding
    my spectacles. You were a fool: I think a woman fetching a man's slippers
    is a disgusting sight: did I ever fetch your slippers? I think a good deal
    more of you for throwing them in my face. No use slaving for me and then
    saying you want to be cared for: who cares for a slave? If you come back,
    come back for the sake of good fellowship; for you'll get nothing else.
    You've had a thousand times as much out of me as I have out of you; and if
    you dare to set up your little dog's tricks of fetching and carrying slippers
    against my creation of a Duchess, Eliza, I'll slam the door in your silly
    LIZA. What did you do it for if you didn't care for me?
    HIGGINS [heartily] Why, because it was my job.
    LIZA. You never thought of the trouble it would make for me.
    HIGGINS. Would the world ever have been made if its maker had been afraid
    of making trouble? Making life means making trouble. There's only one way
    of escaping trouble; and that's killing things. Cowards, you notice, are
    always shrieking to have troublesome people killed.
    LIZA. I'm no preacher: I don't notice things like that. I notice that
    you don't notice me.
    HIGGINS [jumping up and walking about intolerantly] Eliza: you're an idiot.
    I waste the treasures of my Miltonic mind by spreading them before you.
    Once for all, understand that I go my way and do my work without caring
    twopence what happens to either of us. I am not intimidated, like your father
    and your stepmother. So you can come back or go to the devil: which you
    LIZA. What am I to come back for?
    HIGGINS [bouncing up on his knees on the ottoman and leaning over it to
    her] For the fun of it. That's why I took you on.
    LIZA [with averted face] And you may throw me out tomorrow if I don't
    do everything you want me to?
    HIGGINS. Yes; and you may walk out tomorrow if I don't do everything you
    want me to.
    LIZA. And live with my stepmother?
    HIGGINS. Yes, or sell flowers.
    LIZA. Oh! if I only could go back to my flower basket! I should be independent
    of both you and father and all the world! Why did you take my independence
    from me? Why did I give it up? I'm a slave now, for all my fine clothes.

    HIGGINS. Not a bit. I'll adopt you as my daughter and settle money on
    you if you like. Or would you rather marry Pickering?
    LIZA [looking fiercely round at him] I wouldn't marry you if you asked
    me; and you're nearer my age than what he is.
    HIGGINS [gently] Than he is: not "than what he is."
    LIZA [losing her temper and rising] I'll talk as I like. You're not my
    teacher now.
    HIGGINS [reflectively] I don't suppose Pickering would, though. He's as
    confirmed an old bachelor as I am.
    LIZA. That's not what I want; and don't you think it. I've always had
    chaps enough wanting me that way. Freddy Hill writes to me twice and three
    times a day, sheets and sheets.
    HIGGINS [disagreeably surprised] Damn his impudence! [He recoils and finds
    himself sitting on his heels].
    LIZA. He has a right to if he likes, poor lad. And he does love me.

    HIGGINS [getting off the ottoman] You have no right to encourage him.

    LIZA. Every girl has a right to be loved.
    HIGGINS. What! By fools like that?
    LIZA. Freddy's not a fool. And if he's weak and poor and wants me, may
    be he'd make me happier than my betters that bully me and don't want me.

    HIGGINS. Can he make anything of you? That's the point.
    LIZA. Perhaps I could make something of him. But I never thought of us
    making anything of one another; and you never think of anything else. I
    only want to be natural.
    HIGGINS. In short, you want me to be as infatuated about you as Freddy?
    Is that it?
    LIZA. No I don't. That's not the sort of feeling I want from you. And
    don't you be too sure of yourself or of me. I could have been a bad girl
    if I'd liked. I've seen more of some things than you, for all your learning.
    Girls like me can drag gentlemen down to make love to them easy enough.
    And they wish each other dead the next minute.
    HIGGINS. Of course they do. Then what in thunder are we quarrelling about?

    LIZA [much troubled] I want a little kindness. I know I'm a common ignorant
    girl, and you a book-learned gentleman; but I'm not dirt under your feet.
    What I done [correcting herself] what I did was not for the dresses and
    the taxis: I did it because we were pleasant together and I come -- came
    -- to care for you; not to want you to make love to me, and not forgetting
    the difference between us, but more friendly like.
    HIGGINS. Well, of course. That's just how I feel. And how Pickering feels.
    Eliza: you're a fool.
    LIZA. That's not a proper answer to give me [she sinks on the chair at
    the writing-table in tears].
    HIGGINS. It's all you'll get until you stop being a common idiot. If you're
    going to be a lady, you'll have to give up feeling neglected if the men
    you know don't spend half their time snivelling over you and the other half
    giving you black eyes. If you can't stand the coldness of my sort of life,
    and the strain of it, go back to the gutter. Work till you are more a brute
    than a human being; and then cuddle and squabble and drink till you fall
    asleep. Oh, it's a fine life, the life of the gutter. It's real: it's warm:
    it's violent: you can feel it through the thickest skin: you can taste it
    and smell it without any training or any work. Not like Science and Literature
    and Classical Music and Philosophy and Art. You find me cold, unfeeling,
    selfish, don't you? Very well: be off with you to the sort of people you
    like. Marry some sentimental hog or other with lots of money, and a thick
    pair of lips to kiss you with and a thick pair of boots to kick you with.
    If you can't appreciate what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate.

    LIZA [desperate] Oh, you are a cruel tyrant. I can't talk to you: you
    turn everything against me: I'm always in the wrong. But you know very well
    all the time that you're nothing but a bully. You know I can't go back to
    the gutter, as you call it, and that I have no real friends in the world
    but you and the Colonel. You know well I couldn't bear to live with a low
    common man after you two; and it's wicked and cruel of you to insult me
    by pretending I could. You think I must go back to Wimpole Street because
    I have nowhere else to go but father's. But don't you be too sure that you
    have me under your feet to be trampled on and talked down. I'll marry Freddy,
    I will, as soon as he's able to support me.
    HIGGINS [sitting down beside her] Rubbish! you shall marry an ambassador.
    You shall marry the Governor-General of India or the Lord-Lieutenant of
    Ireland, or somebody who wants a deputy-queen. I'm not going to have my
    masterpiece thrown away on Freddy.
    LIZA. You think I like you to say that. But I havn't forgot what you said
    a minute ago; and I won't be coaxed round as if I was a baby or a puppy.
    If I can't have kindness, I'll have independence.
    HIGGINS. Independence? That's middle class blasphemy. We are all dependent
    on one another, every soul of us on earth.
    LIZA [rising determinedly] I'll let you see whether I'm dependent on you.
    If you can preach, I can teach. I'll go and be a teacher.
    HIGGINS. Whatll you teach, in heaven's name?
    LIZA. What you taught me. I'll teach phonetics.
    HIGGINS. Ha! Ha! Ha!
    LIZA. I'll offer myself as an assistant to Professor Nepean.
    HIGGINS [rising in a fury] What! That impostor! that humbug! that toadying
    ignoramus! Teach him my methods! my discoveries! You take one step in his
    direction and I'll wring your neck. [He lays hands on her]. Do you hear?

    LIZA [defiantly non-resistant] Wring away. What do I care? I knew you'd
    strike me some day. [He lets her go, stamping with rage at having forgotten
    himself, and recoils so hastily that he stumbles back into his seat on the
    ottoman]. Aha! Now I know how to deal with you. What a fool I was not to
    think of it before! You can't take away the knowledge you gave me. You said
    I had a finer ear than you. And I can be civil and kind to people, which
    is more than you can. Aha! That's done you, Henry Higgins, it has. Now I
    don't care that [snapping her fingers] for your bullying and your big talk.
    I'll advertize it in the papers that your duchess is only a flower girl
    that you taught, and that she'll teach anybody to be a duchess just the same
    in six months for a thousand guineas. Oh, when I think of myself crawling
    under your feet and being trampled on and called names, when all the time
    I had only to lift up my finger to be as good as you, I could just kick
    HIGGINS [wondering at her] You damned impudent slut, you! But it's better
    than snivelling; better than fetching slippers and finding spectacles, isnt
    it? [Rising] By George, Eliza, I said I'd make a woman of you; and I have.
    I like you like this.
    LIZA. Yes: you turn round and make up to me now that I'm not afraid of
    you, and can do without you.
    HIGGINS. Of course I do, you little fool. Five minutes ago you were like
    a millstone round my neck. Now you're a tower of strength: a consort battleship.
    You and I and Pickering will be three old bachelors together instead of
    only two men and a silly girl.
    Mrs. Higgins returns, dressed for the wedding. Eliza instantly becomes
    cool and elegant.
    MRS. HIGGINS. The carriage is waiting, Eliza. Are you ready?
    LIZA. Quite. Is the Professor coming?
    MRS. HIGGINS. Certainly not. He can't behave himself in church. He makes
    remarks out loud all the time on the clergyman's pronunciation.
    LIZA. Then I shall not see you again, Professor. Good-bye. [She goes to
    the door].
    MRS. HIGGINS [coming to Higgins] Good-bye, dear.
    HIGGINS. Good-bye, mother. [He is about to kiss her, when he recollects
    something]. Oh, by the way, Eliza, order a ham and a Stilton cheese, will
    you? And buy me a pair of reindeer gloves, number eights, and a tie to match
    that new suit of mine, at Eale & Binman's. You can choose the color. [His
    cheerful, careless, vigorous voice shows that he is incorrigible].
    LIZA [disdainfully] Buy them yourself. [She sweeps out].
    MRS. HIGGINS. I'm afraid you've spoiled that girl, Henry. But never mind,
    dear: I'll buy you the tie and gloves.
    HIGGINS [sunnily] Oh, don't bother. She'll buy em all right enough. Good-bye.

    They kiss. Mrs. Higgins runs out. Higgins, left alone, rattles his cash
    in his pocket; chuckles; and disports himself in a highly self-satisfied

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕George Bernard Shaw (26 July 1856 -- 2 November 1950) was
    an Irish playwright and a co-founder of the London School of Economics.
    He began his writing career as a critic. First, he reviewed music. Then,
    he branched out and became a theater critic. He must have been disappointed
    with his contemporary playwrights because he began writing his own dramatic
    works in the late 1800s. Many consider Shaw's body of work to be second only
    to Shakespeare. Shaw possesses a deep love of language, high comedy, and
    social consciousness. George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion has become the playwright'
    s most famous comedy. It illustrates the comical clash between two different
    3) 劇情介紹﹕Based on classical myth, Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion plays on
    the complex business of human relationships in a social world. Phonetics
    Professor Henry Higgins tutors the very Cockney [地名﹐指帶有該地語音聲調
    的] Eliza Doolittle, not only in the refinement of speech, but also in the
    refinement of her manner. When the end result produces a very ladylike Miss
    Doolittle, the lessons learned become much more far reaching. The successful
    musical My Fair Lady was based on this Bernard Shaw classic.
    4) 蕭伯納的“賣花女”是一齣名劇。看看劇本是怎麼寫的。要讀全劇可以在網上找

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-25 23:25:27





  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-28 22:51:07


    Ode to a Nightingale 夜鶯頌
    by John Keats

    My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
    My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
    Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
    One minute past, and Lethe-wards [1] had sunk:
    'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
    But being too happy in thine happiness, -
    That thou, light-winged Dryad [2] of the trees,
    In some melodious plot
    Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
    Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

    O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
    Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
    Tasting of Flora [3] and the country green,
    Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
    O for a beaker full of the warm South,
    Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene [4],
    With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
    And purple-stained mouth;
    That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
    And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

    Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
    What thou among the leaves hast never known,
    The weariness, the fever, and the fret
    Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
    Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
    Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
    Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
    And leaden-eyed despairs,
    Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
    Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

    Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
    Not charioted by Bacchus [5] and his pards,
    But on the viewless wings of poesy,
    Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
    Already with thee! tender is the night,
    And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
    Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays [6];
    But here there is no light,
    Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
    Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

    I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
    Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
    But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
    Wherewith the seasonable month endows
    The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
    White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
    Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
    And mid-May's eldest child,
    The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
    The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

    Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
    I have been half in love with easeful Death,
    Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
    To take into the air my quiet breath;
    Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
    To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
    While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
    In such an ecstasy!
    Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
    To thy high requiem become a sod.

    Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
    No hungry generations tread thee down;
    The voice I hear this passing night was heard
    In ancient days by emperor and clown:
    Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
    Through the sad heart of Ruth [7], when, sick for home,
    She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
    The same that oft-times hath
    Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
    Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

    Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
    To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
    Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
    As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
    Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
    Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
    Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
    In the next valley-glades:
    Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
    Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 詩人介紹﹕John Keats (31 October 1795 -- 23 February 1821) was an English
    Romantic poet. Along with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, he was one
    of the key figures in the second generation of the Romantic movement, despite
    the fact that his work had been in publication for only four years before
    his death.
    3) 寫作背景﹕“In the spring of 1819 a nightingale had built her nest near
    my house. Keats felt a tranquil and continual joy in her song; and one
    morning he took his chair from the breakfast-table to the grass plot under
    a plum-tree, where he sat for two or three hours. When he came into the
    house, I perceived he had some scraps of paper in his hand, and these he
    was quietly thrusting behind the books. On inquiry, I found these scraps,
    four or five in number, contained his poetic feeling on the song of our
    nightingale.”以上介紹是詩人朋友Charles Brown所寫。This ode was written
    in May 1819 and first published in the Annals of the Fine Arts in July 1819.
    Critics generally agree that Nightingale was the second of the five 'great
    odes' of 1819.
    4) 註解﹕[1] In Greek mythology, Lethe was one of the five rivers of Hades.
    Also known as the Ameles potamos (river of unmindfulness), the Lethe flowed
    around the cave of Hypnos and through the Underworld, where all those who
    drank from it experienced complete forgetfulness. [2] Dryads are tree nymphs
    in Greek mythology. [3] Flora is the goddess of flower in Greek mythology.
    [4] In Greek mythology, Hippocrene was the name of a fountain on Mt. Helicon.
    It was sacred to the Muses and was formed by the hooves of Pegasus. Its
    name literally translates as "Horse's Fountain" and the water was supposed
    to bring forth poetic inspiration when imbibed. [5] Bacchus is the god of
    wine in Roman mythology, corresponding to Dionysus in Greek mythology. [6]
    Fay: fairy, elf. [7] In the Bible, a Moabite widow who left home with her
    mother-in-law and went to Bethlehem, where she later married Boaz.
    5) John Keats的“夜鶯頌”也是英詩中的名篇。每小節十行﹐五音步抑揚格。押韻

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-01-31 22:47:33


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-02 22:23:50


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-04 22:05:44


    Treasure Island 金銀島
    by Robert Louis Stevenson

    Chapter 1 The Old Sea-dog 指一個老水手at the Admiral Benbow 旅館名
    Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked
    me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning
    to the end, keeping nothing back, but the bearings of the island, and that
    only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in
    the year of grace 17__ and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral
    Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his
    lodging under our roof.
    I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door,
    his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow--a tall, strong, heavy,
    nut-brown man, his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled
    blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the
    sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking
    round the cover and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking
    out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:
    "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest [1]-- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
    in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken
    at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like
    a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly
    for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like
    a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still looking about him at the
    cliffs and up at our signboard.
    "This is a handy cove," says he at length; "and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop.
    Much company, mate?"
    My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.
    "Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me. Here you, matey," he cried
    to the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up my chest.
    I'll stay here a bit," he continued. "I'm a plain man; rum and bacon and
    eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch ships off. What
    you mought [might] call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I see what you're
    at-- there"; and he threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold.
    "You can tell me when I've worked through that," says he, looking as fierce
    as a commander.
    And indeed bad as his clothes were and coarsely as he spoke, he had none
    of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed like a
    mate or skipper accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came with
    the barrow told us the mail [郵車﹐兼搭客] had set him down the morning
    before at the Royal George [地名], that he had inquired what inns there
    were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described
    as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And
    that was all we could learn of our guest.
    He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove or upon
    the cliffs with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner of the
    parlour next the fire and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly he would
    not speak when spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce and blow through
    his nose like a fog-horn; and we and the people who came about our house
    soon learned to let him be [alone]. Every day when he came back from his
    stroll he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the road. At
    first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind that made him
    ask this question, but at last we began to see he was desirous to avoid
    them. When a seaman did put up at the Admiral Benbow (as now and then some
    did, making by the coast road for Bristol) he would look in at him through
    the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was always sure
    to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. For me, at least,
    there was no secret about the matter, for I was, in a way, a sharer in his
    alarms. He had taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny
    on the first of every month if I would only keep my "weather-eye open for
    a seafaring man with one leg" and let him know the moment he appeared. Often
    enough when the first of the month came round and I applied to him for my
    wage, he would only blow through his nose at me and stare me down [瞪著我
    看得我不敢抬頭], but before the week was out he was sure to think better
    of it, bring me my four-penny piece, and repeat his orders to look out for
    "the seafaring man with one leg."
    How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy
    nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house and the surf roared
    along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and
    with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at
    the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had
    never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body. To see him
    leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares.
    And altogether I paid pretty dear for my monthly fourpenny piece, in the
    shape of these abominable fancies.
    But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one
    leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who
    knew him. There were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than
    his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked,
    old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for glasses
    round and force all the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear
    a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house shaking with "Yo-ho-ho,
    and a bottle of rum," all the neighbours joining in for dear life, with
    the fear of death upon them, and each singing louder than the other to avoid
    remark. For in these fits he was the most overriding companion ever known;
    he would slap his hand on the table for silence all round; he would fly up
    in a passion of anger at a question, or sometimes because none was put,
    and so he judged the company was not following his story. Nor would he allow
    anyone to leave the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off
    to bed.
    His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories they
    were--about hanging, and walking the plank [2], and storms at sea, and the
    Dry Tortugas [3], and wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. By his
    own account he must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men
    that God ever allowed upon the sea, and the language in which he told these
    stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the crimes that
    he described. My father was always saying the inn would be ruined, for people
    would soon cease coming there to be tyrannized over and put down, and sent
    shivering to their beds; but I really believe his presence did us good.
    People were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked
    it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life, and there was even
    a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a "true
    sea-dog" and a "real old salt" and such like names, and saying there was
    the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.
    In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us, for he kept on staying week
    after week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had been
    long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist
    on having more. If ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through his nose
    so loudly that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of
    the room. I have seen him wringing his hands after such a rebuff, and I
    am sure the annoyance and the terror he lived in must have greatly hastened
    his early and unhappy death.
    All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his
    dress but to buy some stockings from a hawker. One of the cocks of his hat
    having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was a
    great annoyance when it blew. I remember the appearance of his coat, which
    he patched himself upstairs in his room, and which, before the end, was nothing
    but patches. He never wrote or received a letter, and he never spoke with
    any but the neighbours, and with these, for the most part, only when drunk
    on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had ever seen open.
    He was only once crossed, and that was towards the end, when my poor father
    was far gone in a decline that took him off. Dr. Livesey came late one afternoon
    to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother, and went into the
    parlour to smoke a pipe until his horse should come down from the hamlet,
    for we had no stabling at the old Benbow. I followed him in, and I remember
    observing the contrast the neat, bright doctor, with his powder as white
    as snow and his bright, black eyes and pleasant manners, made with the coltish
    country folk, and above all, with that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow
    of a pirate of ours, sitting, far gone in rum, with his arms on the table.
    Suddenly he--the captain, that is--began to pipe up his eternal song:
    "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink
    and the devil had done for the rest-- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
    At first I had supposed "the dead man's chest" to be that identical big
    box of his upstairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled
    in my nightmares with that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this
    time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song; it
    was new, that night, to nobody but Dr. Livesey, and on him I observed it
    did not produce an agreeable effect, for he looked up for a moment quite
    angrily before he went on with his talk to old Taylor, the gardener, on
    a new cure for the rheumatics. In the meantime, the captain gradually brightened
    up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand upon the table before him
    in a way we all knew to mean silence. The voices stopped at once, all but
    Dr. Livesey's; he went on as before speaking clear and kind and drawing
    briskly at his pipe between every word or two. The captain glared at him
    for a while, flapped his hand again, glared still harder, and at last broke
    out with a villainous, low oath, "Silence, there, between decks [curse words]!
    "Were you addressing me, sir?" says the doctor; and when the ruffian had
    told him, with another oath, that this was so, "I have only one thing to
    say to you, sir," replies the doctor, "that if you keep on drinking rum,
    the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!"
    The old fellow's fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened
    a sailor's clasp-knife, and balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened
    to pin the doctor to the wall.
    The doctor never so much as moved. He spoke to him as before, over his shoulder
    and in the same tone of voice, rather high, so that all the room might hear,
    but perfectly calm and steady: "If you do not put that knife this instant
    in your pocket, I promise, upon my honour, you shall hang at the next assizes.
    Then followed a battle of looks between them, but the captain soon knuckled
    under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a beaten
    "And now, sir," continued the doctor, "since I now know there's such a fellow
    in my district, you may count I'll have an eye upon you day and night. I'm
    not a doctor only; I'm a magistrate; and if I catch a breath of complaint
    against you, if it's only for a piece of incivility like tonight's, I'll
    take effectual means to have you hunted down and routed out of this. Let
    that suffice."
    Soon after, Dr. Livesey's horse came to the door and he rode away, but the
    captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 -- 3 December
    1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist and travel writer. His best-known
    books include Treasure Island (1883), Kidnapped, and Strange Case of Dr
    Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
    3) 註解﹕[1] Stevenson found the name "Dead Man's Chest" among a list of
    island names in a book by Charles Kingsley in reference to the Dead Chest
    Island in the British Virgin Islands. As Stevenson once said, "Treasure
    Island came out of Kingsley's At Last: A Christmas in the West Indies (1871);
    where I got the 'Dead Man's Chest' - that was the seed". That is, Stevenson
    saw the three words "Dead Man's Chest" in Kingsley's book among a list of
    names, germinating in Stevenson's mind it was the "seed" which then grew
    into the novel.
    In Treasure Island Stevenson only wrote the chorus, leaving the remainder
    of the song unwritten, and to the reader's imagination:
    "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--
    ...Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
    Drink and the devil had done for the rest--
    ...Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
    [2] Walking the plank was a form of murder or torture thought to have been
    practiced by pirates, mutineers and other rogue seafarers. The victim was
    forced to walk off the end of a wooden plank or beam, the final six feet
    of which extended over the side of a ship. The victim, sometimes with hands
    bound or weighed down, then drowns in the water or is killed by sharks (which
    would often follow ships). [3] The Dry Tortugas are a small group of islands,
    located at the end of the Florida Keys, USA, about 70 miles (113 km) west
    of Key West, and 37 miles (60 km) west of the Marquesas Keys, the closest
    islands. Still further west is the Tortugas Bank, which is completely submerged.
    The first Europeans to discover the islands were the Spanish in 1513 by
    explorer Juan Ponce de Leon.
    4) 史蒂文森的“金銀島”也是本世界名著。島上有海盜埋藏的財寶。第一人稱的人

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-11 22:23:38


    A Tale of Two Cities 雙城記
    by Charles Dickens

    Chapter I The Period
    It was the best of times; it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom;
    it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief; it was the epoch
    of incredulity; it was the season of Light; it was the season of Darkness;
    it was the spring of hope; it was the winter of despair. We had everything
    before us; we had nothing before us; we were all going direct to Heaven;
    we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far
    like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted
    on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of
    comparison only.
    There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the
    throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a
    fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than
    crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things
    in general were settled for ever.
    It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five
    (1775). Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured
    period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth
    blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded
    the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the
    swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost [1] had
    been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as
    the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality)
    rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately
    come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects
    in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human
    race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of
    the Cock-lane brood.
    France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister
    of the shield and trident [2], rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill,
    making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian
    pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements
    as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with
    pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the
    rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his
    view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that,
    rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when
    that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come
    down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a
    sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in
    the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris,
    there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered
    with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which
    the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution.
    But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently,
    and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather,
    forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be
    atheistical and traitorous.
    In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify
    much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies,
    took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned
    not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers'
    warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman
    in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman
    whom he stopped in his character of "the Captain," gallantly shot him through
    the head and rode away; the mall was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard
    shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, "in consequence
    of the failure of his ammunition:" after which the mall was robbed in peace;
    that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand
    and deliver on Turnham Green [3], by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious
    creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles
    with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among
    them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses
    from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into
    St. Giles's [4], to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the
    musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of
    these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the
    hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition;
    now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker
    on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand
    at Newgate [5] by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster
    Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of
    a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.
    All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon
    the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed
    by them, while the Woodman {Fate] and the Farmer {Death] worked unheeded,
    those two of the large jaws [kings of England and France], and those other
    two of the plain and the fair faces [queens of England and France], trod
    with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus
    did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses,
    and myriads of small creatures--the creatures of this chronicle among the
    rest--along the roads that lay before them.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Charles John Huffam Dickens (7 February 1812 -- 9 June 1870)
    was an English novelist, generally considered the greatest of the Victorian
    period. Dickens enjoyed a wider popularity and fame than had any previous
    author during his lifetime, and he remains popular, having been responsible
    for some of English literature's most iconic novels and characters.
    3) 小說介紹﹕A Tale of Two Cities (1859) is a novel by Charles Dickens,
    set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution. It ranks
    among the most famous works in the history of fictional literature. The
    novel depicts the plight of the French peasantry demoralized by the French
    aristocracy in the years leading up to the revolution, the corresponding
    brutality demonstrated by the revolutionaries toward the former aristocrats
    in the early years of the revolution, and many unflattering social parallels
    with life in London during the same time period. It follows the lives of
    several protagonists through these events. The most notable are Charles
    Darnay and Sydney Carton. Darnay is a French once-aristocrat who falls victim
    to the indiscriminate wrath of the revolution despite his virtuous nature,
    and Carton is a dissipated British barrister who endeavours to redeem his
    ill-spent life out of his unrequited love for Darnay's wife, Lucie Manette.
    4) 註釋﹕[1] The Cock Lane ghost attracted mass public attention in 18th-century
    England. In 1762 an apartment in Cock Lane, a short road adjacent to London's
    Smithfield market and a few minutes' walk from St Paul's Cathedral, was
    the site of a reported haunting centred around three people: William Kent,
    a usurer from Norfolk, Richard Parsons, a parish clerk, and Parsons' daughter
    Elizabeth. Following the death during childbirth of Kent's wife, Elizabeth
    Lynes, he became romantically involved with her sister, Fanny. Canon law
    prevented the couple from marrying, but they nevertheless moved to London
    and lodged at the property in Cock Lane, then owned by Parsons. Several
    accounts of strange knocking sounds and ghostly apparitions were reported,
    although for the most part they stopped after the couple moved out, but
    following Fanny's death from smallpox, and Kent's successful legal action
    against Parsons over an outstanding debt, they began again. Parsons claimed
    that Fanny's ghost haunted his property, and later his daughter. Regular
    seances were held to determine "Scratching Fanny's" motives, and Cock Lane
    was often made impassable by the throngs of interested bystanders.
    The ghost appeared to claim that Fanny had been poisoned with arsenic, and
    Kent was publicly suspected of being her murderer, but a commission whose
    members included Samuel Johnson concluded that the supposed haunting was
    a fraud. Further investigations proved the scam was perpetrated by Elizabeth
    Parsons, under duress from her father. Those responsible were prosecuted
    and found guilty; Richard Parsons was pilloried and sentenced to two years
    in prison. The Cock Lane ghost became a focus of controversy between the
    Methodist and Anglican churches and is referenced frequently in contemporary
    literature. Charles Dickens is one of several Victorian authors whose work
    alluded to the story and the pictorial satirist William Hogarth referenced
    the ghost in two of his prints. [2] Dickens' reference to England as France's
    "sister of the shield and trident" makes use of a symbol of Englishness specifically
    associated with currency at the time A Tale of Two Cities appeared. Moreover,
    Britannia appeared on English coins, which retain a closer association
    to precious metals (and thus a gold or silver standard) than paper money,
    which France began to print in great quantities (and without sufficient
    reserves of gold to assure its value) in the years before the French Revolution.
    [3] Turnham Green is a public park situated on Chiswick High Road, Chiswick,
    London. It is separated in two by a small road. [4] The St Giles's Roundhouse
    was a small roundhouse or prison, mainly used to temporarily hold suspected
    criminals. It was located in the St Giles area of present-day central London,
    which - during the 17th and 18th centuries - was a 'rookery' notorious
    for its thieves and other criminals. [5] Newgate at the west end of Newgate
    Street was one of the historic seven gates of London Wall round the City
    of London and one of the six which date back to Roman times.
    5) 狄更斯的“雙城記”當然是世界名著。以排比句開始故事的敘述也是一個特點。
    頭。本人在美出版的小說“功夫大師”開頭也採用這種寫法﹕It was pitch dark,
    ink dark, coal dark, a night without the moon--the fluorescent lamp of the
    sky, not even the stars--the blinking eyes of Heaven. The overcast sky threatened
    with a heavy downpour.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-18 22:54:54


    Sister Carrie 嘉莉妹妹
    By Theodore Dreiser

    Chapter I
    When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total
    outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin satchel,
    a small lunch in a paper box, and yellow leather snap purse, containing
    her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Buren Street,
    and four dollars in money. It was in August, 1889. She was eighteen years
    of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth.
    Whatever touch of regret at parting characterised her thoughts, it was certainly
    not for advantages now being given up. A gush of tears at her mother's farewell
    kiss, a touch in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where
    her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs
    of the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so lightly
    to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken.
    To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and
    return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains
    which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she
    was in Chicago. What, pray, is few hours--a few hundred miles? She looked
    at the little slip bearing her sister's address and wondered. She gazed at
    the green landscape, now passing in swift review, until her swifter thoughts
    replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be.

    When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either
    she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the
    cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an intermediate balance,
    under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning
    wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There
    are large forces which allure with all the soulfulness of expression possible
    in the most cultured human.
    The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light
    in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated
    and natural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blare of
    sound, a roar of life, vast array of human hives, appeal to the astonished
    senses in equivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand to whisper cautious
    interpretations, what falsehoods may not these things breathe into the unguarded
    ear! Unrecognised for what they are, their beauty, like music, too often
    relaxes, then weakens, then perverts the simpler human perceptions.
    Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by
    the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation
    and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not strong. It was, nevertheless,
    her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with
    the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising
    eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain native intelligence,
    she was a fair example of the middle American class--two generations removed
    from the emigrant. Books were beyond her interest--knowledge a sealed book.
    In the intuitive graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her
    head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small,
    were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand
    the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped
    little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre the mysterious city and
    dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off supremacy, which should make
    it prey and subject--the proper penitent, grovelling at a woman's slipper.

    "That," said a voice in her ear, "is one of the prettiest little resorts
    in Wisconsin." 美國中部北面一個州。伊利諾州在它南面﹐嘉莉妹妹要去的芝加
    "Is it?" she answered nervously.
    The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. 城名﹐在Wisconsin州裡。估計火
    車是由北向南開 For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. She
    felt him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgetting, and with natural
    intuition she felt a certain interest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly
    reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the circumstances,
    called her to forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism
    of the individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. She
    He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and proceeded
    to make himself volubly agreeable. 這詞小說裡經常用﹐意思是討人喜歡
    "Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You
    are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?"
    "Oh, yes, I am," answered Carrie. "That is, I live at Columbia City.哥倫
    的。不知作者為什麼這樣描述。 I have never been through here, though."
    "And so this is your first visit to Chicago," he observed.
    All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of her
    eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light moustache, grey fedora hat. She now
    turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of self-protection and
    coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain.
    "I didn't say that," she said.
    "Oh," he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air of mistake,
    "I thought you did."
    Here was a type of the travelling canvasser for a manufacturing house--a
    class which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day
    "drummers." He came within the meaning of still newer term, which had sprung
    into general use among Americans in 1880, and which concisely expressed
    the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated to elicit the admiration
    of susceptible young women--a "masher." His suit was of a striped and crossed
    pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a
    business suit. The low crotch of the vest revealed a stiff shirt bosom of
    white and pink stripes. From his coat sleeves protruded a pair of linen
    cuffs of the same pattern, fastened with large, gold plate buttons, set with
    the common yellow agates known as "cat's-eyes." His fingers bore several
    rings--one, the ever-enduring heavy seal--and from his vest dangled a neat
    gold watch chain, from which was suspended the secret insignia of the Order
    of Elks [1]. The whole suit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off
    with heavy-soled tan shoes, highly polished, and the grey fedora hat. He
    was, for the order of intellect represented, attractive, and whatever he
    had to recommend him, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie, in this,
    her first glance.
    Lest this order of individual should permanently pass, let me put down some
    of the most striking characteristics of his most successful manner and method.
    Good clothes, of course, were the first essential, the things without which
    he was nothing. strong physical nature, actuated by a keen desire for the
    feminine, was the next. A mind free of any consideration of the problems
    or forces of the world and actuated not by greed, but an insatiable love
    of variable pleasure. His method was always simple. Its principal element
    was daring, backed, of course, by an intense desire and admiration for the
    sex. Let him meet with a young woman once and he would approach her with
    an air of kindly familiarity, not unmixed with pleading, which would result
    in most cases in a tolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry
    he would be apt to straighten her tie, or if she "took up" with him at all,
    to call her by her first name. If he visited a department store it was to
    lounge familiarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more
    exclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower.
    If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all attention-- to pass
    the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car, carrying
    her grip, or, failing that, to take a seat next her with the hope of being
    able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, a footstool, the shade
    lowered all these figured in the things which he could do. If, when she reached
    her destination he did not alight and attend her baggage for her, it was
    because, in his own estimation, he had signally failed.
    A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No matter
    how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There is an indescribably
    faint line in the matter of man's apparel which somehow divides for her
    those who are worth glancing at and those who are not. Once an individual
    has passed this faint line on the way downward he will get no glance from
    her. There is another line at which the dress of a man will cause her to
    study her own. This line the individual at her elbow now marked for Carrie.
    She became conscious of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its
    black cotton tape trimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn
    state of her shoes.
    "Let's see," he went on, "I know quite a number of people in your town.
    Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man."
    "Oh, do you?" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings their show
    windows had cost her.
    At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a few
    minutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing,
    his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city.
    "If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have you relatives?"

    "I am going to visit my sister," she explained.
    "You want to see Lincoln Park," he said, "and Michigan Boulevard. They are
    putting up great buildings there. It's a second New York--great. So much
    to see--theatres, crowds, fine houses--oh, you'll like that."
    There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Her insignificance
    in the presence of so much magnificence faintly affected her. She realised
    that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yet there was something
    promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something
    satisfactory in the attention of this individual with his good clothes. She
    could not help smiling as he told her of some popular actress of whom she
    reminded him. She was not silly, and yet attention of this sort had its
    "You will be in Chicago some little time, won't you?" he observed at one
    turn of the now easy conversation.
    "I don't know," said Carrie vaguely--a flash vision of the possibility of
    her not securing employment rising in her mind.
    "Several weeks, anyhow," he said, looking steadily into her eyes.
    There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. He recognised
    the indescribable thing that made up for fascination and beauty in her.
    She realised that she was of interest to him from the one standpoint which
    a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner was simple, though for the
    very reason that she had not yet learned the many little affectations with
    which women conceal their true feelings. Some things she did appeared bold.
    A clever companion--had she ever had one-- would have warned her never to
    look a man in the eyes so steadily.
    "Why do you ask?" she said.
    "Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stock at
    our place and get new samples. I might show you 'round."
    "I don't know whether you can or not. I mean I don't know whether I can.
    I shall be living with my sister, and----"
    "Well, if she minds, we'll fix that." He took out his pencil and a little
    pocket note-book as if it were all settled. "What is your address there?"

    She fumbled her purse which contained the address slip.
    He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It was filled
    with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed
    her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any one attentive to
    her. Indeed, an experienced traveller, a brisk man of the world, had never
    come within such close range before. The purse, the shiny tan shoes, the
    smart new suit, and the air with which he did things, built up for her a
    dim world of fortune, of which he was the centre. It disposed her pleasantly
    toward all he might do.
    He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett, Caryoe
    & Company, and down in the left-hand corner, Chas. H. Drouet.
    "That's me," he said, putting the card in her hand and touching his name.
    "It's pronounced Drew-eh. Our family was French, on my father's side."

    She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out letter from
    a bunch in his coat pocket. "This is the house I travel for," he went on,
    pointing to a picture on it, "corner of State and Lake." There was pride
    in his voice. He felt that it was something to be connected with such a
    place, and he made her feel that way.
    "What is your address?" he began again, fixing his pencil to write.
    She looked at his hand.
    "Carrie Meeber," she said slowly. "Three hundred and fifty-four West Van
    Buren Street, care S. C. Hanson." [care here means in care of]
    He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. "You'll be at home
    if I come around Monday night?" he said.
    "I think so," she answered.
    How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean.
    Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings
    and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases, drawing purses,
    looking at cards, and both unconscious of how inarticulate all their real
    feelings were. Neither was wise enough to be sure of the working of the
    mind of the other. He could not tell how his luring succeeded. She could
    not realise that she was drifting, until he secured her address. Now she
    felt that she had yielded something--he, that he had gained a victory. Already
    they felt that they were somehow associated. Already he took control in
    directing the conversation. His words were easy. Her manner was relaxed.

    They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains flashed
    by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie they could see lines
    of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great city. Far
    away were indications of suburban towns, some big smokestacks towering high
    in the air.
    Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the open fields,
    without fence or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army of homes.

    To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled, the
    approach to a great city for the first time is wonderful thing. Particularly
    if it be evening--that mystic period between the glare and gloom of the
    world when life is changing from one sphere or condition to another. Ah,
    the promise of the night. What does it not hold for the weary! What old
    illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says the soul of the toiler
    to itself, "I shall soon be free. I shall be in the ways and the hosts of
    the merry. The streets, the lamps, the lighted chamber set for dining, are
    for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of rest and the paths
    of song--these are mine in the night." Though all humanity be still enclosed
    in the shops, the thrill runs abroad. It is in the air. The dullest feel
    something which they may not always express or describe. It is the lifting
    of the burden of toil.
    Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her wonder,
    so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the city and pointed
    out its marvels.
    "This is Northwest Chicago," said Drouet. "This is the Chicago River," and
    he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge masted wanderers
    from far-off waters nosing the black-posted banks. With a puff, a clang,
    and a clatter of rails it was gone. "Chicago is getting to be a great town,"
    he went on. "It's wonder. You'll find lots to see here."
    She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by kind of terror.
    The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a great sea of
    life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help but feel a little
    choked for breath--a little sick as her heart beat so fast. She half closed
    her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, that Columbia City was only
    little way off.
    "Chicago! Chicago!" called the brakeman, slamming open the door. They were
    rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life.
    She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon
    her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and
    seized his clean yellow grip.
    "I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said. "Let me carry
    your grip."
    "Oh, no," she said. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't be
    with me when I meet my sister."
    "All right," he said in all kindness. "I'll be near, though, in case she
    isn't here, and take you out there safely."
    "You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in
    her strange situation.
    "Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were under
    a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginning to shine
    out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a snail's pace.
    The people in the car were all up and crowding about the door.
    "Well, here we are," said Drouet, leading the way to the door. "Good-bye,
    till I see you Monday."
    "Good-bye," she answered, taking his proffered hand.
    "Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister."
    She smiled into his eyes.
    They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. lean-faced, rather
    commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and hurried forward.

    "Why, Sister Carrie!" she began, and there was embrace of welcome.
    Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid all the
    maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by the hand.
    No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister carried
    with her most of the grimness of shift and toil.
    "Why, how are all the folks at home?" she began "how is father, and mother?"

    Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate leading
    into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He was looking back.
    When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he turned to go,
    sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something
    lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared she felt his absence
    thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, a lone figure in a tossing,
    thoughtless sea.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Theodore Herman Albert Dreiser (August 27, 1871 -- December
    28, 1945) was an American novelist and journalist of the naturalist school.
    His novels often featured main characters who succeeded at their objectives
    despite a lack of a firm moral code, and literary situations that more closely
    resemble studies of nature than tales of choice and agency. Dreiser's best
    known novels include Sister Carrie (1900) and An American Tragedy (1925).
    3) 內容簡介﹕Sister Carrie (1900) is a novel by Theodore Dreiser about a
    young country girl who moves to the big city where she starts realizing
    her own American Dream by first becoming a mistress to men that she perceives
    as superior and later as a famous actress. It has been called the "greatest
    of all American urban novels."
    4) 註解﹕ [1] Order of Elks 是指 The Benevolent and Protective Order of
    Elks (BPOE; also often known as the Elks Lodge or simply The Elks) is an
    American fraternal order and social club founded in 1868. It is one of the
    leading fraternal orders in the U.S., claiming nearly one million members.
    5) 美國作家德萊賽的“嘉莉妹妹”也屬世界名著。大家看看美國作家的文筆與英國

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-25 21:57:32


    by Hunter
    When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled
    my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys
    for children; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met
    by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave all
    my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house,
    much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers,
    and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me
    I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put me in mind of
    what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and laughed
    at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection
    gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure.This, however, was
    afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind; so that often,
    when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, "Don't
    give too much for the whistle"; and I saved my money. As I grew up, came
    into the world, and observed the actions of men, I thought I met with many,
    very many, "who gave too much for the whistle." When I saw one too ambitious
    of court favor,sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose,
    his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said
    to myself--"This man gives too much for his whistle." When I saw another
    fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting
    his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect, "He pays, indeed," said
    I, "too dear for his whistle. " If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind
    of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the
    esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for
    the sake of accumulating wealth--"Poor man," said I, "you pay too dear for
    your whistle." When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement
    of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal sensations, and ruining
    his health in their pursuit--"Mistaken man," said I, "you are providing
    pain for yourself, instead of pleasure; you are paying too dear for your
    whistle." If I see one fond of appearance or fine clothes, fine houses,
    fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts
    debts, "Alas," say I, "he has paid dear, very dear for his whistle." In
    short, I conceive that a great part of the miseries of mankind are brought
    upon them by the false estimate they have made of the value of things, and
    by their giving "too much for their whistles."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 這是一篇非常有趣的短文。我在開始學英文時讀過。現在記起來﹐找來與大家共

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-26 22:18:21


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-02-27 22:50:41



  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-03 22:26:16


    The Merchant of Venice威尼斯商人
    by William Shakespeare莎士比亞

    最精彩一幕 [最好先讀後面的介紹]
    My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
    The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Is he not able to discharge the money?
    Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
    Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,
    I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,
    On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
    If this will not suffice, it must appear
    That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
    Wrest once the law to your authority:
    To do a great right, do a little wrong,
    And curb this cruel devil of his will.
    PORTIA ﹕
    It must not be; there is no power in Venice
    Can alter a decree established:
    'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
    And many an error by the same example
    Will rush into the state: it cannot be.
    A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel [聖經中的聖人]!
    O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!
    PORTIA ﹕
    I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
    Here 'tis, most reverend doctor [指法官﹐見下面介紹], here it is.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.
    An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
    Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
    No, not for Venice.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Why, this bond is forfeit;
    And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
    A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
    Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:
    Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
    When it is paid according to the tenor.
    It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
    You know the law, your exposition
    Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
    Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
    Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear
    There is no power in the tongue of man
    To alter me: I stay here on my bond.
    Most heartily I do beseech the court
    To give the judgment.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Why then, thus it is:
    You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
    O noble judge! O excellent young man!
    PORTIA ﹕
    For the intent and purpose of the law
    Hath full relation to the penalty,
    Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
    'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
    How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
    PORTIA ﹕
    Therefore lay bare your bosom.
    Ay, his breast:
    So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?
    'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.
    PORTIA ﹕
    It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
    The flesh?
    I have them ready.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
    To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
    Is it so nominated in the bond?
    PORTIA ﹕
    It is not so express'd: but what of that?
    'Twere good you do so much for charity.
    I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.
    PORTIA ﹕
    You, merchant, have you any thing to say?
    But little: I am arm'd and well prepared.
    Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!
    Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
    For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
    Than is her custom: it is still her use
    To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
    To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
    An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
    Of such misery doth she cut me off.
    Commend me to your honourable wife:
    Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
    Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;
    And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
    Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
    Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
    And he repents not that he pays your debt;
    For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
    I'll pay it presently with all my heart.
    Antonio, I am married to a wife
    Which is as dear to me as life itself;
    But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
    Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:
    I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
    Here to this devil, to deliver you.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
    If she were by, to hear you make the offer.
    I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:
    I would she were in heaven, so she could
    Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
    'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
    The wish would make else an unquiet house.
    These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;
    Would any of the stock of Barrabas [1]
    Had been her husband rather than a Christian!
    We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.
    PORTIA ﹕
    A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
    The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
    Most rightful judge!
    PORTIA ﹕
    And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
    The law allows it, and the court awards it.
    Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!
    PORTIA ﹕
    Tarry a little; there is something else.
    This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
    The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:'
    Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
    But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
    One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
    Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
    Unto the state of Venice.
    O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!
    Is that the law?
    PORTIA ﹕
    Thyself shalt see the act:
    For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
    Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.
    O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!
    I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
    And let the Christian go.
    Here is the money.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Soft! [意思是慢來]
    The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
    He shall have nothing but the penalty.
    O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!
    PORTIA ﹕
    Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
    Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
    But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more
    Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
    As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
    Or the division of the twentieth part
    Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
    But in the estimation of a hair,
    Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.
    A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
    Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.
    Give me my principal 本金, and let me go.
    I have it ready for thee; here it is.
    PORTIA ﹕
    He hath refused it in the open court:
    He shall have merely justice and his bond.
    A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
    I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
    Shall I not have barely my principal?
    PORTIA ﹕
    Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
    To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
    Why, then the devil give him good of it!
    I'll stay no longer question.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Tarry, Jew:
    The law hath yet another hold on you.
    It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
    If it be proved against an alien
    That by direct or indirect attempts
    He seek the life of any citizen,
    The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
    Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
    Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
    And the offender's life lies in the mercy
    Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
    In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;
    For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
    That indirectly and directly too
    Thou hast contrived against the very life
    Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
    The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
    Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.
    Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:
    And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
    Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
    Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.
    DUKE ﹕
    That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
    I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
    For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
    The other half comes to the general state,
    Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
    Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.
    Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
    You take my house when you do take the prop
    That doth sustain my house; you take my life
    When you do take the means whereby I live.
    PORTIA ﹕
    What mercy can you render him, Antonio?
    A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.
    So please my lord the duke and all the court
    To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
    I am content; so he will let me have
    The other half in use, to render it,
    Upon his death, unto the gentleman
    That lately stole his daughter:
    Two things provided more, that, for this favour,
    He presently become a Christian;
    The other, that he do record a gift,
    Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
    Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.
    DUKE ﹕
    He shall do this, or else I do recant
    The pardon that I late pronounced here.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?
    I am content.
    PORTIA ﹕
    Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
    I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
    I am not well: send the deed after me,
    And I will sign it.
    DUKE ﹕
    Get thee gone, but do it.
    In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:
    Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
    To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.
    Exit SHYLOCK

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564; died 23 April 1616) was
    an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in
    the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often
    called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon". His surviving works,
    including some collaborations, consist of about 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two
    long narrative poems, and several other poems.
    3) 劇情介紹﹕The Merchant of Venice is a tragic comedy by William Shakespeare,
    believed to have been written between 1596 and 1598. In the 16th century,
    the city of Venice in Italy was one of the richest of the world. Among the
    wealthiest of its merchants was Antonio. Bassanio, a young Venetian, of
    noble rank but having squandered his estate, wishes to travel to Belmont
    to win the beautiful and wealthy heiress Portia. He approaches his friend
    Antonio for three thousand ducats needed to subsidise his travelling expenditures
    as a suitor for three months. Antonio agrees, but he is cash-poor; his ships
    and merchandise are busy at sea. He promises to cover a bond if Bassanio
    can find a lender, so Bassanio turns to the Jewish moneylender Shylock and
    names Antonio as the loan's guarantor. Shylock hates Antonio because Antonio
    undermines Shylock's moneylending business by lending money at zero interest.
    Shylock proposes a condition for the loan: if Antonio is unable to repay
    it at the specified date, he may take a pound of Antonio's flesh. Bassanio
    does not want Antonio to accept such a risky condition; Antonio is surprised
    by what he sees as the moneylender's generosity (no interest is asked for),
    and he signs the contract. With money at hand, Bassanio leaves for Belmont
    with his friend Gratiano, who has asked to accompany him. Gratiano is a
    likeable young man, but is often flippant for Belmont and Portia. At Venice,
    Antonio's ships are reported lost at sea. This leaves him unable to satisfy
    the bond. Shylock has Antonio arrested and brought before court.
    At Belmont, Portia and Bassanio have just been married. Bassanio receives
    a letter telling him that Antonio has been unable to return the loan taken
    from Shylock. Shocked, Bassanio and Gratiano leave for Venice immediately,
    with money from Portia, to save Antonio's life by offering the money to
    Shylock. Unknown to Bassanio and Gratiano, Portia has sent her servant,
    Balthazar, to seek the counsel of Portia's cousin, Bellario, a lawyer, at
    Padua. The climax of the play comes in the court of the Duke of Venice.
    Shylock refuses Bassanio's offer of 6,000 ducats, twice the amount of the
    loan. He demands his pound of flesh from Antonio. The Duke, wishing to save
    Antonio but unwilling to set a dangerous legal precedent of nullifying a
    contract, refers the case to a visitor who introduces himself as Balthazar,
    a young male "doctor of the law", bearing a letter of recommendation to
    the Duke from the learned lawyer Bellario. The "doctor" is actually Portia
    in disguise, and the "law clerk" who accompanies her is actually Nerissa,
    also in disguise. Portia, as "Balthazar", asks Shylock to show mercy in
    a famous speech, but Shylock refuses. Thus the court must allow Shylock to
    extract the pound of flesh. Shylock tells Antonio to "prepare". At that
    very moment, Portia points out a flaw in the contract: the bond only allows
    Shylock to remove the flesh, not the "blood", of Antonio. Thus, if Shylock
    were to shed any drop of Antonio's blood, his "lands and goods" would be
    forfeited under Venetian laws. Further damning Shylock's case, she tells
    him that he must cut precisely one pound of flesh, no more, no less. Defeated,
    Shylock concedes to accepting Bassanio's offer of money for the defaulted
    bond, first his offer to pay "the bond thrice," which Portia rebuffs, telling
    him to take his bond, and then merely the principal, which Portia also prevents
    him from doing on the ground that he has already refused it "in the open
    court." She then cites a law under which Shylock, as a Jew and therefore
    an "alien", having attempted to take the life of a citizen, has forfeited
    his property, half to the government and half to Antonio, leaving his life
    at the mercy of the Duke. The Duke immediately pardons Shylock's life.
    4) 註釋﹕[1] Barabbas or Jesus Barabbas (literally "son of the father" or
    "Jesus, son of the father" respectively) is a figure in the Christian narrative
    of the Passion of Jesus, in which he is the insurrectionary whom Pontius
    Pilate freed at the Passover feast in Jerusalem.
    5) 莎士比亞的“威尼斯商人”也是莎翁的名劇之一。是用Blank verse形式寫的。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-10 22:09:21


    King Midas and the Golden Touch

    Many years ago there lived a king named Midas. King Midas had one little
    daughter, whose name was Marigold. King Midas was very, very rich. It was
    said that he had more gold than any other king in the world. One room of
    his great castle was almost filled with yellow gold pieces.
    At last the King grew so fond of his gold that he loved it better than anything
    else in all the world. He even loved it better than his own little daughter,
    dear little rosy-cheeked Marigold. His one great wish seemed to be for more
    and more gold. One day while he was in his gold room counting his money,
    a beautiful fairy boy stood before him. The boy's face shone with a wonderful
    light, and he had wings on his cap and wings on his feet. In his hand he
    carried a strange-looking wand, and the wand also had wings. 這是希臘神話
    "Midas, you are the richest man in the world," said the fairy. "There is
    no King who has so much gold as you."
    "That may be," said the King. "As you see, I have this room full of gold,
    but I should like much more; for gold is the best and the most wonderful
    thing in the world."
    "Are you sure?" asked the fairy.
    "I am very sure," answered the King.
    "If I should grant you one wish," said the fairy, "would you ask for more
    "If I could have but one wish," said the King, "I would ask that everything
    I touch should turn to beautiful yellow gold."
    "Your wish shall be granted," said the fairy. "At sunrise to-morrow morning
    your slightest touch will turn everything into gold. But I warn you that
    your gift will not make you happy."
    "I will take the risk," said the King.
    The next day King Midas awoke very early. He was eager to see if the fairy's
    promise had come true. As soon as the sun arose he tried the gift by touching
    the bed lightly with his hand.
    The bed turned to gold. He touched the chair and table. Upon the instant
    they were turned to solid gold. The King was wild with joy. He ran around
    the room, touching everything he could see. His magic gift turned all to
    shining, yellow gold. The King soon felt hungry and went down to eat his
    breakfast. Now a strange thing happened. When he raised a glass of clear
    cold water to drink, it became solid gold. Not a drop of water could pass
    his lips. The bread turned to gold under his fingers. The meat was hard,
    and yellow, and shiny. Not a thing could he get to eat. All was gold, gold,
    gold. His little daughter came running in from the garden. Of all living
    creatures she was the dearest to him. He touched her with his lips. At once
    the little girl was changed to a golden statue. A great fear crept into
    the King's heart, sweeping all the joy out of his life. In his grief he
    called and called upon the fairy who had given him the gift of the golden
    "O fairy," he begged, "take away this horrible golden gift! Take all my
    lands. Take all my gold. Take everything, only give me back my little daughter.
    In a moment the beautiful fairy was standing before him.
    "Do you still think that gold is the greatest thing in the world?" asked
    the fairy.
    "No! no!" cried the King. "I hate the very sight of the yellow stuff."
    "Are you sure that you no longer wish the golden touch?" asked the fairy.
    "I have learned my lesson," said the King. "I no longer think gold the greatest
    thing in the world."
    "Very well," said the fairy, "take this pitcher to the spring in the garden
    and fill it with water. Then sprinkle those things which you have touched
    and turned to gold."
    The King took the pitcher and rushed to the spring. Running back he first
    sprinkled the head of his dear little girl. Instantly she became his own
    darling Marigold again, and gave him a kiss.
    The King sprinkled the golden food, and to his great joy it turned back
    to real bread and real butter. Then he and his little daughter sat down
    to breakfast. How good the cold water tasted! How eagerly the hungry King
    ate the bread and butter, the meat, and all the good food!
    The King hated his golden touch so much that he sprinkled even the chairs
    and the tables and everything else that the fairy's gift had turned to gold.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 故事來源介紹﹕The Golden Touch is a Walt Disney Silly Symphony cartoon
    made in 1935. The story is based on the Greek mythology of King Midas, albeit
    with a medieval setting rather than Greek.
    3) 這也是篇有名和有趣的神話故事﹐諷刺人們的貪心不足。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-14 21:58:01

    攏袖觀棋有所思 分明楚漢兩軍持 非常歡喜非常惱 不著棋人總不知
    Watching Chess-Play
    by Yuanmei
    I'm musing while with hands in sleeves I'm watching chess-play
    It's obvious that armies of Chu and Han are in battle array
    I enjoy very much, but meantime very much in ado
    For those who don't play chess will not at all know.

    女子弄文誠可罪 那堪詠月更吟風 磨穿鐵硯非吾事 繡折金針卻有功
    by Zhu Shuzhen
    It's guilty for the female to have anything written
    Let alone chanting poems of the wind and the moon
    It's not my business to wear out an iron-hard inkstone
    My merit is to embroider till the needle is broken

    相逢記得畫橋頭 花似精神柳似柔 莫謂無情即無語 春風傳意水傳愁
    Accidentally Written
    by Zhang Lei
    I can still remember the meeting on the painted bridge
    (She's) Spirited like flowers and supple like willow
    Don't say that no words mean no love
    Spring wind conveys the feeling, and water the sorrow

    Late Spring
    by Li Qingzhao
    Why think bitterly of home in late spring?
    Combing hair in sick days, I hate it long.
    Swallows are on the beam all day, so talkative,
    While breeze carries the scent of roses thro the screen.

    Poem in tune of Long-Time Lovesick (II)
    by Oyang Xiu of Song Dynasty
    The flower is like her;
    The willow is like her.
    Flower and willow in green spring, but someone departing.
    Two lines of tears trickling with head drooping.
    Yangtze River in east;
    Yangtze River in west.
    Mandarin ducks on both banks flying in different direction.
    What time for reunion?

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-16 22:46:40

    give me your email address, or you can copy from here.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-17 21:25:54


    The Bible----King James Version
    Old Testament--Genesis

    Chapter 1
    1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
    2. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face
    of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
    3. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
    4. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from
    the darkness.
    5. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the
    evening and the morning were the first day.
    6. And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and
    let it divide the waters from the waters.
    7. And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the
    firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.

    8. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning
    were the second day.
    9. And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto
    one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
    10. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the
    waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.
    11. And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed,
    and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself,
    upon the earth: and it was so.
    12. And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his
    kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind:
    and God saw that it was good.
    13. And the evening and the morning were the third day.
    14. And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to
    divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons,
    and for days, and years:
    15. And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light
    upon the earth: and it was so.
    16. And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and
    the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.
    17. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the
    18. And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light
    from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.
    19. And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.
    20. And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature
    that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament
    of heaven.
    21. And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth,
    which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged
    fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
    22. And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the
    waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.
    23. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.
    24. And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his
    kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind:
    and it was so.
    25. And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after
    their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind:
    and God saw that it was good.
    26. And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and
    let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the
    air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping
    thing that creepeth upon the earth.
    27. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he
    him; male and female created he them.
    28. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply,
    and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish
    of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that
    moveth upon the earth.
    29. And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which
    is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit
    of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.
    30. And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to
    every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have
    given every green herb for meat: and it was so.
    31. And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.
    And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.
    Chapter 2
    1. Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.

    2. And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested
    on the seventh day from all his work which he had made.
    3. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it
    he had rested from all his work which God created and made.
    4. These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were
    created, in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the heavens,
    5. And every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb
    of the field before it grew: for the LORD God had not caused it to rain
    upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the ground.
    6. But there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of
    the ground.
    7. And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into
    his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 聖經介紹﹕The Hebrew Bible, or Tanakh, is divided into three parts: (1)
    the five books of the Torah ("teaching" or "law"), comprising the origins
    of the Israelite nation, its laws and its covenant with the God of Israel;
    (2) the Nevi'im ("prophets"), containing the historic account of ancient
    Israel and Judah focusing on conflicts between the Israelites and other nations,
    and conflicts among Israelites -- specifically, struggles between believers
    in "the LORD God" and believers in foreign gods, and the criticism of unethical
    and unjust behavior of Israelite elites and rulers; and (3) the Ketuvim
    ("writings"): poetic and philosophical works such as the Psalms and the
    Book of Job.
    The Christian Bible is divided into two parts. The first is called the Old
    Testament, containing the (minimum) 39 books of Hebrew Scripture, and the
    second portion is called the New Testament, containing a set of 27 books.
    The first four books of the New Testament form the Canonical gospels which
    recount the life of Jesus and are central to the Christian faith.
    3) 聖經連不懂英文的人都知道﹐但是有多少學英文的人讀過聖經﹖當然﹐不是虔誠

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-24 21:44:31


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-24 21:45:03


    King Arthur and his Knights
    by Howard Pyle

    Chapter First﹕How Sir Kay did Combat in a Great Tournament at London Town
    and of How He Brake (break) His Sword. Likewise, How Arthur Found a New
    Sword For Him

    It happened that among those worthies who were summoned unto London Town
    by the mandate of the Archbishop as above recounted, there was a certain
    knight, very honorable and of high estate (status), by name Sir Ector of
    Bonmaison - surnamed (nicknamed) the Trustworthy Knight, because of the
    fidelity with which he kept the counsel of those who confided in him, and
    because he always performed unto all men, whether of high or low degree,
    that which he promised to undertake, without defalcation as to the same.
    So this noble and excellent knight was held in great regard by all those
    who knew him; for not only was he thus honorable in conduct but he was,
    besides, of very high estate, being possessed of seven castles in Wales
    and in the adjoining country north thereof, and likewise of certain fruitful
    tracts of land with villages appertaining thereunto, and also of sundry
    forests of great extent, both in the north country and the west. This very
    noble knight had two sons; the elder of these was Sir Kay, a young knight
    of great valor and promise, and already well renowned in the Courts of Chivalry
    because of several very honorable deeds of worthy achievement in arms which
    he had performed; the other was a young lad of eighteen years of age, by
    name Arthur, who at that time was serving with good repute as Sir Kay's
    Now when Sir Ector of Bonmaison received by messenger the mandate of
    the Archbishop, he immediately summoned these two sons unto him and bade
    them to prepare straightway for to go with him to London Town, and they
    did so. And in the same manner he bade a great number of retainers and esquires
    and pages for to make them ready, and they likewise did so. Thus, with a
    very considerable array at arms and with great show of circumstance, Sir
    Ector of Bonmaison betook his way unto London Town in obedience to the commands
    of the Archbishop.
    So, when he had come thither he took up his inn in a certain field where
    many other noble knights and puissant lords had already established themselves,
    and there he set up a very fair pavilion of green silk, and erected his
    banner emblazoned with the device of his house; to wit, a gryphon, black,
    upon a field of green.
    And upon this field were a great multitude of other pavilions of many
    different colors, and over above each pavilion was the pennant and the banner
    of that puissant lord to whom the pavilion belonged. Wherefore, because
    of the multitude of these pennants and banners the sky was at places well-nigh
    hidden with the gaudy colors of the fluttering flags.
    Among the great lords who had come thither in pursuance to the Archbishop'
    s summons were many very famous kings and queens and noblemen of high degree.
    For there was King Lot of Orkney, who had taken to wife a step-daughter
    of Uther-Pendragon, and there was King Uriens of Gore, who had taken to
    wife another step-daughter of that great king, and there was King Ban, and
    King Bors, and King Ryance, and King Leodegrance and many others of like
    degree, for there were no less than twelve kings and seven dukes, so that,
    what with their court of lords and ladies and esquires and pages in attendance,
    the town of London had hardly ever seen the like before that day.
    Now the Archbishop of Canterbury, having in mind the extraordinary state
    of the occasion that had brought so many kings and dukes and high lords
    unto that adventure of the sword and the anvil, had commanded that there
    should be a very stately and noble tournament proclaimed. Likewise he commanded
    that this contest at arms should be held in a certain field nigh to the
    great cathedral, three days before that assay should be made of the sword
    and the anvil (which same was to be undertaken, as aforesaid, upon Christmas
    day). To this tournament were bidden all knights who were of sufficient
    birth, condition, and quality for to fit them to take part therein. Accordingly,
    very many exalted knights made application for admission, and that in such
    numbers that three heralds were kept very busy looking into their pretensions
    unto the right of battle. For these heralds examined the escutcheons and
    the rolls of lineage of all applicants with great care and circumspection.
    Now when Sir Kay received news of this tournament he went to where his
    father was, and when he stood before his face he spake (speak) in this wise:
    "Sire, being thy son and of such very high condition both as to birth and
    estate as I have inherited from thee, I find that I have an extraordinary
    desire to imperil my body in this tourney. Accordingly, if so be I may approve
    my quality as to knighthood before this college of heralds, it will maybe
    be to thy great honor and credit, and to the honor and credit of our house
    if I should undertake this adventure. Wherefore I do crave thy leave (consent)
    to do as I have a mind."
    Unto these Sir Ector made reply: "My son, thou hast my leave for to enter
    this honorable contest, and I do hope that God will give thee a great deal
    of strength, and likewise such grace of spirit that thou mayst achieve honor
    to thyself and credit to us who are of thy blood."
    So Sir Kay departed with very great joy and immediately went to that
    congress of heralds and submitted his pretensions unto them. And, after
    they had duly examined into his claims to knighthood, they entered his name
    as a knight-contestant according to his desire; and at this Sir Kay was
    filled with great content and joy of heart.
    So, when his name had been enrolled upon the list of combatants, Sir
    Kay chose his young brother Arthur for to be his esquire-at-arms and to
    carry his spear and pennant before him into the field of battle, and Arthur
    was also made exceedingly glad because of the honor that had befallen him
    and his brother.
    Now, the day having arrived when this tourney was to be held, a very
    huge concourse of people gathered together to witness that noble and courtly
    assault at arms. For at that time London was, as aforesaid, extraordinarily
    full of nobility and knighthood, wherefore it was reckoned that not less
    than twenty thousand lords and ladies (besides those twelve kings and their
    courts and seven dukes and their courts) were assembled in the lists circumadjacent
    to the field of battle for to witness the performance of those chosen knights.
    And those noble people sat so close together, and so filled the seats and
    benches assigned to them, that it appeared as though an entirely solid wall
    of human souls surrounded that meadow where the battle was to be fought.
    And, indeed, any knight might well be moved to do his uttermost upon such
    a great occasion with the eyes of so many beautiful dames and noble lords
    gazing upon his performances. Wherefore the hearts of all the knights attendant
    were greatly expanded with emulation to overturn their enemies into the
    In the centre of this wonderful court of lords and ladies there was erected
    the stall and the throne of the lord Archbishop himself. Above the throne
    was a canopy of purple cloth emblazoned with silver lilies, and the throne
    itself was hung all about with purple cloth of velvet, embroidered, alternately,
    with the figure of St. George in gold, and with silver crosses of St. George
    surrounded by golden halos. Here the lord Archbishop himself sat in great
    estate and pomp, being surrounded by a very exalted court of clerks of high
    degree and also of knights of honorable estate, so that all that centre
    of the field glistered with the splendor of gold and silver embroidery,
    and was made beautiful by various colors of rich apparel and bright with
    fine armor of excellent workmanship. And, indeed, such was the stateliness
    of all these circumstances that very few who were there had ever seen so
    noble a preparation for battle as that which they then beheld.
    Now, when all that great assembly were in their places and everything
    had been prepared in due wise, an herald came and stood forth before the
    enstalled throne of the Archbishop and blew a very strong, loud blast upon
    a trumpet. At that signal the turnpikes of the lists were immediately opened
    and two parties of knights-contestant entered therein - the one party at
    the northern extremity of the meadow of battle and the other party at the
    southern extremity thereof. Then immediately all that lone field was a-glitter
    with the bright-shining splendor of the sunlight upon polished armor and
    accoutrements. So these two parties took up their station, each at such
    a place as had been assigned unto them - the one to the north and the other
    to the south.
    Now the party with which Sir Kay had cast his lot was at the north of
    the field, and that company was fourscore and thirteen in number; and the
    other party stood at the south end of the field, and that company was fourscore
    and sixteen in number. But though the party with whom Sir Kay had attached
    himself numbered less by three than the other party, yet was it the stronger
    by some degree because that there were a number of knights of great strength
    and renown in that company. Indeed it may be here mentioned that two of
    those knights afterward became companions in very good credit of the round
    table - to wit: Sir Mador de la Porte, and Sir Bedevere - which latter was
    the last who saw King Arthur alive upon this earth.
    So, when all was prepared according to the ordination of the tournament,
    and when those knights-contestant had made themselves ready in all ways
    that were necessary, and when they had dressed their spears and their shields
    in such a manner as befitted knights about to enter serious battle, the
    herald set his trumpet to his lips a second time and blew upon it with might
    and main. Then, having sounded this blast, he waited for a while and then
    he blew upon the trumpet again.
    And, upon that blast, each of those parties of knights quitted its station
    and rushed forth in great tumult against the other party, and that with
    such noise and fury that the whole earth groaned beneath the feet of the
    war-horses, and trembled and shook as with an earthquake.
    So those two companies met, the one against the other, in the midst of
    the field, and the roar of breaking lances was so terrible that those who
    heard it were astonished and appalled at the sound. For several fair dames
    swooned away with terror of the noise, and others shrieked aloud; for not
    only was there that great uproar, but the air was altogether filled with
    the splinters of ash wood that flew about.
    In that famous assault threescore and ten very noble and honorable knights
    were overthrown, many of them being trampled beneath the hoofs of the horses;
    wherefore, when the two companies withdrew in retreat each to his station
    the ground was beheld to be covered all over with broken fragments of lances
    and with cantels of armor, and many knights were seen to be wofully lying
    in the midst of all that wreck. And some of these champions strove to arise
    and could not, while others lay altogether quiet as though in death. To these
    ran divers esquires and pages in great numbers, and lifted up the fallen
    men and bare (bear=carry) them away to places of safe harborage. And likewise
    attendants ran and gathered up the cantels of armor and the broken spears,
    and bare them away to the barriers, so that, by and by, the field was altogether
    cleared once more.
    Then all those who gazed down upon that meadow gave loud acclaim with
    great joyousness of heart, for such a noble and glorious contest at arms
    in friendly assay had hardly ever been beheld in all that realm before.
    Now turn we unto Sir Kay; for in this assault lie had conducted himself
    with such credit that no knight who was there had done better than he, and
    maybe no one had done so well as he. For, though two opponents at once had
    directed their spears against him, yet he had successfully resisted their
    assault. And one of those two he smote so violently in the midst of his
    defences that he had lifted that assailant entirely over the crupper of the
    horse which he rode, and had flung him down to the distance of half a spear's
    length behind his steed, so that the fallen knight had rolled thrice over
    in the dust ere he ceased to fall.
    And when those of Sir Kay's party who were nigh to him beheld what he
    did, they gave him loud and vehement acclaim, and that in such measure that
    Sir Kay was wonderfully well satisfied and pleased at heart.
    And, indeed, it is to be said that at that time there was hardly any
    knight in all the world who was so excellent in deeds of arms as Sir Kay.
    And though there afterward came knights of much greater renown and of more
    glorious achievement (as shall be hereinafter recorded in good season),
    yet at that time Sir Kay was reckoned by many to be one of the most wonderfully
    puissant knights (whether errant or in battle) in all of that realm.
    So was that course of the combat run to the great pleasure and satisfaction
    of all who beheld it, and more especially of Sir Kay and his friends. And
    after it had been completed the two parties in array returned each to its
    assigned station once more.
    And when they had come there, each knight delivered up his spear unto
    his esquire. For the assault which was next to be made was to be undertaken
    with swords, wherefore all lances and other weapons were to be put away;
    such being the order of that courteous and gentle bout at arms.
    Accordingly, when the herald again blew upon his trumpet, each knight
    drew his weapon with such readiness for battle that there was a great splendor
    of blades all flashing in the air at once. And when the herald blew a second
    time each party pushed forward to the contest with great nobleness of heart
    and eagerness of spirit, every knight being moved with intent to engage
    his oppugnant with all the might and main that lay in him.
    Then immediately began so fierce a battle that if those knights had been
    very enemies of long standing instead of friendly contestants, the blows
    which they delivered the one upon the other could not have been more vehement
    as to strength or more astonishing to gaze upon.
    And in this affair likewise Sir Kay approved himself to be so extraordinary
    a champion that his like was nowhere to be seen in all that field; for he
    violently smote down five knights, the one after the other, ere he was stayed
    in his advance.
    Wherefore, beholding him to be doing work of such a sort, several of
    the knights of the other party endeavored to come at him with intent to
    meet him in his advance.
    Amongst these was a certain knight, hight Sir Balamorgineas, who was
    so huge of frame that he rode head and shoulders above any other knight.
    And he was possessed of such extraordinary strength that it was believed
    that he could successfully withstand the assault of three ordinary knights
    at one time. Wherefore when this knight beheld the work that Sir Kay did,
    he cried out to him, "Ho! ho! Sir Knight of the black gryphon, turn thou
    hitherward and do a battle with me!"
    Now when Sir Kay beheld Sir Balamorgineas to be minded to come against
    him in that wise - very threateningly and minded to do him battle - he turned
    him toward his enemy with great cheerfulness of spirit. For at that time
    Sir Kay was very full of youthful fire and reckoned nothing of assaulting
    any enemy who might demand battle of him.
    (So it was at that time. But it after befell, when he became Seneschal,
    and when other and mightier knights appeared at the court of the King, that
    he would sometimes avoid an encounter with such a knight as Sir Launcelot,
    or Sir Pellias, or Sir Marhaus, or Sir Gawaine, if he might do so with credit
    to his honor.)
    So, being very full of the spirit of youth, he turned him with great
    lustiness of heart, altogether inflamed with the eagerness and fury of battle.
    And he cried out in a great voice, "Very well, I will do battle with thee,
    and I will cast thee down like thy fellows!" And therewith he smote with
    wonderful fierceness at Sir Balamorgineas, and that with all his might.
    And Sir Balamorgineas received the stroke upon his helmet and was altogether
    bewildered by the fury thereof, for he had never felt its like before that
    time. Wherefore his brains swam so light that it was necessary for him to
    hold to the horn of his saddle to save himself from falling.
    But it was a great pity for Sir Kay that, with the fierceness of the
    blow, his sword-blade snapped short at the haft, flying so high in the air
    that it appeared to overtop the turrets of the cathedral in its flight.
    Yet so it happened, and thus it befell that Sir Kay was left without any
    weapon. Yet it was thought that, because of that stroke, he had Sir Balamorgineas
    entirely at his mercy, and that if he could have struck another blow with
    his sword he might easily have overcome him.
    But as it was, Sir Balamorgineas presently so far recovered himself that
    he perceived his enemy to be altogether at his mercy; wherefore, being filled
    beyond measure with rage because of the blow he had received, he pushed
    against Sir Kay with intent to smite him down in a violent assault.
    In this pass it would maybe have gone very ill with Sir Kay but that
    three of his companions in arms, perceiving the extreme peril in which he
    lay, thrust in betwixt him and Sir Balamorgineas with intent to take upon
    themselves the assault of that knight and so to save Sir Kay from overthrow.
    This they did with such success that Sir Kay was able to push out from the
    press and to escape to the barriers without suffering any further harm at
    the bands of his enemies.
    Now when he reached the barrier, his esquire, young Arthur, came running
    to him with a goblet of spiced wine. And Sir Kay opened the umbril of his
    helmet for to drink, for he was athirst beyond measure. And, lo! his face
    was all covered over with blood and sweat, and he was so a-drought with
    battle that his tongue clave (stick) to the roof of his mouth and he could
    not speak. But when he had drunk of the draught that Arthur gave him, his
    tongue was loosened and he cried out to the young man in a loud and violent
    voice: "Ho! ho! Brother, get me another sword for to do battle, for I am
    assuredly winning our house much glory this day!" And Arthur said, "Where
    shall I get thee a sword?" And Kay said, "Make haste unto our father's pavilion
    and fetch me thence another sword, for this which I have is broken." And
    Arthur said, "I will do so with all speed," and thereupon he set hand to
    the barrier and leaped over it into the alleyway beyond. And he ran down
    the alleyway with all the speed that he was able with intent to fulfil that
    task which his brother had bidden him to undertake; and with like speed he
    ran to that pavilion that his father had set up in the meadows.
    But when he came to the pavilion of Sir Ector he found no one there,
    for all the attendants had betaken themselves unto the tournament. And neither
    could he find a sword fit for his brother's handling, wherefore he was put
    to a great pass to know what to do in that matter.
    In this extremity he bethought him of that sword that stood thrust into
    the anvil before the cathedral, and it appeared to him that such a sword
    as that would suit his brother's purposes very well. Wherefore he said to
    himself, "I will go thither and get that sword if I am able to do so, for
    it will assuredly do very well for my brother for to finish his battle withal.
    " Whereupon he ran with all speed to the cathedral. And when he had come
    there he discovered that no one was there upon guard at the block of marble,
    as had heretofore been the case, for all who had been upon guard had betaken
    themselves unto the contest of arms that was toward. And the anvil and the
    sword stood where he could reach them. So, there being no one to stay (stop)
    young Arthur, he leaped up upon the block of marble and laid his hands unto
    the hilt of the sword. And he bent his body and drew upon the sword very
    strongly, and, lo! it came forth from the anvil with wonderful smoothness
    and ease, and he held the sword in his hand, and it was his.
    And when he had got the sword in that way, he wrapped it in his cloak
    so that no one might see it (for it shone with an exceeding brightness and
    splendor) and he leaped down from the block of marble stone and hastened
    with it unto the field of battle.
    Now when Arthur had entered into that meadow once more, he found Sir
    Kay awaiting his coming with great impatience of spirit. And when Sir Kay
    saw him he cried out, very vehemently, "Hast thou got a sword?" And Arthur
    said, "Yea, I have one here." Thereupon he opened his cloak and showed Sir
    Kay what sword it was he had brought.
    Now when Sir Kay beheld the sword he immediately knew it, and he wist
    not what to think or what to say, wherefore he stood for a while, like one
    turned into a stone, looking upon that sword. Then in awhile he said, in
    a very strange voice "Where got ye that sword?" And Arthur looked upon his
    brother and he beheld that his countenance was greatly disturbed, and that
    his face was altogether as white as wax. And he said, "Brother, what ails
    thee that thou lookest so strangely. I will tell the entire truth. I could
    find no sword in our father's pavilion, wherefore I bethought me of that
    sword that stood in the anvil upon the marble cube before the cathedral.
    So I went thither and made assay for to draw it forth, and it came forth
    with wonderful ease. So, when I had drawn it out, I wrapped it in my cloak
    and brought it hither unto thee as thou beholdest."
    Then Sir Kay turned his thoughts inward and communed with himself in
    this wise, "Lo! my brother Arthur is as yet hardly more than a child. And
    he is, moreover, exceedingly innocent. Therefore he knoweth not what he
    hath done in this nor what the doing thereof signifieth. Now, since he hath
    achieved this weapon, why should I not myself lay claim to that achievement,
    and so obtain the glory which it signifieth." Whereupon he presently aroused
    himself, and he said to Arthur, "Give the sword and the cloak to me," and
    Arthur did as his brother commanded. And when he had done so Sir Kay said
    to him, " Tell no man of this but keep it privy in thine own heart. Meantime
    go thou to our father where he sits at the lists and bid come straightway
    unto the pavilion where we have taken up our inn."
    And Arthur did as Sir Kay commanded him, greatly possessed with wonder
    that his brother should be so disturbed in spirit as he had appeared to
    be. For he wist not what he had done in drawing out that sword from the
    anvil, nor did he know of what great things should arise from that little
    thing, for so it is in this world that a man sometimes approves himself to
    be worthy of such a great trust as that, and yet, in lowliness of spirit,
    he is yet altogether unaware that he is worthy thereof. And so it was with
    young Arthur at that time.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) King Arthur背景介紹﹕King Arthur is a legendary British leader of the
    late 5th and early 6th centuries, who, according to Medieval histories and
    romances, led the defence of Britain against Saxon invaders in the early
    6th century. The details of Arthur's story are mainly composed of folklore
    and literary invention, and his historical existence is debated and disputed
    by modern historians.
    3)作者介紹﹕Howard Pyle (1853-1911), American illustrator, teacher and author
    wrote The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (1883). Sometimes he was referred
    to as "the father of American Illustration". He also produced a four volume
    series: The Story of King Arthur and His Knights (1903), The Story of the
    Champions of the Round Table, The Story of Lancelot and His Companions,
    and The Story of the Grail and the Passing of Arthur. Howard Pyle was born
    on 5 March 1853 in Wilmington, Delaware to parents William Pyle and Margaret
    Churchman. His father was a leather manufacturer and his mother nurtured
    his artistic side with books and drawing materials. Pyle attended art school
    in Philadelphia before moving to New York City to continue his artistic
    studies and illustrating and writing for the popular periodicals of the day
    including Scribner's, Harper's, McClure's, and Collier's Weekly. In 1881
    he married Anne Poole with whom he would have seven children.
    4) 英國六世紀初的亞瑟王的故事也是大家知道的。或叫圓桌騎士。Knights of the
    Round Table. 凡學英文的人﹐這個故事也是應該讀一下的。

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-03-31 21:30:06


    The Sea Wolf
    by Jack London

    Chapter I
    I scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place the
    cause of it all to Charley Furuseth's credit. He kept a summer cottage in
    Mill Valley, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, and never occupied it
    except when he loafed through the winter mouths and read "Nietzsche and
    Schopenhauer" to rest his brain. When summer came on, he elected to sweat
    out a hot and dusty existence in the city and to toil incessantly. Had it
    not been my custom to run up to see him every Saturday afternoon and to
    stop over till Monday morning, this particular January Monday morning would
    not have found me afloat on San Francisco Bay.
    Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the Martinez[船名] was a
    new ferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run between Sausalito
    and San Francisco. The danger lay in the heavy fog which blanketed the bay,
    and of which, as a landsman, I had little apprehension. In fact, I remember
    the placid exaltation with which I took up my position on the forward upper
    deck, directly beneath the pilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog
    to lay hold of my imagination. A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time
    I was alone in the moist obscurity - yet not alone, for I was dimly conscious
    of the presence of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in the
    glass house above my head.
    I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labour which
    made it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation,
    in order to visit my friend who lived across an arm of the sea. It was good
    that men should be specialists, I mused. The peculiar knowledge of the pilot
    and captain sufficed for many thousands of people who knew no more of the
    sea and navigation than I knew. On the other hand, instead of having to devote
    my energy to the learning of a multitude of things, I concentrated it upon
    a few particular things, such as, for instance, the analysis of Poe's [指
    Edgar Allan Poe] place in American literature - an essay of mine, by the
    way, in the current Atlantic.[雜誌名] Coming aboard, as I passed through
    the cabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stout gentleman reading the Atlantic,
    which was open at my very essay. And there it was again, the division of
    labour, the special knowledge of the pilot and captain which permitted the
    stout gentleman to read my special knowledge on Poe while they carried him
    safely from Sausalito to San Francisco.
    A red-faced man, slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping out on
    the deck, interrupted my reflections, though I made a mental note of the
    topic for use in a projected essay which I had thought of calling "The Necessity
    for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist." The red-faced man shot a glance up
    at the pilot-house, gazed around at the fog, stumped across the deck and
    back (he evidently had artificial legs), and stood still by my side, legs
    wide apart, and with an expression of keen enjoyment on his face. I was
    not wrong when I decided that his days had been spent on the sea.
    "It's nasty weather like this here that turns heads grey before their time,"
    he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house.
    "I had not thought there was any particular strain," I answered. "It seems
    as simple as A, B, C. They know the direction by compass, the distance,
    and the speed. I should not call it anything more than mathematical certainty.
    "Strain!" he snorted. "Simple as A, B, C! Mathematical certainty!"
    He seemed to brace himself up and lean backward against the air as he stared
    at me. "How about this here tide that's rushin' out through the Golden Gate?"
    [指金門大橋] he demanded, or bellowed, rather. "How fast is she ebbin'?
    What's the drift, eh? Listen to that, will you? A bell-buoy, and we're a-top
    of it! See 'em alterin' the course!"
    From out of the fog came the mournful tolling of a bell, and I could see
    the pilot turning the wheel with great rapidity. The bell, which had seemed
    straight ahead, was now sounding from the side. Our own whistle was blowing
    hoarsely, and from time to time the sound of other whistles came to us from
    out of the fog.
    "That's a ferry-boat of some sort," the new-comer said, indicating a whistle
    off to the right. "And there! D'ye [Do you] hear that? Blown by mouth. Some
    scow schooner, most likely. Better watch out, Mr. Schooner-man. Ah, I thought
    so. Now hell's a poppin' for somebody!"
    The unseen ferry-boat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown
    horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.
    "And now they're payin' their respects to each other and tryin' to get
    clear," the red-faced man went on, as the hurried whistling ceased.
    His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement as he translated
    into articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens. "That's a steam-
    siren a-goin' it over there to the left. And you hear that fellow with a
    frog in his throat - a steam schooner as near as I can judge, crawlin' in
    from the Heads [指地角﹐伸出海中的狹長陸地] against the tide."
    A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead
    and from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the Martinez. Our paddle-wheels
    stopped, their pulsing beat died away, and then they started again. The
    shrill little whistle, like the chirping of a cricket amid the cries of
    great beasts, shot through the fog from more to the side and swiftly grew
    faint and fainter. I looked to my companion for enlightenment.
    "One of them dare-devil launches," he said. "I almost wish we'd sunk him,
    the little rip! They're the cause of more trouble. And what good are they?
    Any jackass gets aboard one and runs it from hell to breakfast, blowin'
    his whistle to beat the band and tellin' the rest of the world to look out
    for him, because he's comin' and can't look out for himself! Because he's
    comin'! And you've got to look out, too! Right of way! [路權﹐指路上的先
    行權] Common decency! They don't know the meanin' of it!"
    I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped indignantly
    up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the fog. And romantic
    it certainly was - the fog, like the grey shadow of infinite mystery, brooding
    over the whirling speck of earth; and men, mere motes of light and sparkle,
    cursed with an insane relish for work, riding their steeds of wood and steel
    through the heart of the mystery, groping their way blindly through the Unseen,
    and clamouring and clanging in confident speech the while [WHILE] their
    hearts are heavy with incertitude and fear.
    The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I too
    had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode clear-eyed
    through the mystery.
    "Hello! somebody comin' our way," he was saying. "And d'ye hear that? He's
    comin' fast. Walking right along. Guess he don't hear us yet. Wind's in
    wrong direction."
    The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the whistle
    plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.
    "Ferry-boat?" I asked.
    He nodded, then added, "Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip." He gave
    a short chuckle. "They're gettin' anxious up there."
    I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the
    pilot-house, and was staring intently into the fog as though by sheer force
    of will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious, as was the face of
    my companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was gazing with a like
    intentness in the direction of the invisible danger.
    Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog seemed
    to break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a steamboat emerged,
    trailing fog-wreaths on either side like seaweed on the snout of Leviathan
    [a sea monster referred to in the Bible]. I could see the pilot-house and
    a white-bearded man leaning partly out of it, on his elbows. He was clad
    in a blue uniform, and I remember noting how trim and quiet he was. His quietness,
    under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted Destiny, marched hand
    in hand with it, and coolly measured the stroke. As he leaned there, he
    ran a calm and speculative eye over us, as though to determine the precise
    point of the collision, and took no notice whatever when our pilot, white
    with rage, shouted, "Now you've done it!"
    On looking back, I realize that the remark was too obvious to make rejoinder
    "Grab hold of something and hang on," the red-faced man said to me. All
    his bluster had gone, and he seemed to have caught the contagion of preternatural
    calm. "And listen to the women scream," he said grimly - almost bitterly,
    I thought, as though he had been through the experience before.
    The vessels came together before I could follow his advice. We must have
    been struck squarely amidships, for I saw nothing, the strange steamboat
    having passed beyond my line of vision. The Martinez heeled over, sharply,
    and there was a crashing and rending of timber. I was thrown flat on the
    wet deck, and before I could scramble to my feet I heard the scream of the
    women. This it was, I am certain, - the most indescribable of blood-curdling
    sounds, - that threw me into a panic. I remembered the life-preservers stored
    in the cabin, but was met at the door and swept backward by a wild rush
    of men and women. What happened in the next few minutes I do not recollect,
    though I have a clear remembrance of pulling down life-preservers from the
    overhead racks, while the red-faced man fastened them about the bodies of
    an hysterical group of women. This memory is as distinct and sharp as that
    of any picture I have seen. It is a picture, and I can see it now, - the
    jagged edges of the hole in the side of the cabin, through which the grey
    fog swirled and eddied; the empty upholstered seats, littered with all the
    evidences of sudden flight, such as packages, hand satchels, umbrellas, and
    wraps; the stout gentleman who had been reading my essay, encased in cork
    and canvas, the magazine still in his hand, and asking me with monotonous
    insistence if I thought there was any danger; the red-faced man, stumping
    gallantly around on his artificial legs and buckling life-preservers on
    all corners; and finally, the screaming bedlam of women.
    This it was, the screaming of the women, that most tried my nerves. It
    must have tried, too, the nerves of the red-faced man, for I have another
    picture which will never fade from my mind. The stout gentleman is stuffing
    the magazine into his overcoat pocket and looking on curiously. A tangled
    mass of women, with drawn, white faces and open mouths, is shrieking like
    a chorus of lost souls; and the red-faced man, his face now purplish with
    wrath, and with arms extended overhead as in the act of hurling thunderbolts,
    is shouting, "Shut up! Oh, shut up!"
    I remember the scene impelled me to sudden laughter, and in the next instant
    I realized I was becoming hysterical myself; for these were women of my
    own kind, like my mother and sisters, with the fear of death upon them and
    unwilling to die. And I remember that the sounds they made reminded me of
    the squealing of pigs under the knife of the butcher, and I was struck with
    horror at the vividness of the analogy. These women, capable of the most
    sublime emotions, of the tenderest sympathies, were open-mouthed and screaming.
    They wanted to live, they were helpless, like rats in a trap, and they
    The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was feeling sick and squeamish,
    and sat down on a bench. In a hazy way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting
    as they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions
    of such scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered
    away with the plugs out, filled with women and children and then with water,
    and capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end, and still hung in
    the tackle by the other end, where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to
    be seen of the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I
    heard men saying that she [指另一艘船] would undoubtedly send boats to our
    I descended to the lower deck. The Martinez was sinking fast, for the water
    was very near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others,
    in the water, were clamouring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded them.
    A cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent panic,
    and went over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know,
    though I did know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous
    of getting back on the steamer. The water was cold - so cold that it was
    painful. The pang, as I plunged into it, was as quick and sharp as that
    of fire. It bit to the marrow. It was like the grip of death. I gasped with
    the anguish and shock of it, filling my lungs before the life-preserver popped
    me to the surface. The taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was
    strangling with the acrid stuff in my throat and lungs.
    But it was the cold that was most distressing. I felt that I could survive
    but a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering in the water about
    me. I could hear them crying out to one another. And I heard, also, the
    sound of oars. Evidently the strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As
    the time went by I marvelled that I was still alive. I had no sensation
    whatever in my lower limbs, while a chilling numbness was wrapping about
    my heart and creeping into it. Small waves, with spiteful foaming crests,
    continually broke over me and into my mouth, sending me off into more strangling
    The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus
    of screams in the distance, and knew that the Martinez had gone down. Later,
    - how much later I have no knowledge, - I came to myself with a start of
    fear. I was alone. I could hear no calls or cries - only the sound of the
    waves, made weirdly hollow and reverberant by the fog. A panic in a crowd,
    which partakes of a sort of community of interest, is not so terrible as
    a panic when one is by oneself; and such a panic I now suffered. Whither
    was I drifting? The red-faced man had said that the tide was ebbing through
    the Golden Gate. Was I, then, being carried out to sea? And the life-preserver
    in which I floated? Was it not liable to go to pieces at any moment? I had
    heard of such things being made of paper and hollow rushes which quickly
    became saturated and lost all buoyancy. And I could not swim a stroke. And
    I was alone, floating, apparently, in the midst of a grey primordial vastness.
    I confess that a madness seized me, that I shrieked aloud as the women
    had shrieked, and beat the water with my numb hands.
    How long this lasted I have no conception, for a blankness intervened,
    of which I remember no more than one remembers of troubled and painful sleep.
    When I aroused, it was as after centuries of time; and I saw, almost above
    me and emerging from the fog, the bow of a vessel, and three triangular
    sails, each shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where the bow
    cut the water there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed directly
    in its path. I tried to cry out, but was too exhausted. The bow plunged
    down, just missing me and sending a swash of water clear over my head. Then
    the long, black side of the vessel began slipping past, so near that I could
    have touched it with my hands. I tried to reach it, in a mad resolve to claw
    into the wood with my nails, but my arms were heavy and lifeless. Again I
    strove to call out, but made no sound.
    The stern of the vessel shot by, dropping, as it did so, into a hollow
    between the waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man standing at the wheel,
    and of another man who seemed to be doing little else than smoke a cigar.
    I saw the smoke issuing from his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced
    out over the water in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance,
    one of those haphazard things men do when they have no immediate call to
    do anything in particular, but act because they are alive and must do something.

    But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed
    up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel, and the head of the
    other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually
    lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep
    thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would
    nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely
    into mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the
    other man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the
    same time shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a
    tangent to its former course and leapt almost instantly from view into the
    I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, and tried with all the power
    of my will to fight above the suffocating blankness and darkness that was
    rising around me. A little later I heard the stroke of oars, growing nearer
    and nearer, and the calls of a man. When he was very near I heard him crying,
    in vexed fashion, "Why in hell don't you sing out?" This meant me, I thought,
    and then the blankness and darkness rose over me.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕John Griffith "Jack" London (born John Griffith Chaney, January
    12, 1876 -- November 22, 1916) was an American author, journalist, and social
    activist. He was a pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine
    fiction and was one of the first fiction writers to obtain worldwide celebrity
    and a large fortune from his fiction alone. He is best remembered as the
    author of "Call of the Wild" and "White Fang", both set in the Klondike Gold
    Rush, as well as the short stories "To Build a Fire", "An Odyssey of the
    North", and "Love of Life". He also wrote of the South Pacific in such stories
    as "The Pearls of Parlay" and "The Heathen", and of the San Francisco Bay
    area in "The Sea Wolf". London, who was called "Wolf" by his close friends,
    also used a picture of a wolf on his bookplate, and named his mansion "Wolf
    3) 小說介紹﹕The Sea-Wolf is a 1904 psychological adventure novel by American
    novelist Jack London about a literary critic, survivor of an ocean collision
    who comes under the dominance of Wolf Larsen, the powerful and amoral sea
    captain who rescues him. The personal character of the novel's antagonist
    "Wolf Larsen" was attributed to a real sailor London had known, Captain
    Alex MacLean.
    4) Jack London傑克‧倫敦﹐也是美國一個大作家。從上面的作者介紹裡可以知道﹐

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-04-07 21:13:56


    Of Human Bondage
    by Somerset Maugham

    Chapter I
    The day broke gray and dull. The clouds hung heavily, and there was a rawness
    in the air that suggested snow. A woman servant came into a room in which
    a child was sleeping and drew the curtains. She glanced mechanically at
    the house opposite, a stucco house with a portico, and went to the child's
    "Wake up, Philip," she said. She pulled down the bed-clothes, took him in
    her arms, and carried him downstairs. He was only half awake.
    "Your mother wants you," she said. She opened the door of a room on the
    floor below and took the child over to a bed in which a woman was lying.
    It was his mother. She stretched out her arms, and the child nestled by
    her side. He did not ask why he had been awakened. The woman kissed his
    eyes, and with thin, small hands felt the warm body through his white flannel
    nightgown. She pressed him closer to herself.
    "Are you sleepy, darling?" she said. Her voice was so weak that it seemed
    to come already from a great distance. The child did not answer, but smiled
    comfortably. He was very happy in the large, warm bed, with those soft arms
    about him. He tried to make himself smaller still as he cuddled up against
    his mother, and he kissed her sleepily. In a moment he closed his eyes and
    was fast asleep. The doctor came forwards and stood by the bed-side.
    "Oh, don't take him away yet," she moaned. The doctor, without answering,
    looked at her gravely. Knowing she would not be allowed to keep the child
    much longer, the woman kissed him again; and she passed her hand down his
    body till she came to his feet; she held the right foot in her hand and
    felt the five small toes; and then slowly passed her hand over the left one.
    She gave a sob.
    "What"s the matter?" said the doctor. "You're tired." She shook her head,
    unable to speak, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor bent down.
    "Let me take him." She was too weak to resist his wish, and she gave the
    child up. The doctor handed him back to his nurse.
    "You'd better put him back in his own bed."
    "Very well, sir." The little boy, still sleeping, was taken away. His mother
    sobbed now broken-heartedly. "What will happen to him, poor child?" The
    monthly nurse tried to quiet her, and presently, from exhaustion, the crying
    ceased. The doctor walked to a table on the other side of the room, upon
    which, under a towel, lay the body of a still-born child. He lifted the towel
    and looked. He was hidden from the bed by a screen, but the woman guessed
    what he was doing.
    "Was it a girl or a boy?" she whispered to the nurse.
    "Another boy."
    The woman did not answer. In a moment the child's nurse came back. She approached
    the bed.
    "Master Philip never woke up," she said. There was a pause. Then the doctor
    felt his patient's pulse once more.
    "I don't think there's anything I can do just now," he said. "I'll call
    again after breakfast."
    "I'll show you out, sir," said the child's nurse. They walked downstairs
    in silence. In the hall the
    doctor stopped.
    "You've sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law, haven't you?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "D'you know at what time he'll be here?"
    "No, sir, I'm expecting a telegram."
    "What about the little boy? I should think he'd be better out of the way."
    "Miss Watkin said she'd take him, sir."
    "Who's she?"
    "She's his godmother, sir. D'you think Mrs. Carey will get over it, sir?"
    The doctor shook his head.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕William Somerset Maugham (25 January 1874 -- 16 December 1965)
    was an English playwright, novelist and short story writer. He was among
    the most popular writers of his era and reputedly the highest paid author
    during the 1930s.
    3) 該書介紹﹕Of Human Bondage (1915) is a novel by W. Somerset Maugham.
    It is generally agreed to be his masterpiece and to be strongly autobiographical
    in nature, although Maugham stated, "This is a novel, not an autobiography,
    though much in it is autobiographical, more is pure invention." Maugham,
    who had originally planned to call his novel Beauty from Ashes, finally
    settled on a title taken from a section of Spinoza's Ethics. In 1998, the
    Modern Library ranked Of Human Bondage #66 on its list of the 100 best English-
    language novels of the 20th century.
    4) 情節簡介﹕The book begins with the death of the mother of the nine-year-old
    protagonist, Philip Carey. Philip's father had already died a few months
    before, and the orphan Philip is sent to live with his aunt and uncle. His
    uncle is vicar of Blackstable, a small village in Kent. Philip inherits
    a small fortune but the money is held in custody by his uncle until he is
    twenty-one, giving his uncle a great deal of power over him until he reaches
    his maturity.
    Early chapters relate Philip's experience at the vicarage. His aunt tries
    to be a mother to Philip, but she is herself childish and unsure of how
    to behave, whereas his uncle takes a cold disposition towards him. Philip's
    uncle has an eclectic collection of books, and in reading Philip finds a
    way to escape his mundane existence and experience fascinating worlds of
    Less than a year later, Philip is sent to a boarding school. His uncle and
    aunt wish for him to eventually go to Oxford to study to become a clergyman.
    Philip's shyness and his club foot make it difficult for him to fit in with
    the boys at the school, and he does not make many friends. Philip goes through
    an episode of deep religious belief, and believes that through true faith
    he can petition God to heal his club foot; but when this does not happen,
    his belief falters. He becomes close friends with one boy; but the friendship
    breaks up, and he becomes miserable. Philip shows considerable academic
    talent and is informed by the school's headmaster that he could have earned
    a scholarship for Oxford, but instead he becomes determined to leave the
    school and go to Germany. 欲知後事如何﹐請上網閱讀全文。
    5) Somerset Maugham是20世紀上半頁的英國偉大作家之一。他的文筆簡潔明快。他
    的這本代表作品Of Human Bondage可作英文專業學生的精讀本。本人在國內時曾有

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-04-14 21:32:28


    New Colossus (十四行詩)
    by Emma Lazarus

    Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, [1]
    With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
    Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
    A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
    Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
    Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
    Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
    The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. [2]
    "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
    With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
    Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
    The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
    Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost [tossed] to me,
    I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 該詩介紹﹕The poem has proven to be so powerful over the years that it
    has even changed the meaning and purpose of the Statue of Liberty itself.
    As a gift from the government of France, the Statue dedicated 125 years
    ago today, was meant to be a monument for international republicanism. Today,
    because of Lazarus's sonnet it is known as a beacon to immigrants and a
    welcoming to America. When the world's most famous sonnet was written in
    1883 it barely caused a ripple. When it's author died in 1887 it wasn't
    even mentioned in her obituary. Today, most everyone can recite at least
    a line. Emma Lazarus's New Colossus did not create much of a stir until
    it was affixed inside the base of the Statue of Liberty in 1903.
    3) 關於詩人﹕Born in New York City on July 22, 1849, Emma was an American
    Jewish poetess, and would become known posthumously as the Poet of Exiles.
    In 1866, when Emma was seventeen, her father privately published her first
    book, Poems and Translations Written Between the Ages of Fourteen and Seventeen.
    She died Novemeber 19, 1887 at the age of 38. Emma Lazarus was honored
    by the Office of the Manhattan Borough President in March 2008 and was included
    in a map of historical sites related or dedicated to important women.
    4) 註解﹕[1] The Colossus of Rhodes. It was a huge statue of the Greek god
    Helios that stood on Rhodes for 56 years until it was destroyed in an earthquake.
    It was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. [2] She refers to
    the New York Harbor as "the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame."
    The twin cities that she refers to are New York and Brooklyn. Brooklyn was
    a separate city before 1898.
    5) 這首有關描寫自由女神像的十四行詩對大部份華人來說是不熟悉的﹐甚至沒聽說

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-04-21 21:02:02


    Gulliver's Travels 格列佛遊記
    by Jonathan Swift

    My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire: I was the third of five
    sons. He sent me to Emanuel College in Cambridge at fourteen years old,
    where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my studies; but
    the charge of maintaining me, although I had a very scanty allowance, being
    too great for a narrow fortune, I was bound apprentice to Mr. James Bates,
    an eminent surgeon in London, with whom I continued four years. My father
    now and then sending me small sums of money, I laid them out in learning
    navigation, and other parts of the mathematics, useful to those who intend
    to travel, as I always believed it would be, some time or other, my fortune
    to do. When I left Mr. Bates, I went down to my father: where, by the assistance
    of him and my uncle John, and some other relations, I got forty pounds, and
    a promise of thirty pounds a year to maintain me at Leyden: there I studied
    physic two years and seven months, knowing it would be useful in long voyages.

    Soon after my return from Leyden, I was recommended by my good master, Mr.
    Bates, to be surgeon to the Swallow 船名, Captain Abraham Pannel, commander;
    with whom I continued three years and a half, making a voyage or two into
    the Levant, and some other parts. When I came back I resolved to settle
    in London; to which Mr. Bates, my master, encouraged me, and by him I was
    recommended to several patients. I took part of a small house in the Old
    Jewry; and being advised to alter my condition, I married Mrs. Mary Burton,
    second daughter to Mr. Edmund Burton, hosier, in Newgate-street, with whom
    I received four hundred pounds for a portion.
    But my good master Bates dying in two years after, and I having few friends,
    my business began to fail; for my conscience would not suffer me to imitate
    the bad practice of too many among my brethren. Having therefore consulted
    with my wife, and some of my acquaintance, I determined to go again to sea.
    I was surgeon successively in two ships, and made several voyages, for six
    years, to the East and West Indies, by which I got some addition to my fortune.
    My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, ancient and modern,
    being always provided with a good number of books; and when I was ashore,
    in observing the manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning
    their language; wherein I had a great facility, by the strength of my memory.

    The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate, I grew weary of the
    sea, and intended to stay at home with my wife and family. I removed from
    the Old Jewry to Fetter Lane, and from thence to Wapping, hoping to get
    business among the sailors; but it would not turn to account. After three
    years expectation that things would mend, I accepted an advantageous offer
    from Captain William Prichard, master of the Antelope 船名, who was making
    a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail from Bristol, May 4, 1699, and our
    voyage was at first very prosperous.
    It would not be proper, for some reasons, to trouble the reader with the
    particulars of our adventures in those seas; let it suffice to inform him
    指前面提到的讀者, that in our passage from thence to the East Indies, we
    were driven by a violent storm to the north-west of Van Diemen's Land. By
    an observation, we found ourselves in the latitude of 30 degrees 2 minutes
    south. Twelve of our crew were dead by immoderate labour and ill food; the
    rest were in a very weak condition. On the 5th of November, which was the
    beginning of summer in those parts, the weather being very hazy, the seamen
    spied a rock within half a cable's length of the ship; but the wind was
    so strong, that we were driven directly upon it, and immediately split. Six
    of the crew, of whom I was one, having let down the boat into the sea, made
    a shift to get clear of the ship and the rock. We rowed, by my computation,
    about three leagues, till we were able to work no longer, being already
    spent with labour while we were in the ship. We therefore trusted ourselves
    to the mercy of the waves, and in about half an hour the boat was overset
    by a sudden flurry from the north. What became of my companions in the boat,
    as well as of those who escaped on the rock, or were left in the vessel,
    I cannot tell; but conclude they were all lost. For my own part, I swam
    as fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide. I often
    let my legs drop, and could feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone, and
    able to struggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by this
    time the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that I walked
    near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured was about eight
    o'clock in the evening. I then advanced forward near half a mile, but could
    not discover any sign of houses or inhabitants; at least I was in so weak
    a condition, that I did not observe them. I was extremely tired, and with
    that, and the heat of the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that
    I drank as I left the ship, I found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay
    down on the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder than
    ever I remembered to have done in my life, and, as I reckoned, about nine
    hours; for when I awaked, it was just day-light. I attempted to rise, but
    was not able to stir: for, as I happened to lie on my back, I found my arms
    and legs were strongly fastened on each side to the ground; and my hair,
    which was long and thick, tied down in the same manner. I likewise felt several
    slender ligatures across my body, from my arm-pits to my thighs. I could
    only look upwards; the sun began to grow hot, and the light offended my
    eyes. I heard a confused noise about me; but in the posture I lay, could
    see nothing except the sky. In a little time I felt something alive moving
    on my left leg, which advancing gently forward over my breast, came almost
    up to my chin; when, bending my eyes downwards as much as I could, I perceived
    it to be a human creature not six inches high, with a bow and arrow in his
    hands, and a quiver at his back. In the mean time, I felt at least forty
    more of the same kind (as I conjectured) following the first. I was in the
    utmost astonishment, and roared so loud, that they all ran back in a fright;
    and some of them, as I was afterwards told, were hurt with the falls they
    got by leaping from my sides upon the ground. However, they soon returned,
    and one of them, who ventured so far as to get a full sight of my face,
    lifting up his hands and eyes by way of admiration, cried out in a shrill
    but distinct voice, HEKINAH DEGUL: the others repeated the same words several
    times, but then I knew not what they meant. I lay all this while, as the
    reader may believe, in great uneasiness. At length, struggling to get loose,
    I had the fortune to break the strings, and wrench out the pegs that fastened
    my left arm to the ground; for, by lifting it up to my face, I discovered
    the methods they had taken to bind me, and at the same time with a violent
    pull, which gave me excessive pain, I a little loosened the strings that
    tied down my hair on the left side, so that I was just able to turn my head
    about two inches. But the creatures ran off a second time, before I could
    seize them; whereupon there was a great shout in a very shrill accent, and
    after it ceased I heard one of them cry aloud TOLGO PHONAC; when in an instant
    I felt above a hundred arrows discharged on my left hand, which, pricked
    me like so many needles; and besides, they shot another flight into the
    air, as we do bombs in Europe, whereof many, I suppose, fell on my body,
    (though I felt them not), and some on my face, which I immediately covered
    with my left hand. When this shower of arrows was over, I fell a groaning
    with grief and pain; and then striving again to get loose, they discharged
    another volley larger than the first, and some of them attempted with spears
    to stick me in the sides; but by good luck I had on a buff jerkin 皮衣,
    which they could not pierce. I thought it the most prudent method to lie
    still, and my design was to continue so till night, when, my left hand being
    already loose, I could easily free myself: and as for the inhabitants, I
    had reason to believe I might be a match for the greatest army they could
    bring against me, if they were all of the same size with him that I saw.
    But fortune disposed otherwise of me. When the people observed I was quiet,
    they discharged no more arrows; but, by the noise I heard, I knew their
    numbers increased; and about four yards from me, over against my right ear,
    I heard a knocking for above an hour, like that of people at work; when
    turning my head that way, as well as the pegs and strings would permit me,
    I saw a stage erected about a foot and a half from the ground, capable of
    holding four of the inhabitants, with two or three ladders to mount it:
    from whence one of them, who seemed to be a person of quality, made me a
    long speech, whereof I understood not one syllable. But I should have mentioned,
    that before the principal person began his oration, he cried out three
    times, LANGRO DEHUL SAN (these words and the former were afterwards repeated
    and explained to me); whereupon, immediately, about fifty of the inhabitants
    came and cut the strings that fastened the left side of my head, which gave
    me the liberty of turning it to the right, and of observing the person and
    gesture of him that was to speak.
    He appeared to be of a middle age, and taller than any of the other three
    who attended him, whereof one was a page that held up his train, and seemed
    to be somewhat longer than my middle finger; the other two stood one on
    each side to support him. He acted every part of an orator, and I could
    observe many periods of threatenings, and others of promises, pity, and kindness.
    I answered in a few words, but in the most submissive manner, lifting up
    my left hand, and both my eyes to the sun, as calling him for a witness;
    and being almost famished with hunger, having not eaten a morsel for some
    hours before I left the ship, I found the demands of nature so strong upon
    me, that I could not forbear showing my impatience (perhaps against the
    strict rules of decency) by putting my finger frequently to my mouth, to
    signify that I wanted food. The HURGO (for so they call a great lord, as
    I afterwards learnt) understood me very well. He descended from the stage,
    and commanded that several ladders should be applied to my sides, on which
    above a hundred of the inhabitants mounted and walked towards my mouth,
    laden with baskets full of meat, which had been provided and sent thither
    by the king's orders, upon the first intelligence he received of me. I observed
    there was the flesh of several animals, but could not distinguish them by
    the taste. There were shoulders, legs, and loins, shaped like those of mutton,
    and very well dressed, but smaller than the wings of a lark. I ate them
    by two or three at a mouthful, and took three loaves at a time, about the
    bigness of musket bullets.
    They supplied me as fast as they could, showing a thousand marks of wonder
    and astonishment at my bulk and appetite. I then made another sign, that
    I wanted drink. They found by my eating that a small quantity would not
    suffice me; and being a most ingenious people, they slung up, with great
    dexterity, one of their largest hogsheads, then rolled it towards my hand,
    and beat out the top; I drank it off at a draught, which I might well do,
    for it did not hold half a pint, and tasted like a small wine of Burgundy,
    but much more delicious. They brought me a second hogshead, which I drank
    in the same manner, and made signs for more; but they had none to give me.
    When I had performed these wonders, they shouted for joy, and danced upon
    my breast, repeating several times as they did at first, HEKINAH DEGUL.
    They made me a sign that I should throw down the two hogsheads, but first
    warning the people below to stand out of the way, crying aloud, BORACH MEVOLAH;
    and when they saw the vessels in the air, there was a universal shout of
    HEKINAH DEGUL. I confess I was often tempted, while they were passing backwards
    and forwards on my body, to seize forty or fifty of the first that came
    in my reach, and dash them against the ground. But the remembrance of what
    I had felt, which probably might not be the worst they could do, and the
    promise of honour I made them--for so I interpreted my submissive behaviour--
    soon drove out these imaginations. Besides, I now considered myself as bound
    by the laws of hospitality, to a people who had treated me with so much
    expense and magnificence. However, in my thoughts I could not sufficiently
    wonder at the intrepidity of these diminutive mortals, who durst venture
    to mount and walk upon my body, while one of my hands was at liberty, without
    trembling at the very sight of so prodigious a creature as I must appear
    to them. After some time, when they observed that I made no more demands
    for meat, there appeared before me a person of high rank from his imperial
    majesty. His excellency, having mounted on the small of my right leg, advanced
    forwards up to my face, with about a dozen of his retinue; and producing
    his credentials under the signet royal, which he applied close to my eyes,
    spoke about ten minutes without any signs of anger, but with a kind of determinate
    resolution, often pointing forwards, which, as I afterwards found, was towards
    the capital city, about half a mile distant; whither it was agreed by his
    majesty in council that I must be conveyed. I answered in few words, but
    to no purpose, and made a sign with my hand that was loose, putting it to
    the other (but over his excellency's head for fear of hurting him or his
    train) and then to my own head and body, to signify that I desired my liberty.
    It appeared that he understood me well enough, for he shook his head by
    way of disapprobation, and held his hand in a posture to show that I must
    be carried as a prisoner. However, he made other signs to let me understand
    that I should have meat and drink enough, and very good treatment. Whereupon
    I once more thought of attempting to break my bonds; but again, when I felt
    the smart of their arrows upon my face and hands, which were all in blisters,
    and many of the darts still sticking in them, and observing likewise that
    the number of my enemies increased, I gave tokens to let them know that they
    might do with me what they pleased. Upon this, the HURGO and his train withdrew,
    with much civility and cheerful countenances. Soon after I heard a general
    shout, with frequent repetitions of the words PEPLOM SELAN; and I felt great
    numbers of people on my left side relaxing the cords to such a degree, that
    I was able to turn upon my right, and to ease myself with making water;
    which I very plentifully did, to the great astonishment of the people; who,
    conjecturing by my motion what I was going to do, immediately opened to
    the right and left on that side, to avoid the torrent, which fell with such
    noise and violence from me. But before this, they had daubed my face and
    both my hands with a sort of ointment, very pleasant to the smell, which,
    in a few minutes, removed all the smart of their arrows. These circumstances,
    added to the refreshment I had received by their victuals and drink, which
    were very nourishing, disposed me to sleep. I slept about eight hours, as
    I was afterwards assured; and it was no wonder, for the physicians, by the
    emperor's order, had mingled a sleepy potion in the hogsheads of wine.
    It seems, that upon the first moment I was discovered sleeping on the ground,
    after my landing, the emperor had early notice of it by an express; and
    determined in council, that I should be tied in the manner I have related,
    (which was done in the night while I slept;) that plenty of meat and drink
    should be sent to me, and a machine prepared to carry me to the capital
    This resolution perhaps may appear very bold and dangerous, and I am confident
    would not be imitated by any prince in Europe on the like occasion. However,
    in my opinion, it was extremely prudent, as well as generous: for, supposing
    these people had endeavoured to kill me with their spears and arrows, while
    I was asleep, I should certainly have awaked with the first sense of smart,
    which might so far have roused my rage and strength, as to have enabled me
    to break the strings wherewith I was tied; after which, as they were not
    able to make resistance, so they could expect no mercy.
    These people are most excellent mathematicians, and arrived to a great perfection
    in mechanics, by the countenance and encouragement of the emperor, who is
    a renowned patron of learning. This prince has several machines fixed on
    wheels, for the carriage of trees and other great weights. He often builds
    his largest men of war, whereof some are nine feet long, in the woods where
    the timber grows, and has them carried on these engines three or four hundred
    yards to the sea. Five hundred carpenters and engineers were immediately
    set at work to prepare the greatest engine they had. It was a frame of wood
    raised three inches from the ground, about seven feet long, and four wide,
    moving upon twenty-two wheels. The shout I heard was upon the arrival of
    this engine, which, it seems, set out in four hours after my landing. It
    was brought parallel to me, as I lay. But the principal difficulty was to
    raise and place me in this vehicle. Eighty poles, each of one foot high,
    were erected for this purpose, and very strong cords, of the bigness of
    packthread, were fastened by hooks to many bandages, which the workmen had
    girt round my neck, my hands, my body, and my legs. Nine hundred of the strongest
    men were employed to draw up these cords, by many pulleys fastened on the
    poles; and thus, in less than three hours, I was raised and slung into the
    engine, and there tied fast. All this I was told; for, while the operation
    was performing, I lay in a profound sleep, by the force of that soporiferous
    medicine infused into my liquor. Fifteen hundred of the emperor's largest
    horses, each about four inches and a half high, were employed to draw me
    towards the metropolis, which, as I said, was half a mile distant.
    About four hours after we began our journey, I awaked by a very ridiculous
    accident; for the carriage being stopped a while, to adjust something that
    was out of order, two or three of the young natives had the curiosity to
    see how I looked when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, and
    advancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer in the guards,
    put the sharp end of his half-pike a good way up into my left nostril, which
    tickled my nose like a straw, and made me sneeze violently; whereupon they
    stole off unperceived, and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of
    my waking so suddenly. We made a long march the remaining part of the day,
    and, rested at night with five hundred guards on each side of me, half with
    torches, and half with bows and arrows, ready to shoot me if I should offer
    to stir. The next morning at sunrise we continued our march, and arrived
    within two hundred yards of the city gates about noon. The emperor, and
    all his court, came out to meet us; but his great officers would by no means
    suffer his majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body.
    At the place where the carriage stopped there stood an ancient temple, esteemed
    to be the largest in the whole kingdom; which, having been polluted some
    years before by an unnatural murder, was, according to the zeal of those
    people, looked upon as profane, and therefore had been applied to common
    use, and all the ornaments and furniture carried away. In this edifice it
    was determined I should lodge. The great gate fronting to the north was
    about four feet high, and almost two feet wide, through which I could easily
    creep. On each side of the gate was a small window, not above six inches
    from the ground: into that on the left side, the king's smith conveyed four-score
    and eleven chains, like those that hang to a lady's watch in Europe, and
    almost as large, which were locked to my left leg with six-and-thirty padlocks.
    Over against this temple, on the other side of the great highway, at twenty
    feet distance, there was a turret at least five feet high. Here the emperor
    ascended, with many principal lords of his court, to have an opportunity
    of viewing me, as I was told, for I could not see them. It was reckoned that
    above a hundred thousand inhabitants came out of the town upon the same
    errand; and, in spite of my guards, I believe there could not be fewer than
    ten thousand at several times, who mounted my body by the help of ladders.
    But a proclamation was soon issued, to forbid it upon pain of death. When
    the workmen found it was impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the
    strings that bound me; whereupon I rose up, with as melancholy a disposition
    as ever I had in my life. But the noise and astonishment of the people,
    at seeing me rise and walk, are not to be expressed. The chains that held
    my left leg were about two yards long, and gave me not only the liberty
    of walking backwards and forwards in a semicircle, but, being fixed within
    four inches of the gate, allowed me to creep in, and lie at my full length
    in the temple.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Jonathan Swift (30 November 1667 -- 19 October 1745) was an
    Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer (first for the Whigs, then
    for the Tories), poet and cleric who became Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral,
    Dublin. He is remembered for works such as Gulliver's Travels, A Modest
    Proposal, A Journal to Stella, Drapier's Letters, The Battle of the Books,
    An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity, and A Tale of a Tub.
    3) 格列佛遊記中描述的小人國﹐我從小就聽說過﹐後來又讀了整本書。裡面還有大

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-04-28 20:44:44


    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer 湯姆‧沙亞歷險記
    by Mark Twain

    No answer.
    No answer.
    "What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!"
    No answer.
    The old lady pulled her spectacles 複數指眼鏡 down and looked over them
    about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom
    or never looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her
    state pair 指擺樣子的, the pride of her heart, and were built for "style,"
    not service -- she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.
    She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still
    loud enough for the furniture to hear:
    "Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll --"
    She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under
    the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches
    with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
    "I never did see the beat of that boy!"
    She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato
    vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted
    up her voice at an angle 指頭抬高一點 calculated for distance and shouted:
    "Y-o-u-u TOM!"
    There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize
    a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
    "There! I might 'a' [have] thought of that closet. What you been doing in
    "Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that truck?"
    "I don't know, aunt."
    "Well, I know. It's jam -- that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you
    didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch."
    The switch hovered in the air -- the peril was des-perate --
    "My! Look behind you, aunt!"
    The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad
    fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared
    over it.
    His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.
    "Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me tricks enough
    like that for me to be look-ing out for him by this time? But old fools
    is the big-gest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as the
    saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how
    is a-body [anybody] to know what's coming? He 'pears [appears] to know just
    how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he
    can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down
    again and I can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and
    that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile [spoil]
    the child, as the Good Book 指聖經 says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering
    for us both, I know. He's full of the Old Scratch [a folk name for The Devil],
    but laws-a-me [Lord save me感嘆語]! he's my own dead sister's boy, poor
    thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him, some-how. Every time I let
    him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart
    most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full
    of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it's so. He'll play hookey
    this evening, and I'll just be obleeged [obliged] to make him work, to-morrow,
    to punish him. It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the
    boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else,
    and I've GOT to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the
    Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely
    in season to help Jim, the small colored boy 指黑小孩, saw next-day's wood
    and split the kindlings before supper -- at least he was there in time to
    tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom's
    younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his
    part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no
    adventurous, trouble- some ways.
    While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered,
    Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep --
    for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other simple-
    hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed with a talent
    for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to contemplate her most
    transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said she:
    "Tom, it was middling warm [Somewhere between the last rays of morning,
    the middling warmth of the day] in school, warn't it?" [wasn't it]
    "Yes'm." [Yes, madam]
    "Powerful warm, warn't it?"
    "Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?"
    A bit of a scare shot through Tom -- a touch of uncomfortable suspicion.
    He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:
    "No'm [no, madam] -- well, not very much."
    The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:
    "But you ain't too warm now, though." And it flattered her to reflect that
    she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that
    was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind
    lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:
    "Some of us pumped on our heads 指把涼水澆在頭上降溫 -- mine's damp yet.
    Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial
    evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:
    "Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump
    on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"
    The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt
    collar was securely sewed.
    "Bother! Well, go 'long [along] with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey
    and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a
    singed cat, as the saying is -- better'n [than] you look. THIS time."
    She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had
    stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
    But Sidney said:
    "Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread, but
    it's black.
    "Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!"
    But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
    "Siddy, I'll lick you for that."
    In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the
    lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them -- one needle carried
    white thread and the other black. He said:
    "She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes she
    sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to geeminy
    [Oh my goodness] she'd stick to one or t'other [the other] -- I can't keep
    the run of 'em [them]. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn [teach]
    He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well
    though -- and loathed him.
    Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not
    because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a man's
    are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and
    drove them out of his mind for the time -- just as men's misfortunes are
    forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued
    novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and he was
    suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar bird-like
    turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue to the roof
    of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music -- the reader
    probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and
    attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with
    his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as
    an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet -- no doubt, as far
    as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with
    the boy, not the astronomer.
    The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom checked
    his whistle. A stranger was before him -- a boy a shade larger than himself.
    A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the
    poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed,
    too -- well dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His cap was
    a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty,
    and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on -- and it was only Friday. He
    even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about
    him that ate into Tom's vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel,
    the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier
    his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the
    other moved -- but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and
    eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:
    "I can lick you!"
    "I'd like to see you try it."
    "Well, I can do it."
    "No you can't, either."
    "Yes I can."
    "No you can't."
    "I can."
    "You can't."
    An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:
    "What's your name?"
    "'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."
    "Well I 'low [allow] I'll MAKE it my business."
    "Well why don't you?"
    "If you say much, I will."
    "Much -- much -- MUCH. There now."
    "Oh, you think you're mighty smart, DON'T you? I could lick you with one
    hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."
    "Well why don't you DO it? You SAY you can do it."
    "Well I WILL, if you fool with me."
    "Oh yes -- I've seen whole families in the same fix."
    "Smarty! You think you're SOME, now, DON'T you? Oh, what a hat!"
    "You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it off
    -- and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs."
    "You're a liar!"
    "You're another."
    "You're a fighting liar and dasn't [dare not] take it up."
    "Aw -- take a walk!"
    "Say -- if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock
    off'n [on] your head."
    "Oh, of COURSE you will."
    "Well I WILL."
    "Well why don't you DO it then? What do you keep SAYING you will for? Why
    don't you DO it? It's because you're afraid."
    "I AIN'T afraid."
    "You are."
    "I ain't."
    "You are."
    Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently they
    were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
    "Get away from here!"
    "Go away yourself!"
    "I won't."
    "I won't either."
    So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both
    shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But
    neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and
    flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:
    "You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can
    thrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too."
    "What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's bigger than
    he is -- and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too." (Both
    brothers were imaginary.)
    "That's a lie."
    "YOUR saying so don't make it so."
    Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:
    "I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand up.
    Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep 指剽竊."
    The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
    "Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it."
    "Don't you crowd me now; you better look out."
    "Well, you SAID you'd do it -- why don't you do it?"
    "By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it."
    The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with
    derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling
    and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space
    of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched
    and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory.
    Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared,
    seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists. "Holler 'nuff!"
    said he.
    The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying -- mainly from rage.
    "Holler 'nuff!" -- and the pounding went on.
    At last the stranger got out a smothered "'Nuff!" and Tom let him up and
    "Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next time."
    The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling,
    and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what
    he would do to Tom the "next time he caught him out." To which Tom responded
    with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon as his back was
    turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him between the
    shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor
    home, and thus found out where he lived. He then held a position at the
    gate for some time, daring the enemy to come outside, but the enemy only
    made faces at him through the window and declined. At last the enemy's mother
    appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away.
    So he went away; but he said he "'lowed" to "lay" for that boy.
    He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in at
    the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and when
    she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his Saturday
    holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its firmness.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Samuel Langhorne Clemens (November 30, 1835-- April 21, 1910),
    better known by his pen name Mark Twain, was an American author and humorist.
    He is most noted for his novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876), and
    its sequel, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885), the latter often called
    "the Great American Novel."
    Twain grew up in Hannibal, Missouri, which would later provide the setting
    for Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. He apprenticed with a printer. He also
    worked as a typesetter and contributed articles to his older brother Orion's
    newspaper. After toiling as a printer in various cities, he became a master
    riverboat pilot on the Mississippi River, before heading west to join Orion.
    He was a failure at gold mining, so he next turned to journalism. While a
    reporter, he wrote a humorous story, "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras
    County", which became very popular and brought nationwide attention.
    3) 筆名由來﹕If you don't already know why Samuel Clemens is known as Mark
    Twain, it has to do with his love of the Mississippi River, and his time
    as a pilot of the beautiful and functional steamboats of the time. Mark
    twain was an old term used on the river. It meant two fathoms or twelve
    feet, which indicated safe water that the steamboat could make safe passage
    on the river at that point. Sam Clemens would have been very familiar with
    the term, as he was a riverboat pilot. 據說這是密西西比河上水手的用語﹐表
    示這裡水深標誌MARK是TWAIN﹐即two fathoms﹐水深測量單位。
    4) 情節簡介﹕The story takes place in the small village of St. Petersburg,
    Missouri, which is located on the banks of the Mississippi River. The time
    period is the mid-1800's and is therefore a possible reflection of Mark
    Twain's opinion on the politics and racial prejudice of the time. Tom Sawyer
    and his brother, Sid, are orphans and live with their Aunt Polly. Tom is
    very mischievous and at the beginning of the novel he is hiding from Aunt
    Polly in the pantry, where he steals some jam. When she catches him he runs
    away and plays hookey from school by going swimming.
    Tom's punishment is to whitewash the entire fence. Although he doesn't want
    to do this chore, he sets to it and when his friends come along he convinces
    them that it is so much fun that they eagerly pay him to let them do some
    of the work. When Aunt Polly lets him go, Tom and his friend Joe go off
    playing the games that they think up through their imaginations. On the way
    home, Tom sees a new girl, Becky Thatcher, and instantly falls in love. 網
    5) 馬克‧吐溫也是美國著名作家﹐其“湯姆‧沙亞歷險記”也屬世界名著。還拍成

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-05-05 21:09:32


    The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe 魯賓孫漂流記
    By Daniel Defoe

    I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though
    not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled
    first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his
    trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my mother, whose
    relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that country, and from
    whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the usual corruption of words
    in England, we are now called -- nay, we call ourselves and write our name
    -- Crusoe; and so my companions always called me.
    I had two elder brothers, one of whom was lieutenant-colonel to an English
    regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous Colonel Lockhart,
    and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the Spaniards. What
    became of my second brother I never knew, any more than my father or mother
    knew what became of me.
    Being the third son of the family and not bred to any trade, my head began
    to be filled very early with rambling thoughts. My father, who was very
    ancient, had given me a competent share of learning, as far as house-education
    and a country free school generally go, and designed me for the law; but
    I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea; and my inclination to
    this led me so strongly against the will, nay, the commands of my father,
    and against all the entreaties and persuasions of my mother and other friends,
    that there seemed to be something fatal in that propensity of nature, tending
    directly to the life of misery which was to befall me.
    My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel against
    what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his chamber,
    where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly with me
    upon this subject. He asked me what reasons, more than a mere wandering
    inclination, I had for leaving father's house and my native country, where
    I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising my fortune by application
    and industry, with a life of ease and pleasure. He told me it was men of
    desperate fortunes on one hand, or of aspiring superior fortunes on the
    other, who went abroad upon adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make
    themselves famous in undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that
    these things were all either too far above me or too far below me; that
    mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper station of low
    life, which he had found, by long experience, was the best state in the
    world, the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and
    hardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind, and
    not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper
    part of mankind. He told me I might judge of the happiness of this state
    by this one thing -- viz. that this was the state of life which all other
    people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the miserable consequence
    of being born to great things, and wished they had been placed in the middle
    of the two extremes, between the mean and the great; that the wise man gave
    his testimony to this, as the standard of felicity, when he prayed to have
    neither poverty nor riches.
    He bade me observe it, and I should always find that the calamities of life
    were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind, but that the middle
    station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to so many vicissitudes
    as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, they were not subjected to
    so many distempers and uneasinesses, either of body or mind, as those were
    who, by vicious living, luxury, and extravagances on the one hand, or by
    hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or insufficient diet on the other
    hand, bring distemper upon themselves by the natural consequences of their
    way of living; that the middle station of life was calculated for all kind
    of virtue and all kind of enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids
    of a middle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health, society,
    all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were the blessings
    attending the middle station of life; that this way men went silently and
    smoothly through the world, and comfortably out of it, not embarrassed with
    the labours of the hands or of the head, not sold to a life of slavery for
    daily bread, nor harassed with perplexed circumstances, which rob the soul
    of peace and the body of rest, nor enraged with the passion of envy, or
    the secret burning lust of ambition for great things; but, in easy circumstances,
    sliding gently through the world, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living,
    without the bitter; feeling that they are happy, and learning by every
    day's experience to know it more sensibly.
    After this he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate manner,
    not to play the young man, nor to precipitate myself into miseries which
    nature, and the station of life I was born in, seemed to have provided against;
    that I was under no necessity of seeking my bread; that he would do well
    for me, and endeavour to enter me fairly into the station of life which he
    had just been recommending to me; and that if I was not very easy and happy
    in the world, it must be my mere fate or fault that must hinder it; and
    that he should have nothing to answer for, having thus discharged his duty
    in warning me against measures which he knew would be to my hurt; in a word,
    that as he would do very kind things for me if I would stay and settle at
    home as he directed, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes
    as to give me any encouragement to go away; and to close all, he told me
    I had my elder brother for an example, to whom he had used the same earnest
    persuasions to keep him from going into the Low Country wars, but could
    not prevail, his young desires prompting him to run into the army, where
    he was killed; and though he said he would not cease to pray for me, yet
    he would venture to say to me, that if I did take this foolish step, God
    would not bless me, and I should have leisure hereafter to reflect upon
    having neglected his counsel when there might be none to assist in my recovery.

    I observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly prophetic,
    though I suppose my father did not know it to be so himself -- I say, I
    observed the tears run down his face very plentifully, especially when he
    spoke of my brother who was killed: and that when he spoke of my having
    leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was so moved that he broke off
    the discourse, and told me his heart was so full he could say no more to
    I was sincerely affected with this discourse, and, indeed, who could be
    otherwise? and I resolved not to think of going abroad any more, but to
    settle at home according to my father's desire. But alas! a few days wore
    it all off; and, in short, to prevent any of my father's further importunities,
    in a few weeks after I resolved to run quite away from him. However, I
    did not act quite so hastily as the first heat of my resolution prompted;
    but I took my mother at a time when I thought her a little more pleasant
    than ordinary, and told her that my thoughts were so entirely bent upon
    seeing the world that I should never settle to anything with resolution enough
    to go through with it, and my father had better give me his consent than
    force me to go without it; that I was now eighteen years old, which was
    too late to go apprentice to a trade or clerk to an attorney; that I was
    sure if I did I should never serve out my time, but I should certainly run
    away from my master before my time was out, and go to sea; and if she would
    speak to my father to let me go one voyage abroad, if I came home again,
    and did not like it, I would go no more; and I would promise, by a double
    diligence, to recover the time that I had lost.
    This put my mother into a great passion; she told me she knew it would be
    to no purpose to speak to my father upon any such subject; that he knew
    too well what was my interest to give his consent to anything so much for
    my hurt; and that she wondered how I could think of any such thing after
    the discourse I had had with my father, and such kind and tender expressions
    as she knew my father had used to me; and that, in short, if I would ruin
    myself, there was no help for me; but I might depend I should never have
    their consent to it; that for her part she would not have so much hand in
    my destruction; and I should never have it to say that my mother was willing
    when my father was not.
    Though my mother refused to move it to my father, yet I heard afterwards
    that she reported all the discourse to him, and that my father, after showing
    a great concern at it, said to her, with a sigh, "That boy might be happy
    if he would stay at home; but if he goes abroad, he will be the most miserable
    wretch that ever was born: I can give no consent to it."
    It was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose, though, in
    the meantime, I continued obstinately deaf to all proposals of settling
    to business, and frequently expostulated with my father and mother about
    their being so positively determined against what they knew my inclinations
    prompted me to. But being one day at Hull, where I went casually, and without
    any purpose of making an elopement at that time; but, I say, being there,
    and one of my companions being about to sail to London in his father's ship,
    and prompting me to go with them with the common allurement of seafaring
    men, that it should cost me nothing for my passage, I consulted neither
    father nor mother any more, nor so much as sent them word of it; but leaving
    them to hear of it as they might, without asking God's blessing or my father's,
    without any consideration of circumstances or consequences, and in an ill
    hour, God knows, on the 1st of September 1651, I went on board a ship bound
    for London. Never any young adventurer's misfortunes, I believe, began
    sooner, or continued longer than mine. The ship was no sooner out of the
    Humber than the wind began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful
    manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly
    sick in body and terrified in mind. I began now seriously to reflect upon
    what I had done, and how justly I was overtaken by the judgment of Heaven
    for my wicked leaving my father's house, and abandoning my duty. All the
    good counsels of my parents, my father's tears and my mother's entreaties,
    came now fresh into my mind; and my conscience, which was not yet come to
    the pitch of hardness to which it has since, reproached me with the contempt
    of advice, and the breach of my duty to God and my father.
    All this while the storm increased, and the sea went very high, though nothing
    like what I have seen many times since; no, nor what I saw a few days after;
    but it was enough to affect me then, who was but a young sailor, and had
    never known anything of the matter. I expected every wave would have swallowed
    us up, and that every time the ship fell down, as I thought it did, in the
    trough or hollow of the sea, we should never rise more; in this agony of
    mind, I made many vows and resolutions that if it would please God to spare
    my life in this one voyage, if ever I got once my foot upon dry land again,
    I would go directly home to my father, and never set it into a ship again
    while I lived; that I would take his advice, and never run myself into such
    miseries as these any more. Now I saw plainly the goodness of his observations
    about the middle station of life, how easy, how comfortably he had lived
    all his days, and never had been exposed to tempests at sea or troubles
    on shore; and I resolved that I would, like a true repenting prodigal, go
    home to my father.
    These wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the storm lasted,
    and indeed some time after; but the next day the wind was abated, and the
    sea calmer, and I began to be a little inured to it; however, I was very
    grave for all that day, being also a little sea-sick still; but towards
    night the weather cleared up, the wind was quite over, and a charming fine
    evening followed; the sun went down perfectly clear, and rose so the next
    morning; and having little or no wind, and a smooth sea, the sun shining
    upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the most delightful that ever I saw.
    I had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick, but very cheerful,
    looking with wonder upon the sea that was so rough and terrible the day
    before, and could be so calm and so pleasant in so little a time after.
    And now, lest my good resolutions should continue, my companion, who had
    enticed me away, comes to me; "Well, Bob," says he, clapping me upon the
    shoulder, "how do you do after it? I warrant you were frighted, wer'n't
    you, last night, when it blew but a capful of wind?" "A capful d'you call
    it?" said I; " 'twas a terrible storm." "A storm, you fool you," replies
    he; "do you call that a storm? why, it was nothing at all; give us but a
    good ship and sea-room, and we think nothing of such a squall of wind as
    that; but you're but a fresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl
    of punch, and we'll forget all that; d'ye see what charming weather 'tis
    now?" To make short this sad part of my story, we went the way of all sailors;
    the punch was made and I was made half drunk with it: and in that one night's
    wickedness I drowned all my repentance, all my reflections upon my past
    conduct, all my resolutions for the future. In a word, as the sea was returned
    to its smoothness of surface and settled calmness by the abatement of that
    storm, so the hurry of my thoughts being over, my fears and apprehensions
    of being swallowed up by the sea being forgotten, and the current of my
    former desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows and promises that I made
    in my distress. I found, indeed, some intervals of reflection; and the
    serious thoughts did, as it were, endeavour to return again sometimes; but
    I shook them off, and roused myself from them as it were from a distemper,
    and applying myself to drinking and company, soon mastered the return of
    those fits -- for so I called them; and I had in five or six days got as
    complete a victory over conscience as any young fellow that resolved not
    to be troubled with it could desire. But I was to have another trial for
    it still; and Providence, as in such cases generally it does, resolved to
    leave me entirely without excuse; for if I would not take this for a deliverance,
    the next was to be such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch among
    us would confess both the danger and the mercy of.
    The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads; the wind
    having been contrary and the weather calm, we had made but little way since
    the storm. Here we were obliged to come to an anchor, and here we lay,
    the wind continuing contrary -- viz. at south-west -- for seven or eight
    days, during which time a great many ships from Newcastle came into the
    same Roads, as the common harbour where the ships might wait for a wind for
    the river.
    We had not, however, rid here so long but we should have tided it up the
    river, but that the wind blew too fresh, and after we had lain four or five
    days, blew very hard. However, the Roads being reckoned as good as a harbour,
    the anchorage good, and our ground-tackle very strong, our men were unconcerned,
    and not in the least apprehensive of danger, but spent the time in rest
    and mirth, after the manner of the sea; but the eighth day, in the morning,
    the wind increased, and we had all hands at work to strike our topmasts,
    and make everything snug and close, that the ship might ride as easy as
    possible. By noon the sea went very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle
    in, shipped several seas, and we thought once or twice our anchor had come
    home; upon which our master ordered out the sheet-anchor, so that we rode
    with two anchors ahead, and the cables veered out to the bitter end.
    By this time it blew a terrible storm indeed; and now I began to see terror
    and amazement in the faces even of the seamen themselves. The master, though
    vigilant in the business of preserving the ship, yet as he went in and out
    of his cabin by me, I could hear him softly to himself say, several times,
    "Lord be merciful to us! we shall be all lost! we shall be all undone!" and
    the like. During these first hurries I was stupid, lying still in my cabin,
    which was in the steerage, and cannot describe my temper: I could ill resume
    the first penitence which I had so apparently trampled upon and hardened
    myself against: I thought the bitterness of death had been past, and that
    this would be nothing like the first; but when the master himself came by
    me, as I said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully
    frighted. I got up out of my cabin and looked out; but such a dismal sight
    I never saw: the sea ran mountains high, and broke upon us every three or
    four minutes; when I could look about, I could see nothing but distress
    round us; two ships that rode near us, we found, had cut their masts by the
    board, being deep laden; and our men cried out that a ship which rode about
    a mile ahead of us was foundered. Two more ships, being driven from their
    anchors, were run out of the Roads to sea, at all adventures, and that with
    not a mast standing. The light ships fared the best, as not so much labouring
    in the sea; but two or three of them drove, and came close by us, running
    away with only their spritsail out before the wind.
    Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship to
    let them cut away the fore-mast, which he was very unwilling to do; but
    the boatswain protesting to him that if he did not the ship would founder,
    he consented; and when they had cut away the fore-mast, the main-mast stood
    so loose, and shook the ship so much, they were obliged to cut that away
    also, and make a clear deck.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Daniel Defoe (ca. 1659--1661 to 24 April 1731), born Daniel
    Foe, was an English trader, writer, journalist, and pamphleteer, who gained
    fame for his novel Robinson Crusoe. Defoe is notable for being one of the
    earliest proponents of the novel, as he helped to popularise the form in
    Britain and along with others such as Richardson, is among the founders of
    the English novel. A prolific and versatile writer, he wrote more than 500
    books, pamphlets and journals on various topics (including politics, crime,
    religion, marriage, psychology and the supernatural). He was also a pioneer
    of economic journalism.
    3) 本書簡介﹕Robinson Crusoe is a novel by Daniel Defoe that was first published
    in 1719. Epistolary, confessional, and didactic in form, the book is a fictional
    autobiography of the title character--a castaway who spends 28 years on
    a remote tropical island near Trinidad, encountering cannibals, captives,
    and mutineers before being rescued.
    4) 魯賓孫漂流記也是本世界名著。我小時候就聽說過的。應該可作英文專業人士的

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-05-12 21:14:22


    Evening -- an Ode to Stella
    by Samuel Johnson

    Evening now from purple wings
    Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
    Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
    Cooling breezes shake the reed;
    Shake the reed, and curl the stream
    Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
    Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
    Hears, and keeps thy secrets, love!
    Stella, thither let us stray,
    Lightly o'er the dewy way.
    Phoebus drives his burning car, 太陽神駕著燃燒的戰車
    Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
    In his stead, the queen of night
    Round us pours a lambent light:
    Light that seems but just to show
    Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;
    Let us now, in whisper'd joy,
    Evening's silent hours employ,
    Silent best, and conscious shades,
    Please the hearts that love invades,
    Other pleasures give them pain,
    Lovers all but love disdain.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Samuel Johnson (18 September 1709 -- 13 December 1784), often
    referred to as Dr Johnson, was an English author who made lasting contributions
    to English literature as a poet, essayist, moralist, literary critic, biographer,
    editor and lexicographer. Johnson was a devout Anglican and committed Tory,
    and has been described as "arguably the most distinguished man of letters
    in English history".
    3) 薩繆‧約翰遜是英國的著名詩人﹑作家。中國讀者可能對他不熟悉。這裡介紹他

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-05-16 21:10:32






  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-05-19 22:23:43


    The Lady of the Camellias《茶花女》
    by Alexandre Dumas Jr.

    Chapter 1
     IT is my considered view that no one can invent fictional characters without
    first having made a lengthy study of people, just as it is impossible for
    anyone to speak a language that has not been properly mastered.
      Since I am not yet of an age to invent, I must 'make do with' [這種用
    法都是應該學的] telling a tale.
      I therefore invite the reader to believe that this story is true. All
    the characters who appear in it, with the exception of the heroine, are
    still living. [這句是說那個女主角已經死了﹐不是說女主角沒有其人]
      I would further add that there are reliable witnesses in Paris for most
    of the particulars which I bring together here, and they could vouch for
    their accuracy should my word not be enough. [should是倒裝句﹐等于 if --
    should----] By a singular turn of events, I alone was able to write them
    down since I alone was privy to the very last details without which it would
    have been quite impossible to piece together a full and satisfying account.
      It was in this way that these particulars came to my knowledge.
      On the 12th day of March, 1847, in the rue Laffitte 路名, I happened
    upon 碰巧看到 a large yellow notice announcing a sale of furniture and valuable
    curios. An estate was to be disposed of, the owner having died. The notice
    did not name the dead person, but the sale was to be held at 9 rue d'Antin
    on the 16th, between noon and five o'clock.
      The notice also stated that the apartments and contents could be viewed
    on the 13th and 14th.
      I have always been interested in curios. I promised myself I would not
    miss this opportunity, if not of actually buying, then at least of looking.
      The following day, I directed my steps towards 9 rue d'Antin.
      It was early, and yet a good crowd of visitors had already gathered
    in the apartment, men for the most part, but also a number of ladies who,
    though dressed in velvet and wearing Indian shawls, and all with their own
    elegant broughams standing at the door, were examining the riches set out
    before them with astonished, even admiring eyes.
      After a while, I quite saw the reason for their admiration and astonishment,
    for having begun myself to look around I had no difficulty in recognizing
    that I was in the apartment of a kept woman. Now if there is one thing that
    ladies of fashion desire to see above all else, and there were society ladies
    present, it is the rooms occupied by those women who have carriages which
    spatter their own with mud every day of the week, who have their boxes 包
    廂 at the Opera or the Theatre-Italien just as they do, and indeed next
    to theirs, and who display for all Paris to see the insolent opulence of
    their beauty, diamonds and shameless conduct.
      The woman in whose apartments I now found myself was dead: the most
    virtuous of ladies were thus able to go everywhere, even into the bedroom.
    Death had purified the air of this glittering den of iniquity, and in any
    case they could always say, if they needed the excuse, that they had done
    no more than come to a sale without knowing whose rooms these were. I had
    read the notices, they had wanted to view what the notices advertised and
    mark out their selections in advance. It could not have been simpler, though
    this did not prevent them from looking through these splendid things for
    traces of the secret life of a courtesan of which they had doubtless been
    given very strange accounts.
      Unfortunately, the mysteries had died with the goddess, and in spite
    of their best endeavours these good ladies found only what had been put
    up for sale since the time of death, and could detect nothing of what had
    been sold while the occupant had been alive.
      But there was certainly rich booty to be had. The furniture was superb.
    Rosewood and Buhl-work pieces, Severs vases and blue china porcelain, Dresden
    figurines, satins, velvet and lace, everything in fact.
      I wandered from room to room in the wake of these inquisitive aristocratic
    ladies who had arrived before me. They went into a bedroom hung with Persian
    fabrics and I was about to go in after them, when they came out again almost
    immediately, smiling and as it were, put to shame by this latest revelation.
    The effect was to make me even keener to see inside. It was the dressing-room,
    complete down to the very last details, in which the dead woman's profligacy
    had seemingly reached its height.
      On a large table standing against one wall, it measured a good six feet
    by three, shone the finest treasures of Aucoc and Odiot. It was a magnificent
    collection, and among the countless objects each so essential to the appearance
    of the kind of woman in whose home we had gathered, there was not one that
    was not made of gold or silver. But it was a collection that could only
    have been assembled piece by piece, and clearly more than one love had gone
    into its making.
      I, who was not the least put out by the sight of the dressing-room of
    a kept woman, spent some time agreeably inspecting its contents, neglecting
    none of them, and I noticed that all these magnificently wrought implements
    bore different initials and all manner of coronets.
      As I contemplated all these things, each to my mind standing for a separate
    prostitution of the poor girl, I reflected that God had been merciful to
    her since He had not suffered her to live long enough to undergo the usual
    punishment but had allowed her to die at the height of her wealth and beauty,
    long before the coming of old age, that first death of courtesans.
      Indeed, what sadder sight is there than vice in old age, especially
    in a woman? It has no dignity and is singularly unattractive. Those everlasting
    regrets, not for wrong turnings taken but for wrong calculations made and
    money foolishly spent, are among the most harrowing things that can be heard.
    I once knew a former woman of easy virtue of whose past life there remained
    only a daughter who was almost as beautiful as the mother had once been,
    or so her contemporaries said. This poor child, to whom her mother never
    said 'You are my daughter' except to order her to keep her now that she
    was old just as she had been kept when she was young, this wretched creature
    was called Louise and in obedience to her mother, she sold herself without
    inclination or passion or pleasure, rather as she might have followed an
    honest trade had it ever entered anyone's head to teach her one. [had倒裝
    句﹐等于 if -- had --]
      The continual spectacle of debauchery, at so tender an age, compounded
    by her continuing ill-health, had extinguished in the girl the knowledge
    of good and evil which God had perhaps given her, but which no one had ever
    thought to nurture.
      I shall always remember that young girl who walked along the boulevards
    almost every day at the same hour. Her mother was always with her, escorting
    her as assiduously as a true mother might have accompanied her daughter.
    I was very young in those days and ready enough to fall in with the easy
    morality of the times. Yet I recall that the sight of such scandalous chaperoning
    filled me with contempt and disgust.
      Add to all this that no virgin's face ever conveyed such a feeling of
    innocence nor any comparable expression of sadness and suffering.
      You would have said it was the image of Resignation itself.
      And then one day, the young girl's face lit up. In the midst of the
    debauches which her mother organized for her, it suddenly seemed to this
    sinful creature that God had granted her one happiness. And after all why
    should God, who had made her weak and helpless, abandon her without consolation
    to struggle on beneath the oppressive burden of her life? One day, then,
    she perceived that she was with child, and that part of her which remained
    pure trembled with joy. The soul finds refuge in the strangest sanctuaries.
    Louise ran to her mother to tell her the news that had filled her with such
    happiness. It is a shameful thing to have to say, but we do not write gratuitously
    of immorality here, we relate a true incident and one perhaps which we would
    be better advised to leave untold if we did not believe that it is essential
    from time to time to make public the martyrdom of these creatures who are
    ordinarily condemned without a hearing and despised without trial, it is,
    we say, a matter for shame, but the mother answered her daughter saying
    that as things stood they scarcely had enough for two, and that they would
    certainly not have enough for three; that such children serve no useful
    purpose; and that a pregnancy is so much time wasted.
      The very next day, a midwife (of whom we shall say no more than that
    she was a friend of the mother) called to see Louise, who remained for a
    few days in her bed from which she rose paler and weaker than before.
      Three months later, some man took pity on her and undertook her moral
    and physical salvation. But this latest blow had been too great and Louise
    died of the after effects of the miscarriage she had suffered.
      The mother still lives. How? God alone knows.
      This story had come back to me as I stood examining the sets of silver
    toilet accessories, and I must have been lost in thought for quite some
    time. For by now the apartment was empty save for myself and a porter who,
    from the doorway, was eyeing me carefully lest I should try to steal anything.

      I went up to this good man in whom I inspired such grave anxieties.
      "Excuse me," I said, "I wonder if you could tell me the name of the
    person who lived here."
      "Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier."
      I knew this young woman by name and by sight.
      "What!" I said to the porter. "Marguerite Gautier is dead."
      "Yes, sir."
      "When did it happen?"
      "Three weeks ago, I think."
      "But why are people being allowed to view her apartment?"
      "The creditors thought it would be good for trade. People can get the
    effect of the hangings and the furniture in advance. Encourages people to
    buy, you understand."
      "So she had debts, then?"
      "Oh yes, sir! Lots of'em."
      "But I imagine the sale will cover them."
      "Over and above."
      "And who stands to get the balance?"
      "The family."
      "She had a family?"
      "Seems she did."
      "Thank you very much."
      The porter, now reassured as to my intentions, touched his cap and I
      "Poor girl," I said to myself as I returned home, "she must have died
    a sad death, for in her world, people only keep their friends as long as
    they stay fit and well." And in spite of myself, I lamented the fate of
    Marguerite Gautier.
      All this will perhaps seem absurd to many people, but I have a boundless
    forbearance towards courtesans which I shall not even trouble to enlarge
    upon here.
      One day, as I was on my way to collect a passport from the prefecture,
    I saw down one of the adjacent streets, a young woman being taken away by
    two policemen. Now I have no idea what she had done. All I can say is that
    she was weeping bitterly and clasping to her a child only a few months old
    from which she was about to be separated by her arrest. From that day until
    this, I have been incapable of spurning any woman on sight.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Alexandre Dumas, fils (= Jr. in English) (27 July 1824 -- 27
    November 1895) was a French author and dramatist. He was the son of Alexandre
    Dumas, pere (=Sr.) also a writer and playwright. Dumas was born in Paris,
    France, the illegitimate child of Marie-Laure-Catherine Labay (1794-1868),
    a dressmaker, and novelist Alexandre Dumas. During 1831 his father legally
    recognized him and ensured that the young Dumas received the best education
    possible at the Institution Goubaux and the College Bourbon.
    During 1844 Dumas moved to Saint-Germain-en-Laye to live with his father.
    There, he met Marie Duplessis, a young courtesan who would be the inspiration
    for his romantic novel The Lady of the Camellias, wherein Duplessis was
    named Marguerite Gauthier. Adapted into a play, it was titled Camile in
    English and became the basis for Verdi's 1853 opera, La Traviata, Duplessis
    undergoing yet another name change, this time to Violetta Valery.
    3) 關於小說﹕The Lady of the Camellias is a novel by Alexandre Dumas Jr.
    first published in 1848, and subsequently adapted for the stage. The Lady
    of the Camellias premiered at the Theatre du Vaudeville in Paris, France
    on February 2, 1852. The play was an instant success, and Giuseppe Verdi
    immediately set about putting the story to music. His work became the 1853
    opera La Traviata, with the female protagonist, Marguerite Gautier, renamed
    Violetta Valery.
    4) 法國作家小仲馬的“茶花女”也是世界名著。原著當然是法文的﹐但英文譯本也

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-05-26 21:14:19


    The Little Mermaid 小美人魚
    by Hans Christian Andersen

    Once upon a time, far out to sea, where the water was as blue as
    the petals of the loveliest cornflower, lived the Mer - king. Since the
    Mer - king's wife was dead, his old mother kept house for him and his six
    daughters. His youngest daughter was very quiet and thoughtful. And nothing
    pleased her more than hearing her grandmother tell stories about the far-off
    world of humans, about ships and towns and people.
    "As soon as you are fifteen," her grandmother said, "you may rise
    to the surface of the sea and sit on the rocks and watch the ships sail
    One by one the sisters turned fifteen, until at last it was the
    little mermaid's turn. Her grandmother put a wreath of white lilies and
    pearls on her head. The mermaid said good-bye, and she floated up through
    the water as lightly as a bubble.
    When she came to the surface of the sea, the little mermaid saw
    the evening star shining in the pink sky. A three - masted ship was anchored
    in the water. There was singing and dancing on board; and as the night
    grew darker, hundreds of lanterns lit the deck.
    The little mermaid swam about the ship, peeking in all the portholes.
    Every time she rose with the waves, she saw a crowd of people dancing.
    They were elegant and well-dressed. But the most striking of all was a
    young prince. He could not have been more than sixteen. How handsome he
    was-shaking hands with all the guests, laughing and smiling while beautiful
    music filled the night.
    But as the little mermaid watched the prince, a sudden storm swept
    over the sea. The waves rose like mountains. The ship creaked and cracked.
    Water came rushing into the hold. Just as the ship broke in two, the prince
    fell into the deepest part of the sea.
    The little mermaid swam through the dangerous waves until she reached
    the prince. She held his head above the water to keep him from drowning.
    At dawn, she carried him into a bay and laid him on the sand. Then she
    sang to him in her lovely voice. When she heard people coming, she hid
    behind some rocks.
    A young girl appeared. She woke up the prince, and he smiled gratefully
    at her. He did not turn and smile at the little mermaid, though, for he
    had no idea that she was the one who had saved him and sung to him. Soon
    others came to help the prince, and he was carried away from the shore.

    Thereafter, many evenings and many mornings, the little mermaid
    returned to the shore where she had left the prince. She saw the fruit
    ripen on the trees; she saw the snow melt on the high mountains - but she
    never saw the handsome prince.
    At last she told the story to her sisters, and one of them showed
    her the palace where the prince lived. Thereafter, night after night, the
    little mermaid rose to the surface of the water and watched the gleaming
    palace. She even pulled herself up the marble steps, so she could gaze at
    the prince, standing on his balcony in the moonlight.
    The more she visited the palace, the closer the little mermaid felt
    to humans, and she longed to be one of them.
    "Do humans live forever?" she asked her grandmother.
    "No," said the old lady. "Their lives are much shorter than ours.
    We live for three hundred years, but when our lives come to an end, we
    turn to foam upon the water. But a human has a soul which lives on after
    the body dies. It flies up through the sky to the stars."
    "Oh," breathed the little mermaid, "how can I get a human soul?"

    "Well, if a human being loved you dearly and married you, you could
    get one," the grandmother said. "But that will never happen. The very
    thing that is so beautiful in the sea - your mermaid tail - is ugly and
    disgusting to humans."
    The little mermaid looked sadly at her tail.
    As time passed, the little mermaid could not forget her prince.
    One day she was filled with such longing that she made a terrible decision.
    "I will call on the sea witch, " she said. She had always been afraid
    of the terrible witch, but now it didn't seem to matter.
    The sea witch's house lay deep in the eerie sea forest. Her trees
    and bushes had long slimy arms that writhed like worms. Her yard was filled
    with fat water snakes slithering about. The witch's house itself had been
    built from the bones of shipwrecked humans.
    "I know what you want," the sea witch said to the mermaid before
    she had a chance to speak. "You want to get rid of your fish's tail and
    have two walking stumps like humans have. You hope the prince will fall
    in love with you, and you'll be able to marry him and get a human soul."
    She let out a hideous laugh that sent her snakes sprawling to the floor
    of the sea.
    "Well, I shall make a special potion for you," the witch went on.
    Before the sun rises, you must carry it to the shore and drink it. Then
    your tail will divide into two parts. When those parts shrink into what
    humans call 'legs,' the pain will be almost more than you can bear. Though
    you will glide along more gracefully than any dancer, every step you take
    will be like treading on sharp knives. Are you willing to suffer this to
    be a human?"
    "Yes, said the little mermaid.
    "Remember, once you've taken a human shape, you can never be a mermaid
    again. Never be with your sisters or your father. If you fail to become
    the prince's wife, you won't be a human either! If he marries someone else,
    you will turn into foam the morning after his wedding. Are you willing
    to drink the potion and risk your life?"
    "Yes, " whispered the mermaid.
    "And one more thing," said the witch. "You have the loveliest voice
    in the sea. I want it for my payment."
    "But if you take my voice, what will I have?" the mermaid asked.

    "Your beauty, your graceful movements, your speaking eyes. Now
    give me your voice, and I'll give you the potion."
    "Oh dear, no," said the little mermaid. She was horrified at the
    thought of giving up her lovely voice.
    "All right then," said the hideous sea witch, "you will never become
    The little mermaid felt great despair. She didn't think she could
    bear to live if she didn't become human. "I will give up my voice if I
    must, " she said sadly.
    So the witch cut off the mermaid's tongue. Then she gave her a
    vial of magic potion. The drink glowed like a glittering star.
    The little mermaid swam away from the horrible forest. When she
    saw her father's house, she felt as if her heart would break. She threw
    hundreds of kisses towards the palace. Then she rose up through the dark
    blue sea and swam to the prince's palace.
    In the moonlight she made her way up the marble steps and drank
    the burning potion. A sword seemed to thrust itself through her body; and
    she fainted from the pain.
    At dawn the little mermaid woke up. She felt the pain again. When
    she looked down at her fish's tail, she saw that it was gone. In its place
    were two beautiful white legs. She had no clothes on, so she Wound her
    long hair around her body.
    When the little mermaid looked up, she saw the prince standing before
    her. His coal-black eyes stared intensely at her.
    "Who are you? Where have you come from?" he said.
    The mermaid looked at him softly, yet sadly, for she could not speak.
    The prince took her hand, and led her to the palace.
    The little mermaid was the fairest maid in all the kingdom and the
    prince was enchanted by her. They rode together on horseback and climbed
    mountains together. And when they went to parties, the little mermaid danced
    as no one had ever danced, and everyone marvelled at her graceful, flowing
    Sometimes, at night, the little mermaid crept down to the sea, and
    she heard the mournful song of her sisters as they swam over the water.
    In the distance, she saw her grandmother and her father stretching out
    their arms to her.
    Though the prince was very fond of the little mermaid, he often
    seemed distracted, as if he were thinking of someone else. One night, he
    confided in her, "I'm in love with a girl I saw long ago. Once I was shipwrecked,
    and the waves carried me ashore. There a young girl found me and saved
    my life. She sang to me with her golden voice - a voice more beautiful than
    I've ever heard. I've never seen her since that day."
    The mermaid felt great despair. Since she could not speak, she
    could not tell the prince what had really happened, that it was she who
    had saved him and sung to him.
    Soon the mermaid heard a rumor that the prince was to be married
    to the daughter of a neighboring king.
    "I am obliged to make a sea journey to meet this princess," the
    prince told the little mermaid. "My mother and father have insisted. But
    if I cannot find that girl who saved my life on the shore, I would like
    to marry you, my silent orphan with the speaking eyes." And he kissed her.

    The prince and the mermaid journeyed together to the neighboring
    kingdom. In the moonlit night, the little mermaid sat by the ship's rail,
    gazing into the water. She thought she saw her father's palace and her
    grandmother's crown of pearls.
    Soon the ship sailed into the harbor of the neighboring king's city.
    Church bells rang, and trumpets blared. The princess was brought to the
    When the prince looked upon her, he cried out with great joy. "It is
    you!" he said. "You're the one who saved me when I lay almost dead on the
    shore! My wish has come true!"
    Indeed it was the girl who had discovered the prince on the shore.
    But the little mermaid would never be able to tell the prince that she
    herself was the one who had saved him from drowning at sea. She felt as
    if her heart would break.
    The wedding ceremony was held immediately. The mermaid was dressed
    in silk and gold, and she held the bridal train. But she did not hear the
    festive music, nor pay attention to the ceremony. This was her last day
    in the world. The prince's wedding would soon bring her death; tomorrow
    she would turn to foam upon the sea.
    That evening the bride and bridegroom slept in a royal tent on deck.
    The sails filled in the breeze; the vessel flew swiftly over the shining
    The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the rail and looked
    out to sea. Dawn would bring an end to her life. Suddenly she saw her
    sisters rising out of the water. They were as pale as ghosts, and their
    hair was cut off.
    One sister held up a knife. "We gave our hair to the witch in return
    for help," she said. "She gave us this knife. When the sun rises, you
    must plunge it into the prince's heart. When his blood splashes on your
    feet, you will have a tail again. You can join us below in the sea. Hurry!
    Either he dies or you die."
    The little mermaid took the knife and crept into the royal tent.
    She drew back the purple curtain and looked at the prince sleeping with
    his bride. She looked at the knife, then back at the prince.
    The knife quivered in her hand. Suddenly she rushed out of the
    tent and hurled it into the sea. The waves shone red as though they were
    made of blood.
    The little mermaid threw herself into the water. She saw lovely
    transparent creatures floating above her.
    "You are one of us now, " one of the lovely creatures said. "We
    are spirits of the air. We have no souls, but with good deeds we can win
    them. We fly to hot countries and send cool breezes to suffering people.
    We spread the fragrance of flowers. Then after we serve people for three
    hundred years, we are given a human soul."
    The little mermaid felt great joy as she raised her arms towards
    the sun and floated through the water into the air. She saw the prince
    and his bride on the deck of the ship. They seemed to be searching for
    Invisible to all, the little mermaid floated to the ship. She kissed
    the bride and smiled at the prince. Then she rose like a pink cloud high
    into the morning sky.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Hans Christian Andersen (April 2, 1805-- August 4, 1875) was
    a Danish author, fairy tale writer, and poet noted for his children's stories.
    These include "The Steadfast Tin Soldier," "The Snow Queen," "The Little
    Mermaid," "Thumbelina," "The Little Match Girl," and "The Ugly Duckling."
    3) 關於故事﹕A mermaid is a mythological aquatic creature with a female
    human head, arms, and torso and the tail of a fish. Mermaids are represented
    in the folklore, literature and popular culture of many countries worldwide.
    A male version of a mermaid is known as a "merman" and in general both males
    and females are known as "merfolk" or "merpeople". A "merboy" is a young
    "The Little Mermaid" (Danish: Den lille havfrue, literally: the little seawoman)
    is a popular fairy tale by the Danish poet and author Hans Christian Andersen
    about a young mermaid willing to give up her life in the sea and her identity
    as a mermaid to gain a human soul and the love of a human prince. Written
    originally as a ballet, the tale was first published in 1837 and has been
    adapted to various media including musical theatre and animated film.
    4) 安徒生童話中的美人魚故事應該也是家喻戶曉的。不過﹐學英文的人未必都讀過

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-06-02 20:56:34


    The Prince and the Pauper 王子與貧兒
    by Mark Twain

    Chapter I. The birth of the Prince and the Pauper.
    In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter
    of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of
    Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was
    born to a rich family of the name of Tudor 多鐸(王朝), who did want him.
    All England wanted him too. England had so longed for him, and hoped for
    him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really come, the people
    went nearly mad for
    joy. Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed each other and cried. Everybody
    took a holiday, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and
    sang, and got very mellow; and they kept this up for days and nights together.
    By day, London was a sight to see, with gay banners waving from every
    balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along. By night, it
    was again a sight to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its
    troops of revellers making merry around them. There was no talk in all
    England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales威爾士親王[1],
    who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not
    knowing that great lords and ladies were tending him and watching over him--and
    not caring, either. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty,
    lapped in his poor rags, except
    among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence.


    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕見湯幕‧沙亞歷險記。
    3) 本書內容簡介﹕The Prince and the Pauper is an English language novel
    by American author Mark Twain. It was first published in 1881 in Canada
    before its 1882 publication in the United States. The book represents Twain's
    first attempt at historical fiction. Set in 1547, the novel tells the story
    of two young boys who are identical in appearance: Tom Canty, a pauper who
    lives with his abusive father in Offal Court off Pudding Lane in London;
    and Prince Edward, son of King Henry VIII.
    The novel begins with Tom Canty, an impoverished boy living with his abusive
    family in London. One day, Tom Canty and Prince Edward, the son of King
    Henry VIII and Jane Seymour, meet, and as a jest, switch clothes. While
    dressed in the pauper's rags, the Prince leaves the palace to punish the
    guard who knocked Tom down. However, the boys look remarkably alike and
    because they switch clothes, the palace guards throw the prince out into
    the street. The Prince fares poorly in London because he insists on proclaiming
    his identity as the true Prince of Wales. Meanwhile despite Tom's repeated
    denial of his birthright, the court and the King insist that he is the true
    prince gone mad. Edward eventually runs into Tom's family and a gang of
    thieves and Twain illustrates England's unfair and barbaric justice system.
    After the death of Henry VIII, Edward interrupts Tom's coronation and the
    boys explain, switch places, and Edward is crowned King of England.
    4) 註解﹕[1] 威爾士親王﹐英倫島上有英國和愛爾蘭共和國。英國又有三個部份組
    5) 王子與貧兒也是本有名的書。被拍成電影。雖然第一章較短﹐要知道故事發展的

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-06-09 20:57:33


    A STORY OF ROBIN HOOD 俠盜魯賓遜的故事

    IN the rude days of King Richard and King John there were many great woods
    in England. The most famous of these was Sherwood forest, where the king
    often went to hunt deer. In this forest there lived a band of daring men
    called outlaws.
    They had done something that was against the laws of the land, and had been
    forced to hide themselves in the woods to save their lives. There they spent
    their time in roaming about among the trees, in hunting the king's deer,
    and in robbing rich travelers that came that way.
    There were nearly a hundred of these outlaws, and their leader was a bold
    fellow called Robin Hood. They were dressed in suits of green, and armed
    with bows and arrows; and sometimes they carried long wooden lances and
    broad-swords, which they knew how to handle well. Whenever they had taken
    anything, it was brought and laid at the feet of Robin Hood, whom they called
    their king. He then divided it fairly among them, giving to each man his
    just share.
    Robin never allowed his men to harm anybody but the rich men who lived in
    great houses and did no work. He was always kind to the poor, and he often
    sent help to them; and for that reason the common people looked upon him
    as their friend.
    Long after he was dead, men liked to talk about his deeds. Some praised
    him, and some blamed him. He was, indeed, a rude, lawless fellow; but at
    that time, people did not think of right and wrong as they do now.
    A great many songs were made up about Robin Hood, and these songs were sung
    in the cottages and huts all over the land for hundreds of years afterward.

    Here is a little story that is told in one of those songs:
    Robin Hood was standing one day under a green tree by the roadside. While
    he was listening to the birds among the leaves, he saw a young man passing
    by. This young man was dressed in a fine suit of bright red cloth; and,
    as he tripped gayly along the road, he seemed to be as happy as the day.

    "I will not trouble him," said Robin Hood, "for I think he is on his way
    to his wedding."
    The next day Robin stood in the same place. He had not been there long when
    he saw the same young man coming down the road. But he did not seem to be
    so happy this time. He had left his scarlet coat at home, and at every step
    he sighed and groaned.
    "Ah the sad day! the sad day!" he kept saying to himself.
    Then Robin Hood stepped out from under the tree, and said,
    "I say, young man! Have you any money to spare for my merry men and me?"

    "I have nothing at all," said the young man, "but five shillings and a ring."

    "A gold ring?" asked Robin.
    "Yes," said the young man, "it is a gold ring. Here it is."
    "Ah, I see!" said Robin; "it is a wedding ring."
    "I have kept it these seven years," said the young man; "I have kept it
    to give to my bride on our wedding day. We were going to be married yesterday.
    But her father has promised her to a rich old man whom she never saw. And
    now my heart is broken."
    "What is your name?" asked Robin.
    "My name is Allin-a-Dale," said the young man.
    "What will you give me, in gold or fee," said Robin, "if I will help you
    win your bride again in spite of the rich old man to whom she has been promised?"

    "How many miles is it to the place where the maiden lives?" asked Robin.

    "It is not far," said Allin. "But she is to be married this very day, and
    the church is five miles away."
    Then Robin made haste to dress himself as a harper; and in the afternoon
    he stood in the door of the church.
    "Who are you?" said the bishop, "and what are you doing here?"
    "I am a bold harper," said Robin, "the best in the north country."
    "I am glad you have come," said the bishop kindly. "There is no music that
    I like so well as that of the harp. Come in, and play for us."
    "I will go in," said Robin Hood; "but I will not give you any music until
    I see the bride and bride-groom."
    Just then an old man came in. He was dressed in rich clothing, but was bent
    with age, and was feeble and gray. By his side walked a fair young girl.
    Her cheeks were very pale, and her eyes were full of tears.
    "This is no match," said Robin. "Let the bride choose for herself."
    Then he put his horn to his lips, and blew three times. The very next minute,
    four and twenty men, all dressed in green, and carrying long bows in their
    hands, came running across the fields. And as they marched into the church,
    all in a row, the foremost among them was Allin-a-Dale.
    "Now whom do you choose?" said Robin to the maiden.
    "I choose Allin-a-Dale," she said blushing.
    "And Allin-a-Dale you shall have," said Robin; "and he that takes you from
    Allin-a-Dale shall find that he has Robin Hood to deal with."
    And so the fair maiden and Allin-a-Dale were married then and there, and
    the rich old man went home in a great rage.
    "And thus having ended this merry wedding,
    The bride looked like a queen:
    And so they returned to the merry green wood,
    Amongst the leaves so green."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 故事概述﹕Robin Hood is England's most famous outlaw, who robbed from
    the rich to give to the poor. In Robin Hood's long history, his story has
    appeared in many forms, from verse to film. His path to outlawry, friends
    and enemies have been just as diverse.
    Robin Hood was a Saxon noble, living near the castle of Nottingham. By various
    means he was forced into a life of banditry, using his cunning and skill-at-arms
    to relieve bishops, nobles, and servants of the king of gold and jewels
    levied from the oppressed peasants. Robin collected a band of supporters,
    his "Merry Men" around him, dressed in green. The members that never cease
    to appear are Robin himself, Maid Marian, Little John, and Friar Tuck. Along
    with being a middle-ages Communist, Robin spends his time fighting the cruel
    Sheriff of Nottingham, and, ultimately, King John, who had usurped the throne
    from the rightful King, Richard I.
    3) 俠盜魯賓遜是英國古老的傳說故事﹐有許多不同的版本﹐被拍成電影。這些故事

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-06-16 22:53:51


    Ivanhoe 撒克遜劫後英雄傳
    by Sir Walter Scott

    Chapter 1
    In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river
    Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater
    part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and
    the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this extensive wood are still
    to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Warncliffe Park, and around
    Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here were
    fought many of the most desperate battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses;
    [1] and here also flourished in ancient
    times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose deeds have been rendered so
    popular in English song. Such being our chief scene, the date of our story
    refers to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I., when his
    return from his long captivity had become an event rather wished than hoped
    for by his despairing subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every
    species of subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose power had become exorbitant
    during the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the Second had
    reduced to some degree of subjection to the crown, had now resumed their
    ancient license in its utmost extent; despising the feeble interference
    of the English Council of State, fortifying
    their castles, increasing the number of their dependants, reducing all around
    them to a state of vassalage, and striving by every means in their power,
    to place themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable him
    to make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared to be impending.
    The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as they were called,
    who, by the law and spirit of the English constitution, were entitled to
    hold themselves independent of feudal tyranny, became now unusually precarious.
    If, as was most generally the case, they placed themselves under the protection
    of any of the petty kings in their vicinity, accepted of feudal offices
    in his household, or bound themselves by mutual treaties of alliance and
    protection, to support him in his enterprises, they might indeed purchase
    temporary repose; but it must be with the sacrifice of that independence
    which was so dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being
    involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector
    might lead him to undertake. On the other hand, such and so multiplied were
    the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the great Barons, that
    they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue,
    even to the very edge of destruction, any
    of their less powerful neighbours, who attempted to separate themselves
    from their authority, and to trust for their protection, during the dangers
    of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct, and to the laws of the land.
    A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny of the nobility,
    and the sufferings of the inferior classes, arose from the consequences
    of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy. [2] Four generations had not
    sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or
    to unite, by common language and mutual interests, two hostile races, one
    of which still felt the elation of triumph, while the other groaned under
    all the
    consequences of defeat. The power had been completely placed in the hands
    of the Norman nobility, by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had
    been used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole
    race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or disinherited, with
    few or no exceptions; nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the
    country of their fathers, even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior
    classes. The royal policy had long been to weaken, by every means, legal
    or illegal, the strength of a part of the population which was justly considered
    as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to their victor. All the monarchs
    of the Norman race had shown the most marked predilection for their Norman
    subjects; the laws of the chase, and many others equally unknown to the milder
    and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the
    necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it were, to the feudal
    chains with which they were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the
    great nobles, where the pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman-French
    was the only language employed; in courts of law, the pleadings and
    judgments were delivered in the same tongue. In short, French was the language
    of honour, of chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more manly and
    expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who
    knew no other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse between the lords
    of the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was cultivated,
    occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French
    and the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves mutually intelligible
    to each other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the structure of
    our present English language, in which the speech of the victors and the
    vanquished have been so happily blended together; and which has since been
    so richly improved by importations from the classical
    languages, and from those spoken by the southern nations of Europe.
    This state of things I have thought it necessary to premise for the information
    of the general reader, who might be apt to forget, that, although no great
    historical events, such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of the
    Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to the reign of William the
    Second; yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and their
    conquerors, the recollection of what they had formerly been, and to what
    they were now reduced, continued down to the reign of Edward the Third,
    to keep open the wounds which the Conquest had inflicted, and to maintain
    a line of separation betwixt the descendants of the victor Normans and the
    vanquished Saxons.
    The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of that forest,
    which we have mentioned in the beginning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed,
    short-stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately
    march of the Roman soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet
    of the most delicious green sward; in some places they were intermingled
    with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely
    as totally to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun; in others they
    receded from each other, forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacy
    of which the eye delights to
    lose itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to yet wilder
    scenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and
    discoloured light, that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy
    trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the
    portions of turf to which they made their way. A considerable open space,
    in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have been dedicated to the
    rites of Druidical superstition; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular
    as to seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle of rough unhewn
    stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright; the rest had been dislodged
    from their places, probably by the zeal of some convert to Christianity,
    and lay, some prostrate near their former site, and others on the side of
    the hill. One large stone only had found its way to the bottom, and in stopping
    the course of a small brook, which glided smoothly round the foot of the
    eminence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur to the placid
    and elsewhere silent streamlet.
    The human figures which completed this landscape, were in number two, partaking,
    in their dress and appearance, of that wild and rustic character, which
    belonged to the woodlands of the West-Riding of Yorkshire at that early
    period. The eldest of these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His
    garment was of the simplest form imaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves,
    composed of the tanned skin of some animal, on which the hair had been originally
    left, but which had been worn of in so many places, that it would have been
    difficult to distinguish from the patches that remained, to what creature
    the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment reached from the throat to
    the knees, and served at once all the usual purposes of body-clothing; there
    was no wider opening at the collar, than was necessary to admit the passage
    of the head, from which it may be inferred, that it was put on by slipping
    it over the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, or ancient
    hauberk. Sandals, bound with thongs made of boars' hide, protected the feet,
    and a roll of thin leather was twined artificially round the legs, and,
    ascending above the calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish
    Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, it was gathered
    at the middle by a broad leathern belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one
    side of which was attached a sort of scrip, and to the other a ram's horn,
    accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of blowing. In the same belt
    was stuck one of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives,
    with a buck's-horn handle, which were fabricated in the neighbourhood, and
    bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield whittle. The man
    had no covering upon his head, which was only defended by his own thick
    hair, matted and twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the
    sun into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a contrast with the overgrown beard
    upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber hue. One part of his
    dress only remains, but it is too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a
    brass ring, resembling a dog's collar, but without any opening, and soldered
    fast round his neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breathing,
    yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the use of
    the file. On this singular gorget was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription
    of the following purport:---"Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall
    of Cedric of Rotherwood."
    Beside the swine-herd, for such was Gurth's occupation, was seated, upon
    one of the fallen Druidical monuments, a person about ten years younger
    in appearance, and whose dress, though resembling his companion's in form,
    was of better materials, and of a more fantastic appearance. His jacket
    had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon which there had been some
    attempt to paint grotesque ornaments in different colours. To the jacket
    he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached half way down his thigh;
    it was of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow;
    and as he could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleasure
    draw it all around him, its width, contrasted with its want of longitude,
    formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver bracelets upon his
    arms, and on his neck a collar of the same metal bearing the inscription,
    "Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood." 太長。

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Sir Walter Scott, 1st Baronet (15 August 1771 -- 21 September
    1832) was a Scottish historical novelist, playwright, and poet, popular
    throughout much of the world during his time. Scott was the first English-language
    author to have a truly international career in his lifetime, with many contemporary
    readers in Europe, Australia, and North America. His novels and poetry are
    still read, and many of his works remain classics of both English-language
    literature and of Scottish literature. Famous titles include Ivanhoe, Rob
    Roy, The Lady of the Lake, Waverley, The Heart of Midlothian and The Bride
    of Lammermoor.
    3) 本書介紹﹕Ivanhoe is a historical novel by Sir Walter Scott published
    in 1820, and set in 12th-century England. Ivanhoe is sometimes credited
    for increasing interest in Romanticism and Medievalism。
    Ivanhoe is the story of one of the remaining Saxon noble families at a time
    when the English nobility was overwhelmingly Norman. It follows the Saxon
    protagonist, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, who is out of favour with his father for
    his allegiance to the Norman king, Richard I of England. The story is set
    in 1194, after the failure of the Third Crusade, when many of the Crusaders
    were still returning to Europe. King Richard, who had been captured by the
    Duke of Austria on his way back, was believed to still be in the arms of
    his captors. The legendary Robin Hood, initially under the name of Locksley,
    is also a character in the story, as are his "merry men." The character
    that Scott gave to Robin Hood in Ivanhoe helped shape the modern notion of
    this figure as a cheery noble outlaw.
    Other major characters include Ivanhoe's intractable father, Cedric, one
    of the few remaining Saxon lords; various Knights Templar and churchmen;
    the loyal serfs Gurth the swineherd and the jester Wamba, whose observations
    punctuate much of the action; and the Jewish moneylender, Isaac of York,
    who is equally passionate about money and his daughter, Rebecca. The book
    was written and published during a period of increasing struggle for emancipation
    of the Jews in England, and there are frequent references to injustice against
    4) 註解﹕[1] Civil Wars of the Roses玫瑰戰爭﹕a series of dynastic civil
    wars fought between supporters of two rival branches of the royal House
    of Plantagenet: the houses of Lancaster and York (whose heraldic symbols
    were the "red" and the "white" rose, respectively) for the throne of England.
    They were fought in several sporadic episodes between 1455 and 1485, although
    there was related fighting both before and after this period. The final victory
    went to a relatively remote Lancastrian claimant, Henry Tudor, who defeated
    the last Yorkist king Richard III and married Edward IV's daughter Elizabeth
    of York to unite the two houses. The House of Tudor subsequently ruled England
    and Wales for 117 years. [2] Duke William of Normandy﹕William I (circa
    1028 -- 9 September 1087), also known as William the Conqueror or William
    the Bastard, was the first Norman King of England, reigning from 1066 until
    his death in 1087. Descended from Viking raiders, he had been Duke of Normandy
    since 1035 under the name of William II. In the 1050s and early 1060s William
    became a contender for the throne of England with the powerful English earl
    Harold Godwinson. After building a large fleet, William invaded England
    in September 1066 and decisively defeated and killed Harold at the Battle
    of Hastings on 14 October 1066. Normandy 在法國﹐二戰中美軍登陸歐洲之處。

    5) Scott的Ivanhoe是本描寫英國古代歷史的小說名著。“撒克遜劫後英雄傳”是以

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-06-23 21:39:03

    just ask if anyone has questions.


    The Moonstone 月亮鑽石
    by Wilkie Collins

    ----Extracted from a Family Paper

    I address these lines--written in India--to my relatives in England. My
    object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the right
    hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve which I have
    hitherto maintained in this matter has been misinterpreted
    by members of my family whose good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit.
    I request them to suspend their decision until they have read my narrative.
    And I declare, on my word of honour, that what I am now about to write is,
    strictly and literally, the truth. The private difference between my cousin
    and me took its rise in a great public event in which we were both concerned-
    -the storming of Seringapatam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 1799.
    In order that the circumstances may be clearly understood, I must revert
    for a moment to the period before the assault, and to the stories current
    in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold stored up in the Palace of
    One of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow Diamond--a famous
    gem in the native annals of India. The earliest known traditions describe
    the stone as having been set in the forehead of the four-handed Indian god
    who typifies the Moon. Partly from its peculiar colour, partly from a superstition
    which represented it as feeling the influence of the deity whom it adorned,
    and growing and lessening in lustre with the waxing and waning of the moon,
    first gained the name by which it continues to be known in India to this
    day--the name of THE MOONSTONE. A similar superstition was once prevalent,
    as I have heard, in ancient Greece and Rome; not applying, however (as in
    India), to a diamond devoted to the service of a god, but to a semi-transparent
    stone of the inferior order of gems, supposed to be affected by the lunar
    influences--the moon, in this latter case also, giving the name by which
    the stone is still known to collectors in our own time. The adventures of
    the Yellow Diamond begin with the eleventh century of the Christian era.

    1) 生詞自查。
    作者介紹﹕William Wilkie Collins (8 January 1824 -- 23 September 1889) was
    an English novelist, playwright, and author of short stories. He was very
    popular during the Victorian era and wrote 30 novels, more than 60 short
    stories, 14 plays, and over 100 non-fiction pieces. His best-known works
    are The Woman in White, The Moonstone, Armadale and No Name.
    Collins was a lifelong friend of Charles Dickens. A number of Collins's
    works were first published in Dickens's journals All the Year Round and
    Household Words. The two collaborated on several dramatic and fictional
    works, and some of Collins's plays were performed by Dickens's acting company.

    3) 本書介紹﹕The Moonstone (1868) by Wilkie Collins is a 19th-century British
    epistolary novel, generally considered the first detective novel in the
    English language. The story was originally serialized in Charles Dickens'
    magazine All the Year Round. The Moonstone and The Woman in White are considered
    Wilkie Collins' best novels.
    4) 內容簡介﹕Rachel Verinder, a young Englishwoman, inherits a large Indian
    diamond on her eighteenth birthday. It is a legacy from her uncle, a corrupt
    British army officer who served in India. The diamond is of great religious
    significance as well as being extremely valuable, and three Hindu priests
    have dedicated their lives to recovering it. Rachel's eighteenth birthday
    is celebrated with a large party, whose guests include her cousin Franklin
    Blake. She wears the Moonstone on her dress that evening for all to see,
    including some Indian jugglers who have called at the house. Later that
    night, the diamond is stolen from Rachel's bedroom, and a period of turmoil,
    unhappiness, misunderstandings and ill-luck ensues. The complex plot traces
    the subsequent efforts to explain the theft, identify the thief, trace the
    stone and recover it.
    5) “月亮鑽石”也是一本世界名著﹐被認為是英文寫作中第一本偵探小說。中國讀

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-06-29 21:16:30


    Adventures of Pinocchio 木偶奇遇記
    by Carlo Collodi

    Geppetto, a poor old wood carver, was making a puppet from a tree branch.
    "You shall be my little boy," he said to the puppet, "and I shall call you
    'Pinocchio'." He worked for hours, carefully carving each detail. When he
    reached the mouth, the puppet started making faces at Geppetto. "Stop that,
    you naughty boy," Geppetto scolded, "Stop that at once !"
    "I won't stop !" cried Pinocchio.
    "You can talk !" exclaimed Geppetto.
    "Of course I can, silly," said the puppet. "You've given me a mouth to talk
    with." Pinocchio rose to his feet and danced on the table top. "Look what
    I can do !" he squealed.
    "Pinocchio, this is not the time to dance," Geppetto explained. "You must
    get a good night's rest. Tomorrow you will start going to school with the
    real boys. You will learn many things, including how to behave."
    On his way to school the next morning, Pinocchio stopped to see a puppet
    show. "I can dance and sing better than those puppets and I don't need strings,
    " boasted Pinocchio. He climbed onto the stage.
    "Get off my stage," roared the Puppet Master. Then he noticed how much the
    crowd liked Pinocchio. He did not say anything and let Pinocchio stay. "Here,
    you've earned five copper coins," the Puppet Master told Pinocchio.
    "Take these coins and go straight home," said the Puppet Master. Pinocchio
    put the coins into his sack.
    He did not go very far before he met a lame Fox and a blind Cat. Knowing
    that Pinocchio had money, they pretended to be his friends. "Come with us.
    We'll teach you how to turn those copper pieces into gold," coaxed the sneaky
    "We want to help you get rich. Plant your coins under this magic tree. In
    a few hours they'll turn to gold," said the Fox.
    "Show me where," said Pinocchio excitedly. The Cat and Fox pointed to a
    patch of loose dirt. Pinocchio dug a hole and put the sack in it, marking
    the spot with a stone.
    "Splendid !" exclaimed the Cat. "Now let's go to the inn for supper." After
    supper, the Fox and Cat, who weren't really lame or blind, quickly snuck
    away and disguised themselves as thieves. They hid by the tree waiting for
    Pinocchio to come back and dig up the money. After Pinocchio dug up the
    coins they pounced on him.
    "Give us your money !" they ordered. But Pinocchio held the sack between
    his teeth and resisted to give the sack to them. Again they demanded, "Give
    us your money !"
    Pinocchio's Guardian Fairy, who was dressed all in blue and had blue hair,
    sent her dog, Rufus, to chase the Fox and Cat away. She ordered Rufus to
    bring Pinocchio back to her castle. "Please sit down," she told Pinocchio.
    Rufus kept one eye open to watch what was going on.
    "Why didn't you go to school today?" she asked Pinocchio in a sweet voice.
    "I did," answered Pinocchio. Just then, his nose shot out like a tree branch.
    "What's happening to my nose?" he cried.
    "Every time you tell a lie, your nose will grow. When you tell the truth,
    it will shrink," said the Blue Fairy. "Pinocchio, you can only become a
    real boy if you learn how to be brave, honest and generous."
    The Blue Fairy told Pinocchio to go home and not to stop for any reason.
    Pinocchio tried to remember what the Blue Fairy told him.
    On the way to home he met some boys. "Come with us," said the boys. "We
    know a wonderful place filled with games, giant cakes, pretty candies, and
    circuses." The boys didn't know that if you were bad, you were turned into
    donkeys and trained for the circus.
    It was not very long before the boys began changing into donkeys. "That's
    what happens to bad boys," snarled the Circus Master as he made Pinocchio
    jump through a hoop.
    Pinocchio could only grow a donkey's ears, feet, and tail, because he was
    made of wood. The Circus Master couldn't sell him to any circus. He threw
    Pinocchio into the sea. The instant Pinocchio hit the water, the donkey
    tail fell off and his own ears and feet came back. He swam for a very long
    time. Just when he couldn't swim any longer, he was swallowed by a great
    whale. "It's dark here," scared Pinocchio said.
    Pinocchio kept floating deep into the whale's stomach. "Who's there by the
    light?" called Pinocchio, his voice echoing.
    "Pinocchio, is that you?" asked a tired voice.
    "Father, you're alive !" Pinocchio shouted with joy. He wasn't scared anymore.
    Pinocchio helped Geppetto build a big raft that would hold both of them.
    When the raft was finished, Pinocchio tickled the whale. "Hold tight, Father.
    When he sneezes, he'll blow us out of here !" cried Pinocchio.
    Home at last, Geppetto tucked Pinocchio into his bed. "Pinocchio, today
    you were brave, honest and generous," Geppetto said. "You are my son and
    I love you."
    Pinocchio remembered what the Blue Fairy told him. "Father, now that I've
    proven myself, I'm waiting for something to happen," he whispered as he
    drifted off to sleep.
    The next morning Pinocchio came running down the steps, jumping and waving
    his arms. He ran to Geppetto shouting, "Look Father, I'm a real boy !"

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Carlo Lorenzini (November 24, 1826 -- October 26, 1890), better
    known by the pen name Carlo Collodi, was an Italian children's writer known
    for the world-renowned fairy tale novel, The Adventures of Pinocchio.
    Collodi was born in Florence. During the Wars of Independence in 1848 and
    1860 Collodi served as a volunteer with the Tuscan army. In 1875, he entered
    the domain of children's literatur. In 1880 he began writing Storia di un
    burattino ("The story of a marionette"), also called Le avventure di Pinocchio,
    which was published weekly in Il Giornale dei Bambini (the first Italian
    newspaper for children).
    3) “木偶奇遇記”是有名的兒童故事。我小時候就讀過連環畫。不知現在還有多少

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-07 22:10:13


    by John Bunyan

    As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain
    place where was a den (the gaol), and I laid me down in that place to sleep:
    and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed; and behold, I saw a man clothed
    with rags standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house,
    a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him
    open the book, and read therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled﹕
    "For mine iniquities are gone over mine head: as an heavy burden they are
    too heavy for me." Psalm 38:4
    "But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as
    filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the
    wind, have taken us away." Isaiah 64:6
    "So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath,
    he cannot be my disciple." Luke 14:33
    "For if the word spoken by angels was stedfast, and every transgression
    and disobedience received a just recompence of reward; How shall we escape,
    if we neglect so great salvation; which at the first began to be spoken
    by the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by them that heard him;" Hebrews
    2:2, 3 上面三段都是引自聖經裡的章節
    And, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry,
    saying, "What shall I do?" 這段是描述
    "Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto
    Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do?"
    Acts 2:37 這也摘自聖經
    In this plight, therefore, he went home, and refrained himself as long as
    he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress; but
    he could not be silent long, because that his trouble increased: wherefore
    at length he brake his mind to his wife and children; and thus he began
    to talk to them: "O my dear wife," said he, "and you the children of my bowels,
    I, your dear friend, am in myself undone, by reason of a burden that lies
    hard upon me; moreover, I am for certain informed, that this our city will
    be burned with fire from heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both myself,
    with thee, my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin;
    except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape can be found, whereby
    we may be delivered." At this his relations were sore amazed; not for that
    they believed that what he had said to them was true, but because they thought
    that some frenzy distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing
    towards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with
    all haste they got him to bed: but the night was as troublesome to him as
    the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears.
    So, when the morning was come, they would know how he did: he told them,
    "Worse and worse." He also set to talking to them again; but they began
    to be hardened. They also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and
    surly conduct to him: sometimes they would deride; sometimes they would chide;
    and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began to retire
    himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to condole his
    own misery. He would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading
    and sometimes praying; and thus for some days he spent his time.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕John Bunyan (28 November 1628 -- 31 August 1688) was an English
    Christian writer and preacher, who is well-known for his book The Pilgrim's
    Progress. As his popularity and notoriety grew, Bunyan increasingly became
    a target for slander and libel; he was described as "a witch, a Jesuit,
    a highwayman" and was said to have mistresses and multiple wives. In 1658,
    aged 30, he was arrested for preaching at Eaton Socon and indicted for preaching
    without a licence. This book was written from a prison cell.
    3) 該書介紹﹕The Pilgrim's Progress is a Christian allegory written by John
    Bunyan and published in February, 1678. It is regarded as one of the most
    significant works of religious English literature, has been translated into
    more than 200 languages, and has never been out of print.
    4) 內容提示﹕Christian, an everyman character, is the protagonist of the
    allegory, which centres itself in his journey from his hometown, the "City
    of Destruction" ("this world"), to the "Celestial City" ("that which is
    to come": Heaven) atop Mt. Zion. Christian is weighed down by a great burden,
    the knowledge of his sin, which he believed came from his reading "the book
    in his hand", (the Bible). This burden, which would cause him to sink into
    Tophet (hell), is so unbearable that Christian must seek deliverance. 欲
    5) Bunyan的“天路歷程”對²

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-11 20:58:35

    don't like to start a new line. so post it here.

    Chinglish and Englinese

    Now, many English-speakers and Chinese speakers know what Chinglish means. Chinglish, Chinese-English, comes from those Chinese who can't learn standard English and can only use Chinese sentence structure in which they speak English words, such as “long time no see”, meaning “haven't seen each other for a long time”. This phrase can only be used to refer to people, can't be used for things. And also “people mountain, people sea”, meaning crowds of people gathering together and occupying a vast area like mountain or sea does. This structure can also be used in “documents mountain, meetings sea”, meaning a lot of documents to read, which are piled up like a mountain, and so many unimportant meetings to attend, which often continue for hours without effective results.

    Quite a few Chinese people who learn English don't pay attention to how English-speakers say, but use their knowledge of English grammar and English words they choose to form sentences to express their ideas. The way they say is not how native English-speakers say. That is also deemed Chinglish.

    Nowadays, with the open policy of China, many foreigners come into China. They want to learn Chinese, but a few of them cannot learn Chinese language well and speak Chinese by using the way of the expression in English language just like some Chinese people speak Chinglish, that is Englinese, English-Chinese. There are some examples: when Chinese people say 我每天早上上學, literally meaning “I every morning go to school.” But some foreigners will put it in Chinese like that: 我上學每天早上, literally meaning “I go to school every morning.” It's typically English, but not typically Chinese. They use word order in English sentence in Chinese sentence, making it Englinese. Another example is that some foreigners will say 我會說中國話不多, literally meaning “I can speak Chinese not much.” But we Chinese will say 我不會說太多中國話, literally meaning “I can't speak much Chinese.” Or 我只會說一點中國話, literally meaning “I can only speak a little Chinese.”

    In my opinion, if the Chinese want to learn English or if foreigners want to learn Chinese, they must know and learn how the native speakers say.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-14 21:35:36


    AESOP'S FABLES 伊索寓言幾則
    by Aesop

    一﹑The Ass, the Fox, and the Lion
    THE ASS and the Fox, having entered into partnership together for their
    mutual protection, went out into the forest to hunt. They had not proceeded
    far when they met a Lion. The Fox, seeing imminent danger, approached the
    Lion and promised to contrive for him the capture of the Ass if the Lion
    would pledge his word not to harm the Fox. Then, upon assuring the Ass that
    he would not be injured, the Fox led him to a deep pit and arranged that
    he should fall into it. The Lion, seeing that the Ass was secured, immediately
    clutched the Fox, and attacked the Ass at his leisure.
    Never trust your enemy

    二﹑The Ant and the Grasshopper
    In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping
    and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with
    great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest.
    "Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper,
    "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?"
    "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant,
    "and recommend you to do the same."
    "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food
    at present." But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When
    the winter came the Grasshopper had no
    food and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing
    every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer.
    Then the Grasshopper knew:
    It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

    三﹑The Dog in the Manger
    A Dog looking out for its afternoon nap jumped into the Manger of an Ox
    and lay there cosily upon the straw. But soon the Ox, returning from its
    afternoon work, came up to the Manger and wanted to eat some of the straw.
    The Dog in a rage, being awakened from its slumber, stood up and barked
    at the Ox, and whenever it came near attempted to bite it. At last the Ox
    had to give up the hope of getting at the straw, and went away muttering:
    "Ah, people often grudge others what they cannot enjoy themselves."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 伊索寓言介紹﹕Aesop's Fables or the Aesopica are a collection of fables
    credited to Aesop, a slave and story-teller believed to have lived in ancient
    Greece between 620 and 560 BC.
    3) 伊索寓言也是眾所週知的。這裡選了其中三個小片段。寓言是帶有哲理的小故事﹐

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-21 22:27:08


    Annabel Lee (1849)
    by Edgar Allan Poe

    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.
    She was a child and I was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    But we loved with a love that was more than love--
    I and my Annabel Lee--
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud by night
    Chilling my Annabel Lee;
    So that her high-born kinsman came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
    Went envying her and me:--
    Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
    And killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we--
    Of many far wiser than we-
    And neither the angels in Heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
    In her sepulchre there by the sea--
    In her tomb by the side of the sea.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 詩人介紹﹕Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809-- October 7, 1849) was an
    American author, poet, editor and literary critic, considered part of the
    American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the
    macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short
    story and is considered the inventor of the detective fiction genre. He is
    further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction.
    He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through
    writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.
    3) Edgar Poe 也是非常著名的美國詩人﹑作家。這首詩也是讀者喜歡的一首。這首

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-25 23:18:20



    名詞 farm 前習慣用介詞 on﹐如He works on a farm﹐不說 in a farm。
    還有﹕at night﹐ in the night。要注意的是用at 時﹐night前面沒冠詞﹐有了冠
    詞及其他修飾詞﹐就用in。同樣﹐at school﹐ in the school。
    He sits on a chair (in an armchair) in the corner of the room. 用in表示在
    屋角內﹐在房子裡面。 He stands at the corner of the street. 用at表示位置﹐
    站在路角上。如果路角上有幢房子﹐他是在房子外面。The house is on the corner
    of the street. 房子座落在路角上。
    還有﹕in the street﹐ on the road﹐ on the way to somewhere﹐這都表示在路
    上﹐街上。因為street指兩邊有建築物的街道﹐所以用in. 至於in a way 這裡的way跟
    路沒關係了﹐指方式方法。 He lives on this street.這表示他大致住在這條路上。
    He lives at 15 Main Street. 表示確切地點。至於介詞of用法更多。如﹕the Japanese
    invasion of China﹐是of的賓格用法﹐表示動詞invasion後面的China是邏輯賓語﹐
    動作的承受者。而the invasion of Japan into China﹐則是of的主格用法﹐表示
    如The beauty of spring charms everyone.另有一個用法﹐He is a devil of a
    以代替其他介詞﹐如He comes out of the house.按語義來講﹐從房子裡出來﹐應
    該說out from the house﹐這裡的of是代替了from。這裡的of還可以省掉﹐即out
    the house。
    有些動詞後面用介詞與不用介詞﹐意思不一樣。如 He shoots the bird. 他射中或
    射死了那鳥。如果說He shoots at the bird.意思是他對著那鳥射擊。至於有沒射
    麼為目標”。再如The police search the person.警察搜這人的身。搜的動作到達
    那人身上﹐因為person直接作了動詞search的賓語。而The police search for the

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-07-28 22:43:35


    Vanity Fair 名利場
    by William Makepeace Thackeray

    Capter I: Chiswick Mall
    While the present century was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning
    in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's academy
    for young ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with two fat horses
    in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and
    wig, at the rate of four miles an hour. A black servant, who reposed on the
    box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage
    drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's shining brass plate, and as he pulled
    the bell at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow
    windows of the stately old brick house. Nay, the acute observer might have
    recognized the little red nose of good-natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself,
    rising over some geranium pots in the window of that lady's own drawing-room.

    "It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister," said Miss Jemima. "Sambo, the black
    servant, has just rung the bell; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat."
    "Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss Sedley's
    departure, Miss Jemima?" asked Miss Pinkerton herself, that majestic lady;
    the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the friend of Doctor Johnson, the correspondent
    of Mrs. Chapone herself.
    "The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister," replied
    Miss Jemima; "we have made her a bow-pot."
    "Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel."
    "Well, a booky as big almost as a haystack; I have put up two bottles of
    the gillyflower water for Mrs. Sedley, and the receipt for making it, in
    Amelia's box."
    "And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's account.
    This is it, is it? Very good--ninety-three pounds, four shillings. Be kind
    enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and to seal this billet which
    I have written to his lady."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕William Makepeace Thackeray (18 July 1811-- 24 December 1863)
    was an English novelist of the 19th century. He was famous for his satirical
    works, particularly Vanity Fair, a panoramic portrait of English society.
    3) 本書介紹﹕Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero is a novel by William Makepeace
    Thackeray, first published in 1847--48, satirizing society in early 19th-century
    Britain. The book's title comes from John Bunyan's allegorical story The
    Pilgrim's Progress, first published in 1678 and still widely read at the
    time of Thackeray's novel. Vanity Fair refers to a stop along the pilgrim's
    progress: a never-ending fair held in a town called Vanity, which is meant
    to represent man's sinful attachment to worldly things. The novel is now
    considered a classic, and has inspired several film adaptations.
    4) Thackeray 也是一位英國著名作家﹐他的“名利場”也是本世界名著﹐是本諷刺

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-01 21:34:49



    會受到中文的影響﹐就不可能寫出純粹的英文PURE ENGLISH﹐就達不到要想提高英


  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-04 22:59:52


    Past and Present
    by Thomas Carlyle

    Book IV - Horoscope
    Chapter I ﹕Aristocracies
    To predict the Future, to manage the Present, would not be so impossible,
    had not the Past been so sacrilegiously mishandled; effaced, and what is
    worse, defaced! The Past cannot be seen; the Past, looked at through the
    medium of 'Philosophical History' in these times, cannot even be _not_ seen:
    it is misseen; affirmed to have existed,--and to have been a godless
    Impossibility. Your Norman Conquerors, true royal souls, crowned kings as
    such, were vulturous irrational tyrants: your Becket was a noisy egoist
    and hypocrite; getting his brains spilt on the floor of Canterbury Cathedral,
    to secure the main chance,--somewhat uncertain how! "Enthusiasm," and even
    "honest Enthusiasm,"--yes, of course:
    "The Dog, to gain his private ends,
    _Went_ mad, and bit the Man!--"
    For in truth, the eye sees in all things "what it brought with it the means
    of seeing." A godless century, looking back on centuries that were godly,
    produces portraitures more miraculous
    than any other. All was inane discord in the Past; brute Force bore rule
    everywhere; Stupidity, savage Unreason, fitter for Bedlam than for a human
    World! Whereby indeed it becomes
    sufficiently natural that the like qualities, in new sleeker habiliments,
    should continue in our time to rule. Millions enchanted in Bastille Workhouses;
    Irish Widows proving their
    relationship by typhus-fever: what would you have? It was ever so, or worse.
    Man's History, was it not always even this: The cookery and eating up of
    imbecile Dupedom by successful
    Quackhood; the battle, with various weapons, of vulturous Quack and Tyrant
    against vulturous Tyrant and Quack? No God was in the Past Time; nothing
    but Mechanisms and Chaotic Brute-gods:--how shall the poor "Philosophic
    Historian," to whom his own century is all godless, see any God in other
    Men believe in Bibles, and disbelieve in them: but of all Bibles the frightfulest
    to disbelieve in is this "Bible of Universal History." This is the Eternal
    Bible and God's-Book, "which every born man," till once the soul and eyesight
    are distinguished in him, "can and must, with his own eyes, see the God's-Finger
    writing!" To discredit this, is an _infidelity_ like no other.
    Such infidelity you would punish, if not by fire and faggot, which are difficult
    to manage in our times, yet by the most peremptory order, To hold its peace
    till it got something wiser to say. Why should the blessed Silence be broken
    into noises, to communicate only the like of this? If the Past have no God's-
    Reason in it, nothing but Devil's-Unreason, let the Past be eternally forgotten:
    mention it no more;--we whose ancestors were all hanged, why should we talk
    of ropes!
    It is, in brief, not true that men ever lived by Delirium, Hypocrisy, Injustice,
    or any form of Unreason, since they came to inhabit this Planet. It is
    not true that they ever did, or ever
    will, live except by the reverse of these. Men will again be taught this.
    Their acted History will then again be a Heroism; their written History,
    what it once was, an Epic. Nay, forever it is either such; or else it virtually
    is--Nothing. Were it written in a thousand volumes, the Unheroic of such
    volumes hastens incessantly to be forgotten; the net content of an Alexandrian
    Library of Unheroics is, and will ultimately shew itself to be, _zero._
    What man is interested to remember _it,_have not all men, at all times,
    the liveliest interest to forget it?--"Revelations," if not celestial, then
    infernal, will teach us that God is; we shall then, if needful, discern without
    difficulty that He has always been! The Dryasdust Philosophisms and enlightened
    Scepticisms of the Eighteenth Century, historical and other, will have to
    survive for a while with the Physiologists, as a memorable _Nightmare-Dream._
    All this haggard epoch, with its ghastly Doctrines, and death's-head Philosophies
    "teaching by example" or otherwise, will one day
    have become, what to our Moslem friends their godless ages are, "the Period
    of Ignorance."
    If the convulsive struggles of the last Half-Century have taught poor struggling
    convulsed Europe any truth, it may perhaps be this as the essence of innumerable
    others: That Europe requires a real Aristocracy, a real Priesthood, or it
    cannot continue to exist. Huge French Revolutions, Napoleonisms, then Bourbonisms
    with their corollary of Three Days, finishing in very unfinal Louis-Philippisms:
    all this ought to be didactic! All this may have taught us, That False Aristocracies
    are insupportable; that No-Aristocracies, Liberty-and-Equalities are impossible;
    that True Aristocracies are at once indispensable and not easily attained.
    Aristocracy and Priesthood, a Governing Class and a Teaching Class: these
    two, sometimes separate, and endeavouring to harmonise themselves, sometimes
    conjoined as one, and the King a Pontiff-King:--there did no Society exist
    without these two vital elements, there will none exist. It lies in the
    very nature of man: you will visit no remotest village in the most republican
    country of the world, where virtually or actually you do not find these two
    powers at work. Man, little as he may suppose it, is necessitated to obey
    superiors. He is a social being in virtue of this necessity; nay he could
    not be gregarious otherwise. He obeys those whom he esteems better than
    himself, wiser, braver; and will forever obey such; and even be ready and
    delighted to do it.
    The Wiser, Braver: these, a Virtual Aristocracy everywhere and everywhen,
    do in all Societies that reach any articulate shape, develop themselves
    into a ruling class, an Actual Aristocracy, with settled modes of operating,
    what are called laws and even _private-laws_ or privileges, and so forth;
    very notable to look upon in this world.--Aristocracy and Priesthood, we
    say, are sometimes united. For indeed the Wiser and the Braver are properly
    but one class; no wise man but needed first of all to be a brave man, or
    he never had been wise. The noble Priest was always a noble Aristos to begin
    with, and something more to end with. Your Luther, your Knox, your Anselm,
    Becket, Abbot Samson, Samuel Johnson, if they had not been brave enough,
    by what possibility could they ever have been wise?--If, from accident or
    forethought, this your Actual Aristocracy have got discriminated into Two
    Classes, there can be no doubt but the Priest Class is the more dignified;
    supreme over the other, as governing head is over active hand. And yet in
    practice again, it is likeliest the reverse will be found arranged;--a sign
    that the arrangement is already vitiated; that a split is introduced into
    it, which will widen and widen till the whole be rent asunder. 本章太長﹐

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Thomas Carlyle (4 December 1795 -- 5 February 1881) was a Scottish
    satirical writer, essayist, historian and teacher during the Victorian era.
    He called economics "the dismal science", wrote articles for the Edinburgh
    Encyclopedia, and became a controversial social commentator. Coming from
    a strict Calvinist family, Carlyle was expected to become a preacher by
    his parents, but while at the University of Edinburgh he lost his Christian
    faith. Calvinist values, however, remained with him throughout his life.
    His combination of a religious temperament with loss of faith in traditional
    Christianity, made Carlyle's work appealing to many Victorians who were
    grappling with scientific and political changes that threatened the traditional
    social order. He brought a trenchant style to his social and political criticism
    and a complex literary style to works such as The French Revolution: A History
    (1837). Dickens used Carlyle's work as a primary source for the events of
    the French Revolution in his novel A Tale of Two Cities.
    3) 本書介紹﹕Past and Present is a book by Thomas Carlyle. It was published
    in April 1843 in England and the following month in the United States. It
    combines medieval history with criticism of 19th-century British society.
    Carlyle wrote it in seven weeks as a respite from the harassing labor of
    writing Cromwell. He was inspired by the recently published Chronicles of
    the Abbey of Saint Edmund's Bury, which had been written by Jocelin of Brakelond
    at the close of the 12th century. This account of a medieval monastery had
    taken Carlyle's fancy, and he drew upon it in order to contrast the monks'
    reverence for work and heroism with the sham leadership of his own day.
    4) Thomas Carlyle 也是有名作家。他主要寫的不是小說。但以諷刺筆調著名。我

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-08 21:21:48



    面用語﹐漂亮常用在口頭上。如果在一本小說裡﹐作者一會兒寫道She is a beautiful
    girl.在另一地方又寫道She is pretty.難道她的美麗發生了差異﹖這當然是不可能

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-11 21:07:43


    Snow White and Seven Dwarves 白雪公主和七個小矮人
    [Grimm's Fairy Tale version - translated by Margaret Hunt - language modernized
    a bit by Leanne Guenther]

    Once upon a time, long, long ago, a king and queen ruled over a distant
    land. The queen was kind and lovely and all the people of the realm adored
    her. The only sadness in the queen's life was that she wished for a child
    but did not have one.
    One winter day, the queen was doing needle work while gazing out her ebony
    window at the new fallen snow. A bird flew by the window startling the
    queen and she pricked her finger. A single drop of blood fell on the snow
    outside her window. As she looked at the blood on the snow she said to
    herself, "Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin as white as
    snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony."
    Soon after that, the kind queen got her wish when she gave birth to a baby
    girl who had skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.
    They named the baby princess Snow White, but sadly, the queen died after
    giving birth to Snow White.
    Soon after, the king married a new woman who was beautiful, but as well
    proud and cruel. She had studied dark magic and owned a magic mirror, of
    which she would daily ask,
    "Mirror, mirror on the wall,
    Who's the fairest of them all?"
    Each time this question was asked, the mirror would give the same answer,
    "Thou, O Queen, art the fairest of all." This pleased the queen greatly
    as she knew that her magical mirror could speak nothing but the truth.
    One morning when the queen asked, "Mirror, mirror on the wall,
    Who's the fairest of them all?" she was shocked when it answered:
    "You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
    But Snow White is even fairer than you."
    The Queen flew into a jealous rage and ordered her huntsman to take Snow
    White into the woods to be killed. She demanded that the huntsman return
    with Snow White's heart as proof.
    The poor huntsman took Snow White into the forest, but found himself unable
    to kill the girl. Instead, he let her go, and brought the queen the heart
    of a wild boar.
    Snow White was now all alone in the great forest, and she did not know what
    to do. The trees seemed to whisper to each other, scaring Snow White who
    began to run. She ran over sharp stones and through thorns. She ran as
    far as her feet could carry her, and just as evening was about to fall she
    saw a little house and went inside in order to rest.
    Inside the house everything was small but tidy. There was a little table
    with a tidy, white tablecloth and seven little plates. Against the wall
    there were seven little beds, all in a row and covered with quilts.
    Because she was so hungry Snow White ate a few vegetables and a little bread
    from each little plate and from each cup she drank a bit of milk. Afterward,
    because she was so tired, she lay down on one of the little beds and fell
    fast asleep.
    After dark, the owners of the house returned home. They were the seven
    dwarves who mined for gold in the mountains. As soon as they arrived home,
    they saw that someone had been there -- for not everything was in the same
    order as they had left it.
    The first one said, "Who has been sitting in my chair?"
    The second one, "Who has been eating from my plate?"
    The third one, "Who has been eating my bread?"
    The fourth one, "Who has been eating my vegetables?"
    The fifth one, "Who has been eating with my fork?"
    The sixth one, "Who has been drinking from my cup?"
    But the seventh one, looking at his bed, found Snow White lying there asleep.
    The seven dwarves all came running up, and they cried out with amazement.
    They fetched their seven candles and shone the light on Snow White.
    "Oh good heaven! " they cried. "This child is beautiful!"
    They were so happy that they did not wake her up, but let her continue to
    sleep in the bed. The next morning Snow White woke up, and when she saw
    the seven dwarves she was frightened. But they were friendly and asked,
    "What is your name?"
    "My name is Snow White," she answered.
    "How did you find your way to our house?" the dwarves asked further.
    Then she told them that her stepmother had tried to kill her, that the huntsman
    had spared her life, and that she had run the entire day through the forest,
    finally stumbling upon their house.
    The dwarves spoke with each other for awhile and then said, "If you will
    keep house for us, and cook, make beds, wash, sew, and knit, and keep everything
    clean and orderly, then you can stay with us, and you shall have everything
    that you want."
    "Yes," said Snow White, "with all my heart." For Snow White greatly enjoyed
    keeping a tidy home.
    So Snow White lived happily with the dwarves. Every morning they went into
    the mountains looking for gold, and in the evening when they came back home
    Snow White had their meal ready and their house tidy. During the day the
    girl was alone, except for the small animals of the forest that she often
    played with.
    Now the queen, believing that she had eaten Snow White's heart, could only
    think that she was again the first and the most beautiful woman of all.
    She stepped before her mirror and said:
    "Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
    Who in this land is fairest of all?"
    It answered: "You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
    But Snow White, beyond the mountains with the seven dwarves,
    Is still a thousand times fairer than you."
    This startled the queen, for she knew that the mirror did not lie, and she
    realized that the huntsman had deceived her and that Snow White was still
    alive. Then she thought, and thought again, how she could rid herself of
    Snow White -- for as long as she was not the most beautiful woman in the
    entire land her jealousy would give her no rest.
    At last she thought of something. She went into her most secret room --
    no one else was allowed inside -- and she made a poisoned apple. From the
    outside it was beautiful, and anyone who saw it would want it. But anyone
    who might eat a little piece of it would die. Coloring her face, she disguised
    herself as an old peddler woman, so that no one would recognize her, traveled
    to the dwarves house and knocked on the door.
    Snow White put her head out of the window, and said, "I must not let anyone
    in; the seven dwarves have forbidden me to do so."
    "That is all right with me," answered the peddler woman. "I'll easily get
    rid of my apples. Here, I'll give you one of them."
    "No," said Snow White, "I cannot accept anything from strangers."
    "Are you afraid of poison?" asked the old woman. "Look, I'll cut the apple
    in two. You eat half and I shall eat half."
    Now the apple had been so artfully made that only the one half was poisoned.
    Snow White longed for the beautiful apple, and when she saw that the peddler
    woman was eating part of it she could no longer resist, and she stuck her
    hand out and took the poisoned half. She barely had a bite in her mouth
    when she fell to the ground dead.
    The queen looked at her with an evil stare, laughed loudly, and said, "White
    as snow, red as blood, black as ebony wood! The dwarves shall never awaken
    Back at home she asked her mirror: "Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
    Who in this land is fairest of all?"
    It finally answered: "You, my queen, are fairest of all."
    Then her cruel and jealous heart was at rest, as well as a cruel and jealous
    heart can be at rest.
    When the dwarves came home that evening they found Snow White lying on the
    ground. She was not breathing at all. She was dead. They lifted her up
    and looked at her longingly. They talked to her, shook her and wept over
    her. But nothing helped. The dear child was dead, and she remained dead.
    They laid her on a bed of straw, and all seven sat next to her and mourned
    for her and cried for three days. They were going to bury her, but she still
    looked as fresh as a living person, and still had her beautiful red cheeks.

    They said, "We cannot bury her in the black earth," and they had a transparent
    glass coffin made, so she could be seen from all sides. They laid her inside,
    and with golden letters wrote on it her name, and that she was a princess.
    Then they put the coffin outside on a mountain, and one of them always
    stayed with it and watched over her. The animals too came and mourned for
    Snow White, first an owl, then a raven, and finally a dove.
    Now it came to pass that a prince entered these woods and happened onto
    the dwarves' house, where he sought shelter for the night . He saw the coffin
    on the mountain with beautiful Snow White in it, and he read what was written
    on it with golden letters.
    Then he said to the dwarves, "Let me have the coffin. I will give you anything
    you want for it."
    But the dwarves answered, "We will not sell it for all the gold in the world.
    Then he said, "Then give it to me, for I cannot live without being able
    to see Snow White. I will honor her and respect her as my most cherished
    As he thus spoke, the good dwarves felt pity for him and gave him the coffin.
    The prince had his servants carry it away on their shoulders. But then
    it happened that one of them stumbled on some brush, and this dislodged
    from Snow White's throat the piece of poisoned apple that she had bitten
    off. Not long afterward she opened her eyes, lifted the lid from her coffin,
    sat up, and was alive again.
    "Good heavens, where am I?" she cried out.
    The prince said joyfully, "You are with me." He told her what had happened,
    and then said, "I love you more than anything else in the world. Come with
    me to my father's castle. You shall become my wife." Snow White loved
    him, and she went with him. Their wedding was planned with great splendor
    and majesty.
    Snow White's wicked step-mother was invited to the feast, and when she had
    arrayed herself in her most beautiful garments, she stood before her mirror,
    and said:
    "Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
    Who in this land is fairest of all?"
    The mirror answered: "You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
    But the young queen is a thousand times fairer than you. "
    Not knowing that this new queen was indeed her stepdaughter, she arrived
    at the wedding, and her heart filled with the deepest of dread when she
    realized the truth - the evil queen was banished from the land forever and
    the prince and Snow White lived happily ever after.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 背景介紹﹕"Snow White" is a German fairy tale known in many countries
    in Europe, the best known version being the German one collected by the
    Brothers Grimm in 1812 (German: Schneewittchen und die sieben Zwerge, "Snow
    White and the Seven Dwarfs").
    3) 格林兄弟介紹﹕The Brothers Grimm, Jacob (January 4, 1785 -- September
    20, 1863) and Wilhelm Grimm (February 24, 1786 -- December 16, 1859), were
    German academics, linguists, cultural researchers, and authors who together
    collected folklore. They are among the most well-known storytellers of European
    folk tales, and their work popularized such stories as "Cinderella", "The
    Frog Prince", "Hansel and Gretel", "Rapunzel", "Rumpelstiltskin", and "Snow
    White" (Schneewittchen). Their first collection of folk tales, Children's
    and Household Tales, was published in 1812.
    4) 格林童話可能大家小時候都聽說過﹐或者知道幾個。可是學英文的人未必都讀過

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-19 00:14:52

    記下來﹐不管是否是已有的固定結構。如莎翁在凱撒大帝劇本中有個結構﹕It is
    not that I love Caesar less, but that I love Rome more. 如果以後你練習寫
    作文﹐可以說 It is not that I love (like) A less, but that I love (like)
    B more.

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-19 00:22:52


    The Grapes of Wrath 憤怒的葡萄
    By John Steinbeck

    To the red country and part of the gray country of Oklahoma, the last rains
    came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth. The plows crossed and
    recrossed the rivulet marks. The last rains lifted the corn quickly and
    scattered weed colonies and grass along the sides of the roads so that the
    gray country and the dark red country began to disappear under a green cover.
    In the last part of May the sky grew pale and the clouds that had hung in
    high puffs for so long in the spring were dissipated. The sun flared down
    on the growing corn day after day until a line of brown spread along the
    edge of each green bayonet. The clouds appeared, and went away, and in a
    while they did not try any more. The weeds grew darker green to protect themselves,
    and they did not spread any more. The surface of the earth crusted, a thin
    hard crust, and as the sky became pale, so the earth became pale, pink in
    the red country and white in the gray country.
    In the water-cut gullies the earth dusted down in dry little streams. Gophers
    and ant lions started small avalanches. And as the sharp sun struck day
    after day, the leaves of the young corn became less stiff and erect; they
    bent in a curve at first, and then, as the central ribs of strength grew
    weak, each leaf tilted downward. Then it was June, and the sun shone more
    fiercely. The brown lines on the corn leaves widened and moved in on the
    central ribs. The weeds frayed and edged back toward their roots. The air
    was thin and the sky more pale; and every day the earth paled.
    In the roads where the teams moved, where the wheels milled the ground and
    the hooves of the horses beat the ground, the dirt crust broke and the dust
    formed. Every moving thing lifted the dust into the air: a walking man lifted
    a thin layer as high as his waist, and a wagon lifted the dust as high as
    the fence tops, and an automobile boiled a cloud behind it. The dust was
    long in settling back again.
    When June was half gone, the big clouds moved up out of Texas and the Gulf,
    high heavy clouds, rainheads. The men in the fields looked up at the clouds
    and sniffed at them and held wet fingers up to sense the wind. And the horses
    were nervous while the clouds were up. The rainheads dropped a little spattering
    and hurried on to some other country. Behind them the sky was pale again
    and the sun flared. In the dust there were drop craters where the rain had
    fallen, and there were clean splashes on the corn, and that was all.
    A gentle wind followed the rain clouds, driving them on northward, a wind
    that softly clashed the drying corn. A day went by and the wind increased,
    steady, unbroken by gusts. The dust from the roads fluffed up and spread
    out and fell on the weeds beside the fields, and fell into the fields a
    little way. Now the wind grew strong and hard and it worked at the rain crust
    in the corn fields. Little by little the sky was darkened by the mixing
    dust, and the wind felt over the earth, loosened the dust, and carried it
    away. The wind grew stronger. The rain crust broke and the dust lifted up
    out of the fields and drove gray plumes into the air like sluggish smoke.
    The corn threshed the wind and made a dry, rushing sound. The finest dust
    did not settle back to earth now, but disappeared into the darkening sky.

    The wind grew stronger, whisked under stones, carried up straws and old
    leaves, and even little clods, marking its course as it sailed across the
    fields. The air and the sky darkened and through them the sun shone redly,
    and there was a raw sting in the air. During a night the wind raced faster
    over the land, dug cunningly among the rootlets of the corn, and the corn
    fought the wind with its weakened leaves until the roots were freed by the
    prying wind and then each stalk settled wearily sideways toward the earth
    and pointed the direction of the wind.
    The dawn came, but no day. In the gray sky a red sun appeared, a dim red
    circle that gave a little light, like dusk; and as that day advanced, the
    dusk slipped back toward darkness, and the wind cried and whimpered over
    the fallen corn.
    Men and women huddled in their houses, and they tied handkerchiefs over
    their noses when they went out, and wore goggles to protect their eyes.

    When the night came again it was black night, for the stars could not pierce
    the dust to get down, and the window lights could not even spread beyond
    their own yards. Now the dust was evenly mixed with the air, an emulsion
    of dust and air. Houses were shut tight, and cloth wedged around doors and
    windows, but the dust came in so thinly that it could not be seen in the
    air, and it settled like pollen on the chairs and tables, on the dishes.
    The people brushed it from their shoulders. Little lines of dust lay at
    the door sills.
    In the middle of that night the wind passed on and left the land quiet.
    The dust-filled air muffled sound more completely than fog does. The people,
    lying in their beds, heard the wind stop. They awakened when the rushing
    wind was gone. They lay quietly and listened deep into the stillness. Then
    the roosters crowed, and their voices were muffled, and the people stirred
    restlessly in their beds and wanted the morning. They knew it would take
    a long time for the dust to settle out of the air. In the morning the dust
    hung like fog, and the sun was as red as ripe new blood. All day the dust
    sifted down from the sky, and the next day it sifted down. An even blanket
    covered the earth. It settled on the corn, piled up on the tops of the fence
    posts, piled up on the wires; it settled on roofs, blanketed the weeds and
    The people came out of their houses and smelled the hot stinging air and
    covered their noses from it. And the children came out of the houses, but
    they did not run or shout as they would have done after a rain. Men stood
    by their fences and looked at the ruined corn, drying fast now, only a little
    green showing through the film of dust. The men were silent and they did
    not move often. And the women came out of the houses to stand beside their
    men—to feel whether this time the men would break. The women studied the
    men's faces secretly, for the corn could go, as long as something else remained.
    The children stood near by, drawing figures in the dust with bare toes,
    and the children sent exploring senses out to see whether men and women
    would break. The children peeked at the faces of the men and women, and then
    drew careful lines in the dust with their toes. Horses came to the watering
    troughs and nuzzled the water to clear the surface dust. After a while the
    faces of the watching men lost their bemused perplexity and became hard
    and angry and resistant. Then the women knew that they were safe and that
    there was no break. Then they asked, What'll we do? And the men replied,
    I don't know. But it was all right. The women knew it was all right, and
    the watching children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep
    in themselves that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were
    whole. The women went into the houses to their work, and the children began
    to play, but cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became
    less red. It flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the doorways
    of their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The
    men sat still—thinking—figuring.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕John Ernst Steinbeck, Jr. (February 27, 1902 -- December 20,
    1968) was an American writer. He is widely known for the Pulitzer Prize-winning
    novel The Grapes of Wrath (1939) and East of Eden (1952) and the novella
    Of Mice and Men (1937). He was an author of twenty-seven books, including
    sixteen novels, six non-fiction books and five collections of short stories;
    Steinbeck received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962.
    3) 本書介紹﹕The Grapes of Wrath is an American realist novel written by
    John Steinbeck and published in 1939. For it he won the annual National
    Book Award and Pulitzer Prize for novels and it was cited prominently when
    he won the Nobel Prize in 1962.
    Set during the Great Depression指美國大蕭條時期, the novel focuses on the
    Joads, a poor family of tenant farmers driven from their Oklahoma home by
    drought, economic hardship, and changes in financial and agricultural industries.
    Due to their nearly hopeless situation, and in part because they were trapped
    in the Dust Bowl沙塵暴, the Joads set out for California. Along with thousands
    of other "Okies", they sought jobs, land, dignity, and a future.
    The Grapes of Wrath is frequently read in American high school and college
    literature classes due to its historical context and enduring legacy. A
    celebrated Hollywood film version, starring Henry Fonda and directed by
    John Ford, was made in 1940.
    4) John Steinbeck 當然是世界著名作家。其代表作“憤怒的葡萄”屬世界名著﹐

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-08-25 22:34:43


    A Doll's House 玩偶之家
    by Henrik Ibsen

    Act I
    [SCENE: A room furnished comfortably and tastefully, but not extravagantly.
    At the back, a door to the right leads to the entrance-hall, another to
    the left leads to HELMER's study. Between the doors stands a piano. In the
    middle of the left-hand wall is a door, and beyond it a window. Near the
    window are a round table, arm-chairs and a small sofa. In the right-hand
    wall, at the farther end, another door; and on the same side, nearer the
    footlights, a stove, two easy chairs and a rocking-chair; between the stove
    and the door, a small table. Engravings on the walls; a cabinet with china
    and other small objects; a small book-case with well-bound books. The floors
    are carpeted, and a fire burns in the stove. It is winter.
    A bell rings in the hall; shortly afterwards the door is heard to open.
    Enter NORA , humming a tune and in high spirits. She is in out-door dress
    and carries a number of parcels; these she lays on the table to the right.
    She leaves the outer door open after her, and through it is seen a PORTER
    who is carrying a Christmas Tree and a basket, which he gives to the MAID
    who has opened the door.]
    NORA: Hide the Christmas Tree carefully, Helen. Be sure the children do
    not see it till this evening, when it is dressed. [To the PORTER, taking
    out her purse.] How much?
    PORTER: Sixpence.
    NORA: There is a shilling. No, keep the change. [The PORTER thanks her,
    and goes out. Nora shuts the door. She is laughing to herself, as she takes
    off her hat and coat. She takes a packet of macaroons from her pocket and
    eats one or two; then goes cautiously to her husband's door and listens.]
    Yes, he is in. [Still humming, she goes to the table on the right.]
    HELMER: [calls out from his room]. Is that my little lark twittering out
    NORA: [busy opening some of the parcels]. Yes, it is!
    HELMER: Is it my little squirrel bustling about?
    NORA: Yes!
    HELMER: When did my squirrel come home?
    NORA: Just now. [Puts the bag of macaroons into her pocket and wipes her
    mouth.] Come in here, Torvald, and see what I have bought.
    HELMER: Don't disturb me. [A little later, he opens the door and looks into
    the room, pen in hand.] Bought, did you say? All these things? Has my little
    spendthrift been wasting money again?
    NORA: Yes, but, Torvald, this year we really can let ourselves go a little.
    This is the first Christmas that we have not needed to economise.
    HELMER: Still, you know, we can't spend money recklessly.
    NORA: Yes, Torvald, we may be a wee bit more reckless now, mayn't we? Just
    a tiny wee bit! You are going to have a big salary and earn lots and lots
    of money.
    HELMER: Yes, after the New Year; but then it will be a whole quarter before
    the salary is due.
    NORA: Pooh! we can borrow till then.
    HELMER: Nora! [Goes up to her and takes her playfully by the ear.] The same
    little featherhead! Suppose, now, that I borrowed fifty pounds to-day, and
    you spent it all in the Christmas week, and then on New Year's Eve a slate
    fell on my head and killed me, and ...
    NORA: [putting her hands over his mouth]. Oh! don't say such horrid things.
    HELMER: Still, suppose that happened, what then?
    NORA: If that were to happen, I don't suppose I should care whether I owed
    money or not.
    HELMER: Yes, but what about the people who had lent it?
    NORA: They? Who would bother about them? I should not know who they were.
    HELMER: That is like a woman! But seriously, Nora, you know what I think
    about that. No debt, no borrowing. There can be no freedom or beauty about
    a home life that depends on borrowing and debt. We two have kept bravely
    on the straight road so far, and we will go on the same way for the short
    time longer that there need be any struggle.
    NORA: [moving towards the stove]. As you please, Torvald.
    HELMER: [following her]. Come, come, my little skylark must not droop her
    wings. What is this! Is my little squirrel out of temper? [Taking out his
    purse.] Nora, what do you think I have got here?
    NORA: [turning round quickly]. Money!
    HELMER: There you are. [Gives her some money.] Do you think I don't know
    what a lot is wanted for housekeeping at Christmas-time?
    NORA: [counting]. Ten shillings, a pound, two pounds! Thank you, thank you,
    Torvald; that will keep me going for a long time.
    HELMER: Indeed it must.
    NORA: Yes, yes, it will. But come here and let me show you what I have bought.
    And all so cheap! Look, here is a new suit for Ivar, and a sword; and a
    horse and a trumpet for Bob; and a doll and dolly's bedstead for Emmy, they
    are very plain, but anyway she will soon break them in pieces. And here
    are dress-lengths and handkerchiefs for the maids; old Anne ought really
    to have something better.
    HELMER: And what is in this parcel?
    NORA: [crying out]. No, no! you mustn't see that till this evening.
    HELMER: Very well. But now tell me, you extravagant little person, what
    would you like for yourself?
    NORA: For myself? Oh, I am sure I don't want anything.
    HELMER: Yes, but you must. Tell me something reasonable that you would particularly
    like to have.
    NORA: No, I really can't think of anything, unless, Torvald.
    HELMER: Well?
    NORA: [playing with his coat buttons, and without raising her eyes to his].
    If you really want to give me something, you might, you might ...
    HELMER: Well, out with it!
    NORA: [speaking quickly]. You might give me money, Torvald. Only just as
    much as you can afford; and then one of these days I will buy something
    with it.
    HELMER: But, Nora.
    NORA: Oh, do! dear Torvald; please, please do! Then I will wrap it up in
    beautiful gilt paper and hang it on the Christmas Tree. Wouldn't that be
    HELMER: What are little people called that are always wasting money?
    NORA: Spendthrifts,I know. Let us do as you suggest, Torvald, and then I
    shall have time to think what I am most in want of. That is a very sensible
    plan, isn't it?
    HELMER: [smiling]. Indeed it is, that is to say, if you were really to save
    out of the money I give you, and then really buy something for yourself.
    But if you spend it all on the housekeeping and any number of unnecessary
    things, then I merely have to pay up again.
    NORA: Oh but, Torvald.
    HELMER: You can't deny it, my dear little Nora. [Puts his arm round her
    waist.] It's a sweet little spendthrift, but she uses up a deal of money.
    One would hardly believe how expensive such little persons are!
    NORA: It's a shame to say that. I do really save all I can.
    HELMER: [laughing]. That's very true, all you can. But you can't save anything!

    NORA: [smiling quietly and happily]. You haven't any idea how many expenses
    we skylarks and squirrels have, Torvald.
    HELMER: You are an odd little soul. Very like your father. You always find
    some new way of wheedling money out of me, and, as soon as you have got
    it, it seems to melt in your hands. You never know where it has gone. Still,
    one must take you as you are. It is in the blood; for indeed it is true
    that you can inherit these things, Nora.
    NORA: Ah, I wish I had inherited many of papa's qualities.
    HELMER: And I would not wish you to be anything but just what you are, my
    sweet little skylark. But, do you know, it strikes me that you are looking
    rather, what shall I say, rather uneasy to-day?
    NORA: Do I?
    HELMER: You do, really. Look straight at me.
    NORA: [looks at him]. Well?
    HELMER: [wagging his finger at her]. Hasn't Miss Sweet-Tooth been breaking
    rules in town to-day?
    NORA: No; what makes you think that?
    HELMER: Hasn't she paid a visit to the confectioner's?
    NORA: No, I assure you, Torvald.
    HELMER: Not been nibbling sweets?
    NORA: No, certainly not.
    HELMER: Not even taken a bite at a macaroon or two?
    NORA: No, Torvald, I assure you really.
    HELMER: There, there, of course I was only joking.
    NORA: [going to the table on the right]. I should not think of going against
    your wishes.
    HELMER: No, I am sure of that; besides, you gave me your word. [Going up
    to her.] Keep your little Christmas secrets to yourself, my darling. They
    will all be revealed to-night when the Christmas Tree is lit, no doubt.
    NORA: Did you remember to invite Doctor Rank?
    HELMER: No. But there is no need; as a matter of course he will come to
    dinner with us. However, I will ask him when he comes in this morning. I
    have ordered some good wine. Nora, you can't think how I am looking forward
    to this evening.
    NORA: So am I! And how the children will enjoy themselves, Torvald!
    HELMER: It is splendid to feel that one has a perfectly safe appointment,
    and a big enough income. It's delightful to think of, isn't it?
    NORA: It's wonderful!
    HELMER: Do you remember last Christmas? For a full three weeks beforehand
    you shut yourself up every evening till long after midnight, making ornaments
    for the Christmas Tree, and all the other fine things that were to be a
    surprise to us. It was the dullest three weeks I ever spent!
    NORA: I didn't find it dull.
    HELMER: [smiling]. But there was precious little result, Nora.
    NORA: Oh, you shouldn't tease me about that again. How could I help the
    cat's going in and tearing everything to pieces?
    HELMER: Of course you couldn't, poor little girl. You had the best of intentions
    to please us all, and that's the main thing. But it is a good thing that
    our hard times are over.
    NORA: Yes, it is really wonderful.
    HELMER: This time I needn't sit here and be dull all alone, and you needn't
    ruin your dear eyes and your pretty little hands.
    NORA: [clapping her hands]. No, Torvald, I needn't any longer, need I! It's
    wonderfully lovely to hear you say so! [Taking his arm.] Now I will tell
    you how I have been thinking we ought to arrange things, Torvald. As soon
    as Christmas is over, [A bell rings in the hall.] There's the bell. [She
    tidies the room a little.] There's some one at the door. What a nuisance!
    HELMER: If it is a caller, remember I am not at home.
    MAID: [in the doorway]. A lady to see you, ma'am, a stranger.
    NORA: Ask her to come in.
    MAID: [to Helmer]. The doctor came at the same time, sir.
    HELMER: Did he go straight into my room?
    MAID: Yes, sir.
    [HELMER goes into his room. The MAID ushers in MRS. LINDE, who is in travelling
    dress, and shuts the door.]
    MRS. LINDE: [in a dejected and timid voice]. How do you do, Nora?
    NORA: [doubtfully]. How do you do?
    MRS. LINDE: You don't recognise me, I suppose.
    NORA: No, I don't know, yes, to be sure, I seem to, [Suddenly.] Yes! Christine!
    Is it really you?
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, it is I.
    NORA: Christine! To think of my not recognising you! And yet how could I?
    [In a gentle voice.] How you have altered, Christine!
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, I have indeed. In nine, ten long years.
    NORA: Is it so long since we met? I suppose it is. The last eight years
    have been a happy time for me, I can tell you. And so now you have come
    into the town, and have taken this long journey in winter, that was plucky
    of you.
    MRS. LINDE: I arrived by steamer this morning.
    NORA: To have some fun at Christmas-time, of course. How delightful! We
    will have such fun together! But take off your things. You are not cold,
    I hope. [Helps her.] Now we will sit down by the stove, and be cosy. No,
    take this arm-chair; I will sit here in the rocking-chair. [Takes her hands.]
    Now you look like your old self again; it was only the first moment. You
    are a little paler, Christine, and perhaps a little thinner.
    MRS. LINDE: And much, much older, Nora.
    NORA: Perhaps a little older; very, very little; certainly not much. [Stops
    suddenly and speaks seriously.] What a thoughtless creature I am, chattering
    away like this. My poor, dear Christine, do forgive me.
    MRS. LINDE: What do you mean, Nora?
    NORA: [gently]. Poor Christine, you are a widow.
    MRS. LINDE: Yes; it is three years ago now.
    NORA: Yes, I knew; I saw it in the papers. I assure you, Christine, I meant
    ever so often to write to you at the time, but I always put it off and something
    always prevented me.
    MRS. LINDE: I quite understand, dear.
    NORA: It was very bad of me, Christine. Poor thing, how you must have suffered.
    And he left you nothing?
    MRS. LINDE: No.
    NORA: And no children?
    MRS. LINDE: No.
    NORA: Nothing at all, then.
    MRS. LINDE: Not even any sorrow or grief to live upon.
    NORA: [looking incredulously at her]. But, Christine, is that possible?
    MRS. LINDE: [smiles sadly and strokes her hair]. It sometimes happens, Nora.
    NORA: So you are quite alone. How dreadfully sad that must be. I have three
    lovely children. You can't see them just now, for they are out with their
    nurse. But now you must tell me all about it.
    MRS. LINDE: No, no; I want to hear about you.
    NORA: No, you must begin. I mustn't be selfish to-day; to-day I must only
    think of your affairs. But there is one thing I must tell you. Do you know
    we have just had a great piece of good luck?
    MRS. LINDE: No, what is it?
    NORA: Just fancy, my husband has been made manager of the Bank!
    MRS. LINDE: Your husband? What good luck!
    NORA: Yes, tremendous! A barrister's profession is such an uncertain thing,
    especially if he won't undertake unsavoury cases; and naturally Torvald
    has never been willing to do that, and I quite agree with him. You may imagine
    how pleased we are! He is to take up his work in the Bank at the New Year,
    and then he will have a big salary and lots of commissions. For the future
    we can live quite differently, we can do just as we like. I feel so relieved
    and so happy, Christine! It will be splendid to have heaps of money and
    not need to have any anxiety, won't it?
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, anyhow I think it would be delightful to have what one
    NORA: No, not only what one needs, but heaps and heaps of money.
    MRS. LINDE: [smiling]. Nora, Nora, haven't you learnt sense yet? In our
    schooldays you were a great spendthrift.
    NORA: [laughing]. Yes, that is what Torvald says now. [Wags her finger at
    her.] But "Nora, Nora," is not so silly as you think. We have not been in
    a position for me to waste money. We have both had to work.
    MRS. LINDE: You too?
    NORA: Yes; odds and ends, needlework, crotchet-work, embroidery, and that
    kind of thing. [Dropping her voice.] And other things as well. You know
    Torvald left his office when we were married? There was no prospect of promotion
    there, and he had to try and earn more than before. But during the first
    year he over-worked himself dreadfully. You see, he had to make money every
    way he could, and he worked early and late; but he couldn't stand it, and
    fell dreadfully ill, and the doctors said it was necessary for him to go
    MRS. LINDE: You spent a whole year in Italy, didn't you?
    NORA: Yes. It was no easy matter to get away, I can tell you. It was just
    after Ivar was born; but naturally we had to go. It was a wonderfully beautiful
    journey, and it saved Torvald's life. But it cost a tremendous lot of money,
    MRS. LINDE: So I should think.
    NORA: It cost about two hundred and fifty pounds. That's a lot, isn't it?
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, and in emergencies like that it is lucky to have the money.
    NORA: I ought to tell you that we had it from papa.
    MRS. LINDE: Oh, I see. It was just about that time that he died, wasn't
    NORA: Yes; and, just think of it, I couldn't go and nurse him. I was expecting
    little Ivar's birth every day and I had my poor sick Torvald to look after.
    My dear, kind father, I never saw him again, Christine. That was the saddest
    time I have known since our marriage.
    MRS. LINDE: I know how fond you were of him. And then you went off to Italy?
    NORA: Yes; you see we had money then, and the doctors insisted on our going,
    so we started a month later.
    MRS. LINDE: And your husband came back quite well?
    NORA: As sound as a bell!
    MRS. LINDE: But, the doctor?
    NORA: What doctor?
    MRS. LINDE: I thought your maid said the gentleman who arrived here just
    as I did, was the doctor?
    NORA: Yes, that was Doctor Rank, but he doesn't come here professionally.
    He is our greatest friend, and comes in at least once every day. No, Torvald
    has not had an hour's illness since then, and our children are strong and
    healthy and so am I. [Jumps up and claps her hands.] Christine! Christine!
    it's good to be alive and happy! But how horrid of me; I am talking of nothing
    but my own affairs. [Sits on a stool near her, and rests her arms on her
    knees.] You mustn't be angry with me. Tell me, is it really true that you
    did not love your husband? Why did you marry him?
    MRS. LINDE: My mother was alive then, and was bedridden and helpless, and
    I had to provide for my two younger brothers; so I did not think I was justified
    in refusing his offer.
    NORA: No, perhaps you were quite right. He was rich at that time, then?
    MRS. LINDE: I believe he was quite well off. But his business was a precarious
    one; and, when he died, it all went to pieces and there was nothing left.
    NORA: And then?
    MRS. LINDE: Well, I had to turn my hand to anything I could find, first
    a small shop, then a small school, and so on. The last three years have
    seemed like one long working-day, with no rest. Now it is at an end, Nora.
    My poor mother needs me no more, for she is gone; and the boys do not need
    me either; they have got situations and can shift for themselves.
    NORA: What a relief you must feel it!
    MRS. LINDE: No, indeed; I only feel my life unspeakably empty. No one to
    live for any more. [Gets up restlessly.] That was why I could not stand
    the life in my little backwater any longer. I hope it may be easier here
    to find something which will busy me and occupy my thoughts. If only I could
    have the good luck to get some regular work, office work of some kind.
    NORA: But, Christine, that is so frightfully tiring, and you look tired
    out now. You had far better go away to some watering-place.
    MRS. LINDE: [walking to the window]. I have no father to give me money for
    a journey, Nora.
    NORA: [rising]. Oh, don't be angry with me!
    MRS. LINDE: [going up to her]. It is you that must not be angry with me,
    dear. The worst of a position like mine is that it makes one so bitter.
    No one to work for, and yet obliged to be always on the lookout for chances.
    One must live, and so one becomes selfish. When you told me of the happy
    turn your fortunes have taken, you will hardly believe it. I was delighted
    not so much on your account as on my own.
    NORA: How do you mean? Oh, I understand. You mean that perhaps Torvald could
    get you something to do.
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, that was what I was thinking of.
    NORA: He must, Christine. Just leave it to me; I will broach the subject
    very cleverly. I will think of something that will please him very much.
    It will make me so happy to be of some use to you.
    MRS. LINDE: How kind you are, Nora, to be so anxious to help me! It is doubly
    kind in you, for you know so little of the burdens and troubles of life.
    NORA: I? I know so little of them?
    MRS. LINDE: [smiling]. My dear! Small household cares and that sort of thing!
    You are a child, Nora.
    NORA: [tosses her head and crosses the stage]. You ought not to be so superior.

    MRS. LINDE: No?
    NORA: You are just like the others. They all think that I am incapable of
    anything really serious.
    MRS. LINDE: Come, come.
    NORA: that I have gone through nothing in this world of cares.
    MRS. LINDE: But, my dear Nora, you have just told me all your troubles.
    NORA: Pooh! those were trifles. [Lowering her voice.] I have not told you
    the important thing.
    MRS. LINDE: The important thing? What do you mean?
    NORA: You look down upon me altogether, Christine, but you ought not to.
    You are proud, aren't you, of having worked so hard and so long for your
    MRS. LINDE: Indeed, I don't look down on anyone. But it is true that I am
    both proud and glad to think that I was privileged to make the end of my
    mother's life almost free from care.
    NORA: And you are proud to think of what you have done for your brothers?
    MRS. LINDE: I think I have the right to be.
    NORA: I think so, too. But now, listen to this; I too have something to
    be proud and glad of.
    MRS. LINDE: I have no doubt you have. But what do you refer to?
    NORA: Speak low. Suppose Torvald were to hear! He mustn't on any account,
    no one in the world must know, Christine, except you.
    MRS. LINDE: But what is it?
    NORA: Come here. [Pulls her down on the sofa beside her.] Now I will show
    you that I too have something to be proud and glad of. It was I who saved
    Torvald's life.
    MRS. LINDE: "Saved"? How?
    NORA: I told you about our trip to Italy. Torvald would never have recovered
    if he had not gone there.
    MRS. LINDE: Yes, but your father gave you the necessary funds.
    NORA: [smiling]. Yes, that is what Torvald and all the others think, but,
    MRS. LINDE: But ...
    NORA: Papa didn't give us a shilling. It was I who procured the money.
    MRS. LINDE: You? All that large sum?
    NORA: Two hundred and fifty pounds. What do you think of that?
    MRS. LINDE: But, Nora, how could you possibly do it? Did you win a prize
    in the Lottery?
    NORA: [contemptuously]. In the Lottery? There would have been no credit
    in that.
    MRS. LINDE: But where did you get it from, then?
    NORA: [humming and smiling with an air of mystery]. Hm, hm! Aha!
    MRS. LINDE: Because you couldn't have borrowed it.
    NORA: Couldn't I? Why not?
    MRS. LINDE: No, a wife cannot borrow without her husband's consent.
    NORA: [tossing her head]. Oh, if it is a wife who has any head for business,
    a wife who has the wit to be a little bit clever.
    MRS. LINDE: I don't understand it at all, Nora.
    NORA: There is no need you should. I never said I had borrowed the money.
    I may have got it some other way. [Lies back on the sofa.] Perhaps I got
    it from some other admirer. When anyone is as attractive as I am.
    MRS. LINDE: You are a mad creature.
    NORA: Now, you know you're full of curiosity, Christine.
    MRS. LINDE: Listen to me, Nora dear. Haven't you been a little bit imprudent?
    NORA: [sits up straight]. Is it imprudent to save your husband's life?
    MRS. LINDE: It seems to me imprudent, without his knowledge, to ...
    NORA: But it was absolutely necessary that he should not know! My goodness,
    can't you understand that? It was necessary he should have no idea what
    a dangerous condition he was in. It was to me that the doctors came and
    said that his life was in danger, and that the only thing to save him was
    to live in the south. Do you suppose I didn't try, first of all, to get what
    I wanted as if it were for myself? I told him how much I should love to
    travel abroad like other young wives; I tried tears and entreaties with
    him; I told him that he ought to remember the condition I was in, and that
    he ought to be kind and indulgent to me; I even hinted that he might raise
    a loan. That nearly made him angry, Christine. He said I was thoughtless,
    and that it was his duty as my husband not to indulge me in my whims and
    caprices, as I believe he called them. Very well, I thought, you must be
    saved and that was how I came to devise a way out of the difficulty.
    MRS. LINDE: And did your husband never get to know from your father that
    the money had not come from him?
    NORA: No, never. Papa died just at that time. I had meant to let him into
    the secret and beg him never to reveal it. But he was so ill then, alas,
    there never was any need to tell him.
    MRS. LINDE: And since then have you never told your secret to your husband?
    NORA: Good Heavens, no! How could you think so? A man who has such strong
    opinions about these things! And besides, how painful and humiliating it
    would be for Torvald, with his manly independence, to know that he owed
    me anything! It would upset our mutual relations altogether; our beautiful
    happy home would no longer be what it is now.
    MRS. LINDE: Do you mean never to tell him about it?
    NORA: [meditatively, and with a half smile]. Yes, some day, perhaps, after
    many years, when I am no longer as nice-looking as I am now. Don't laugh
    at me! I mean, of course, when Torvald is no longer as devoted to me as
    he is now; when my dancing and dressing-up and reciting have palled on him;
    then it may be a good thing to have something in reserve [Breaking off.]
    What nonsense! That time will never come. Now, what do you think of my great
    secret, Christine? Do you still think I am of no use? I can tell you, too,
    that this affair has caused me a lot of worry. It has been by no means easy
    for me to meet my engagements punctually. I may tell you that there is something
    that is called, in business, quarterly interest, and another thing called
    payment in instalments, and it is always so dreadfully difficult to manage
    them. I have had to save a little here and there, where I could, you understand.
    I have not been able to put aside much from my housekeeping money, for
    Torvald must have a good table. I couldn't let my children be shabbily dressed;
    I have felt obliged to use up all he gave me for them, the sweet little
    MRS. LINDE: So it has all had to come out of your own necessaries of life,
    poor Nora?
    NORA: Of course. Besides, I was the one responsible for it. Whenever Torvald
    has given me money for new dresses and such things, I have never spent more
    than half of it; I have always bought the simplest and cheapest things.
    Thank Heaven, any clothes look well on me, and so Torvald has never noticed
    it. But it was often very hard on me, Christine, because it is delightful
    to be really well dressed, isn't it?
    MRS. LINDE: Quite so.
    NORA: Well, then I have found other ways of earning money. Last winter I
    was lucky enough to get a lot of copying to do; so I locked myself up and
    sat writing every evening till quite late at night. Many a time I was desperately
    tired; but all the same it was a tremendous pleasure to sit there working
    and earning money. It was like being a man.
    MRS. LINDE: How much have you been able to pay off in that way?
    NORA: I can't tell you exactly. You see, it is very difficult to keep an
    account of a business matter of that kind. I only know that I have paid
    every penny that I could scrape together. Many a time I was at my wits'
    end. [Smiles.] Then I used to sit here and imagine that a rich old gentleman
    had fallen in love with me.
    MRS. LINDE: What! Who was it?
    NORA: Be quiet! that he had died; and that when his will was opened it contained,
    written in big letters, the instructio: "The lovely Mrs. Nora Helmer is
    to have all I possess paid over to her at once in cash."
    MRS. LINDE: But, my dear Nora, who could the man be?
    NORA: Good gracious, can't you understand? There was no old gentleman at
    all; it was only something that I used to sit here and imagine, when I couldn'
    t think of any way of procuring money. But it's all the same now; the tiresome
    old person can stay where he is, as far as I am concerned; I don't care
    about him or his will either, for I am free from care now. [Jumps up.] My
    goodness, it's delightful to think of, Christine! Free from care! To be
    able to be free from care, quite free from care; to be able to play and
    romp with the children; to be able to keep the house beautifully and have
    everything just as Torvald likes it! And, think of it, soon the spring will
    come and the big blue sky! Perhaps we shall be able to take a little trip,
    perhaps I shall see the sea again! Oh, it's a wonderful thing to be alive
    and be happy. [A bell is heard in the hall.]
    MRS. LINDE: [rising]. There is the bell; perhaps I had better go.
    NORA: No, don't go; no one will come in here; it is sure to be for Torvald.
    SERVANT: [at the hall door]. Excuse me, ma'am, there is a gentleman to see
    the master, and as the doctor is with him. 第一幕太長﹐這裡切斷一下。要讀

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Henrik Ibsen (Norwegian pronunciation: [20 March 1828 -- 23
    May 1906) was a major 19th-century Norwegian playwright, theatre director,
    and poet. He is often referred to as "the father of prose drama" and is
    one of the founders of Modernism in the theatre. His major works include
    Brand, Peer Gynt, An Enemy of the People, Emperor and Galilean, A Doll's
    House, Hedda Gabler, Ghosts, The Wild Duck, Rosmersholm, and The Master
    3) 玩偶之家介紹﹕A Doll's House (also translated as A Doll House) is a three-
    act play in prose by the playwright Henrik Ibsen. It premiered at the Royal
    Theatre in Copenhagen, Denmark, on 21 December 1879, having been published
    earlier that month.
    4) 易卜生是世界有名的劇作家。其三幕劇“玩偶之家”也是名劇。其英文翻譯可讀

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-09-01 21:51:56


    War and Peace 戰爭與和平
    by Leo Tolstoy 托爾司泰
    Translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude

    Chapter I
    "Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes.
    拿坡倫 But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war, if you
    still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-
    I really believe he is Antichrist- I will have nothing more to do with you
    and you are no longer my friend, no longer my 'faithful slave,' as you call
    yourself! But how do you do? I see I have frightened you- sit down and tell
    me all the news."
    It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pavlovna Scherer,
    maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Marya Fedorovna. With these words
    she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man of high rank and importance, who
    was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna Pavlovna had had a cough
    for some days. She was, as she said, suffering from la grippe; grippe being
    then a new word in St. Petersburg, used only by the elite.
    All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered
    by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:
    "If you have nothing better to do, Count [or Prince], and if the prospect
    of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible, I shall
    be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10- Annette Scherer."
    "Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in the least
    disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an embroidered
    court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on his breast and
    a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that refined French in
    which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing
    intonation natural to a man of importance who had grown old in society and
    at court. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her
    his bald, scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself on
    the sofa.
    "First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend's mind
    at rest," said he without altering his tone, beneath the politeness and
    affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony could be discerned.
    "Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times like
    these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You are staying the
    whole evening, I hope?"
    "And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. I must put
    in an appearance there," said the prince. "My daughter is coming for me
    to take me there."
    "I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all these festivities
    and fireworks are becoming wearisome."
    "If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have been
    put off," said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force of habit
    said things he did not even wish to be believed.
    "Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev's dispatch?
    You know everything."
    "What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold, listless tone.
    "What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has burnt his
    boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours."
    Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale part.
    Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years, overflowed
    with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social
    vocation and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic
    in order not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued
    smile which, though it did not suit her faded features, always played round
    her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her
    charming defect, which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it
    necessary, to correct.
    In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna burst
    "Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand things, but
    Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is betraying us!
    Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign recognizes his high
    vocation and will be true to it. That is the one thing I have faith in!
    Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform the noblest role on earth,
    and he is so virtuous and noble that God will not forsake him. He will fulfill
    his vocation and crush the hydra of revolution, which has become more terrible
    than ever in the person of this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge
    the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England
    with her commercial spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander'
    s loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find,
    and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer did Novosiltsev
    get? None. The English have not understood and cannot understand the self-abnegation
    of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but only desires the good
    of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! And what little they have
    promised they will not perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte
    is invincible, and that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don't
    believe a word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian
    neutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny
    of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!"
    She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.
    "I think," said the prince with a smile, "that if you had been sent instead
    of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King of Prussia's
    consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a cup of tea?"
    "In a moment. A propos," she added, becoming calm again, "I am expecting
    two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who is connected
    with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best French families.
    He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones. And also the Abbe Morio.
    Do you know that profound thinker? He has been received by the Emperor.
    Had you heard?"
    "I shall be delighted to meet them," said the prince. "But tell me," he
    added with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred to him,
    though the question he was about to ask was the chief motive of his visit,
    "is it true that the Dowager Empress 太后 wants Baron Funke to be appointed
    first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accounts is a poor creature."
    Prince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were trying
    through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it for the baron.
    Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor anyone
    else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was pleased with.
    "Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her sister,"
    was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.
    As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed an expression
    of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with sadness, and this
    occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious patroness. She added that
    Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again
    her face clouded over with sadness.
    The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and
    courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pavlovna wished both
    to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done of a man recommended to the
    Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she said:
    "Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came out everyone
    has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly beautiful."
    The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.
    "I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer to the
    prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political and social
    topics were ended and the time had come for intimate conversation- "I often
    think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are distributed. Why has fate
    given you two such splendid children? I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest.
    I don't like him," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising
    her eyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them
    less than anyone, and so you don't deserve to have them."
    And she smiled her ecstatic smile.
    "I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater would have said I lack the
    bump of paternity."
    "Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know I am dissatisfied
    with your younger son? Between ourselves" (and her face assumed its melancholy
    expression), "he was mentioned at Her Majesty's and you were pitied...."
    The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly, awaiting
    a reply. He frowned.
    "What would you have me do?" he said at last. "You know I did all a father
    could for their education, and they have both turned out fools. Hippolyte
    is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That is the only
    difference between them." He said this smiling in a way more natural and
    animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth very clearly revealed
    something unexpectedly coarse and unpleasant.
    "And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a father
    there would be nothing I could reproach you with," said Anna Pavlovna, looking
    up pensively.
    "I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my children
    are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That is how I explain
    it to myself. It can't be helped!"
    He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a gesture.
    Anna Pavlovna meditated.
    "Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?" she asked.
    "They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I don't feel
    that weakness in myself as yet,I know a little person who is very unhappy
    with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya."
    Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and perception
    befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of the head that
    he was considering this information.
    "Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad current
    of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousand rubles a year?
    And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be in five years, if he goes
    on like this?" Presently he added: "That's what we fathers have to put up
    with.... Is this princess of yours rich?"
    "Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is the
    well-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the army under the late
    Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is very clever but
    eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. She has a brother;
    I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. He is an aide-de-camp
    of Kutuzov's 知道庫圖佐夫嗎 and will be here tonight."
    "Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, suddenly taking Anna Pavlovna's
    hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange that affair for
    me and I shall always be your most devoted slave- slafe with an f, as a
    village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich and of good family
    and that's all I want."
    And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the maid
    of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro as he lay
    back in his armchair, looking in another direction.
    "Attendez," said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise, young Bolkonski'
    s wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing can be arranged. It shall
    be on your family's behalf that I'll start my apprenticeship as old maid."

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy (known in the Anglosphere as Leo Tolstoy)
    (September 9, 1828 -- November 20, 1910) was a Russian writer who primarily
    wrote novels and short stories. Later in life, he also wrote plays and essays.
    His two most famous works, the novels War and Peace and Anna Karenina,
    are acknowledged as two of the greatest novels of all time and a pinnacle
    of realist fiction. Many consider Tolstoy to have been one of the world's
    greatest novelists.
    3) 小說介紹﹕War and Peace is a novel by the Russian author Leo Tolstoy,
    first published in 1869. The work is epic in scale and is regarded as one
    of the most important works of world literature. It is considered Tolstoy's
    finest literary achievement, along with his other major prose work Anna
    Karenina (1873 --1877).
    War and Peace delineates in graphic detail events surrounding the French
    invasion of Russia, and the impact of the Napoleonic era on Tsarist society,
    as seen through the eyes of five Russian aristocratic families. Portions
    of an earlier version of the novel, then known as The Year 1805,[4] were
    serialized in the magazine The Russian Messenger between 1865 and 1867.
    The novel was first published in its entirety in 1869.
    4) 托爾斯泰當然是世界名作家。其“戰爭與和平”一書也屬世界名著。一般這種書

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-09-05 22:11:15

    青山尼瑪 ﹕

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-09-08 21:26:05


    The Canterbury Tales
    by Geoffrey Chaucer

    The General Prologue--
    Here begins the Book of the Tales of Canterbury﹕
    When April with his showers sweet with fruit
    The drought of March has pierced unto the root
    And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
    To generate therein and sire the flower;
    When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
    Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
    The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
    Into the Ram one half his course has run,
    And many little birds make melody
    That sleep through all the night with open eye
    (So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
    Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
    And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
    To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
    And specially from every shire's end
    Of England they to Canterbury wend,
    The holy blessed martyr there to seek
    Who helped them when they lay so ill and weal
    Befell that, in that season, on a day
    In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay
    Ready to start upon my pilgrimage
    To Canterbury, full of devout homage,
    There came at nightfall to that hostelry
    Some nine and twenty in a company
    Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall
    In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all
    That toward Canterbury town would ride.
    The rooms and stables spacious were and wide,
    And well we there were eased, and of the best.
    And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest,
    So had I spoken with them, every one,
    That I was of their fellowship anon,
    And made agreement that we'd early rise
    To take the road, as you I will apprise.
    But none the less, whilst I have time and space,
    Before yet farther in this tale I pace,
    It seems to me accordant with reason
    To inform you of the state of every one
    Of all of these, as it appeared to me,
    And who they were, and what was their degree,
    And even how arrayed there at the inn;
    And with a knight thus will I first begin.

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1343 -- 25 October 1400), known as the
    Father of English literature, is widely considered the greatest English
    poet of the Middle Ages and was the first poet to have been buried in Poet's
    Corner of Westminster Abbey. While he achieved fame during his lifetime
    as an author, philosopher, alchemist and astronomer, composing a scientific
    treatise on the astrolabe for his ten year-old son Lewis, Chaucer also maintained
    an active career in the civil service as a bureaucrat, courtier and diplomat.
    Among his many works, which include The Book of the Duchess, the House
    of Fame, the Legend of Good Women and Troilus and Criseyde, he is best known
    today for The Canterbury Tales. Chaucer is a crucial figure in developing
    the legitimacy of the vernacular, Middle English, at a time when the dominant
    literary languages in England were French and Latin.
    3) 本書介紹﹕The Canterbury Tales is a collection of stories written in
    Middle English by Geoffrey Chaucer at the end of the 14th century. The tales
    (mostly written in verse although some are in prose) are presented as part
    of a story-telling contest by a group of pilgrims as they travel together
    on a journey from Southwark to the shrine of Saint Thomas Becket at Canterbury
    Cathedral. The prize for this contest is a free meal at the Tabard Inn at
    Southwark on their return.
    4) 喬叟也是一個世界著名的作家。其Canterbury故事集屬文學名著。原著是用中古
    Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
    The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
    [When April with his showers sweet with fruit
    The drought of March has pierced unto the root]

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-09-15 21:34:31


    Little Women 小婦人
    by Louisa May Alcott

    "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying
    on the rug.
    "It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.
    "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things,
    and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff.
    "We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth contentedly from
    her corner.
    The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful
    words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, "We haven't got Father, and
    shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say "perhaps never," but
    each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting
    Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, "You know the
    reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because
    it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not
    to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army.
    We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do
    it gladly. But I am afraid I don't." And Meg shook her head, as she thought
    regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.
    "But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each
    got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I
    agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want to buy UNDINE
    AND SINTRAM 書名 for myself. I've wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a
    "I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a little sigh, which
    no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.
    "I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I really need them,"
    said Amy decidedly.
    "Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give
    up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun. I'm sure
    we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes
    in a gentlemanly manner.
    "I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm
    longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining tone again.
    "You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you
    like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you
    trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to fly out
    the window or cry?"
    "It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things
    tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands get
    so stiff, I can't practice well at all." And Beth looked at her rough hands
    with a sigh that any one could hear that time.
    "I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for you don't have
    to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't know
    your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he isn't
    rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice."
    "If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if Papa was
    a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.
    "I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper
    to use good words, and improve your vocabilary," returned Amy, with dignity.
    "Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money Papa
    lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy and good we'd be, if we
    had no worries!" said Meg, who could remember better times.
    "You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the King
    children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of
    their money."
    "So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work, we
    make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say."
    "Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at the
    long figure stretched on the rug.
    Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle.
    "Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!"
    "That's why I do it."
    "I detest rude, unladylike girls!"
    "I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"
    "Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the peacemaker, with such
    a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the "pecking"
    ended for that time.
    "Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to lecture
    in her elder-sisterly fashion. "You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks,
    and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were
    a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should
    remember that you are a young lady."
    "I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails
    till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut
    mane. "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, 故事人物
    and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster 一種花! It's bad
    enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners!
    I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's worse than
    ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa. And I can only stay home
    and knit, like a poky old woman!"
    And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets,
    and her ball bounded across the room.
    "Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you must try to be contented
    with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls," said Beth,
    stroking the rough head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting
    in the world could not make ungentle in its touch.
    "As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether too particular and
    prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose,
    if you don't take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking,
    when you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad as Jo's
    "If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?" asked Beth, ready
    to share the lecture.
    "You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly, and no one contradicted
    her, for the `Mouse' was the pet of the family.
    As young readers like to know `how people look', we will take this moment
    to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away
    in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire
    crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though the carpet
    was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on
    the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses
    bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded
    Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump
    and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and
    white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very
    tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed
    to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way.
    She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared
    to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long,
    thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to
    be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway
    look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly
    shooting up into a woman and didn't like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone
    called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with
    a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom
    disturbed. Her father called her `Little Miss Tranquility', and the name
    suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own,
    only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though
    the youngest, was a most important person, in her own opinion at least.
    A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders,
    pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful
    of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave
    to be found out. 太長。在此切斷。每本小說我只能提供個引頭﹐不可能整本上貼。

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Louisa May Alcott (November 29, 1832 -- March 6, 1888) was
    an American novelist best known as author of the novel Little Women and
    its sequels Little Men and Jo's Boys.[1] Raised by her transcendentalist
    parents, Abigail May Alcott and Amos Bronson Alcott in New England, she
    grew up among many of the well-known intellectuals of the day such as Ralph
    Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Henry David Thoreau. Nevertheless,
    her family suffered severe financial difficulties and Alcott worked to help
    support the family from an early age. She began to receive critical success
    for her writing in the 1860s. Early in her career, she sometimes used the
    pen name A. M. Barnard. Alcott was an abolitionist and a feminist. She never
    married and died in Boston.
    3) 該書介紹﹕Published in 1868, Little Women is set in the Alcott family
    home, Orchard House, in Concord, Massachusetts and is loosely based on Alcott'
    s childhood experiences with her three sisters. The novel was very well
    received and is still a popular children's novel today.
    4) “小婦人”也是本著名小說。不知現在的中國讀者是否知道此書。不過﹐值得讀

  • 海外逸士

    海外逸士 2012-09-20 22:02:53


    The Good Earth 大地
    by Pearl S. Buck

    Chapter One
    It was Wang Lung's marriage day. At first, opening his eyes in the blackness
    of the curtains about his bed, he could not think why the dawn seemed different
    from any other. The house was still except for the faint, gasping cough
    of his old father, whose room was opposite to his own across the middle
    room. Every morning the old man's cough was the first sound to be heard.
    Wang Lung usually lay listening to it and moved only when he heard it approaching
    nearer and when he heard the door of his father's room squeak upon its wooden
    But this morning he did not wait. He sprang up and pushed aside the curtains
    of his bed. It was a dark, ruddy dawn, and through a small square hole of
    a window, where the tattered paper fluttered, a glimpse of bronze sky gleamed.
    He went to the hole and tore the paper away.
    "It is spring and I do not need this," he muttered. He was ashamed to say
    aloud that he wished the house to look neat on this day. The hole was barely
    large enough to admit his hand and he thrust it out to feel of the air.
    A small soft wind blew gently from the east, a wind mild and murmurous and
    full of rain. It was a good omen. The fields needed rain for fruition. There
    would be no rain this day, but within a few days, if this wind continued,
    there would be water. It was good.
    Yesterday he had said to his father that if this brazen, glittering sunshine
    continued, the wheat could not fill in the ear. Now it was as if Heaven
    had chosen this day to wish him well. Earth would bear fruit. He hurried
    out into the middle room, drawing on his blue outer trousers as he went,
    and knotting about the fullness at his waist his girdle of blue cotton cloth.
    He left his upper body bare until he had heated water to bathe himself.
    He went into the shed which was the kitchen, leaning against the house,
    and out of its dusk an ox twisted its head from behind the corner next the
    door and lowed at him deeply.
    The kitchen was made of earthen bricks as the house was, great squares of
    earth dug from their own fields, and thatched with straw from their own
    wheat. Out of their own earth had his grandfather in his youth fashioned
    also the oven, baked and black with many years of meal preparing. On top
    of this earthen structure stood a deep round iron cauldron.
    This cauldron he filled partly full of water, dipping it with a half gourd
    from an earthen jar that stood near, but he dipped cautiously, for water
    was precious. Then, after a hesitation, he suddenly lifted the jar and emptied
    all the water into the cauldron. This day he would bathe his whole body.
    Not since he was a child upon his mother's knee had anyone looked upon his
    body. Today one would, and he would have it clean.
    He went around the oven to the rear and, selecting a handful of the dry
    grass and stalks standing in the corner of the kitchen, he arranged it delicately
    in the mouth of the oven, making the most of every leaf.
    Then from an old flint and iron he caught a flame and thrust it into the
    straw and there was a blaze.
    This was the last morning he would have to light the fire. He had lit it
    every morning since his mother died six years before. He had lit the fire,
    boiled water, and poured the water into a bowl and taken it into the room
    where his father sat upon his bed, coughing and fumbling for his shoes upon
    the floor. Every morning for these six years the old man had waited for his
    son to bring in hot water to ease him of his morning coughing. Now father
    and son could rest. There was a woman coming to the house. Never again would
    Wang Lung have to rise summer and winter at dawn to light the fire. He could
    lie in his bed and wait, and he also would have a bowl of water brought
    to him, and if the earth were fruitful there would be tea leaves in the water.
    Once in some years it was so.
    And if the woman wearied, there would be her children to light the fire,
    the many children she would bear to Wang Lung. Wang Lung stopped, struck
    by the thought of children running in and out of their three rooms. Three
    rooms had always seemed much to them, a house half empty since his mother
    died. They were always having to resist relatives who were more crowded--his
    uncle, with his endless brood of children, coaxing,
    "Now, how can two lone men need so much room? Cannot father and son sleep
    together? The warmth of the young one's body will comfort the old one's
    But the father always replied, "I am saving my bed for my grandson. He will
    warm my bones in my age."
    Now the grandsons were coming, grandsons upon grandsons! They would have
    to put beds along the walls and in the middle room. The house would be full
    of beds. The blaze in the oven died down while Wang Lung thought of all
    the beds there would be in the half-empty house, and the water began to
    chill in the cauldron. The shadowy figure of the old man appeared in the
    doorway, holding his unbuttoned garments about him. He was coughing and spitting
    and he gasped, "How is it that there is not water yet to heat my lungs?"

    Wang Lung stared and recalled himself and was ashamed.
    "This fuel is damp," he muttered from behind the stove.
    "The damp wind--"
    The old man continued to cough perseveringly and would not cease until the
    water boiled. Wang Lung dipped some into a bowl, and then, after a moment,
    he opened a glazed jar that stood upon a ledge of the stove and took from
    it a dozen or so of the curled dried leaves and sprinkled them upon the
    surface of the water. The old man's eyes opened greedily and immediately
    he began to complain.
    "Why are you wasteful? Tea is like eating silver."
    "It is the day," replied Wang Lung with a short laugh.
    "Eat and be comforted."
    The old man grasped the bowl in his shriveled, knotty fingers, muttering,
    uttering little grunts. He watched the leaves uncurl and spread upon the
    surface of the water, unable to bear drinking the precious stuff.
    "It will be cold," said Wang Lung.
    "True--true..." said the old man in alarm, and he began to take great gulps
    of the hot tea. He passed into an animal satisfaction, like a child fixed
    upon its feeding. But he was not too forgetful to see Wang Lung dipping
    the water recklessly from the cauldron into a deep wooden tub. He lifted
    his head and stared at his son.
    "Now there is water enough to bring a crop to fruit," he said suddenly.
    Wang Lung continued to dip the water to the last drop. He did not answer.

    "Now then!" cried his father loudly.
    "I have not washed my body all at once since the New Year," said Wang Lung
    in a low voice.
    He was ashamed to say to his father that he wished his body to be clean
    for a woman to see. He hurried out, carrying the tub to his own room. The
    door was hung loosely upon a warped wooden frame and it did not shut closely,
    and the old man tottered into the middle room and put his mouth to the
    opening and bawled, "It will be ill if we start the woman like this--tea
    in the morning water and all this washing!"
    "It is only one day," shouted Wang Lung. And then he added, "I will throw
    the water on the earth when I am finished and it is not all waste." The
    old man was silent at this, and Wang Lung unfastened his girdle and stepped
    out of his clothing. In the light that streamed in a square block from the
    hole he wrung a small towel from the steaming water and he scrubbed his
    dark slender body vigorously. Warm though he had thought the air, when his
    flesh was wet he was cold, and he moved quickly, passing the towel in and
    out of the water until from his whole body there went up a delicate cloud
    of steam. Then he went to a box that had been his mother's and drew from
    it a fresh suit of blue cotton cloth. He might be a little cold this day
    without the wadding of the winter garments, but he suddenly could not bear
    to put them on against his clean flesh. The covering of them was torn and
    filthy and the wadding stuck out of the holes, grey and sodden. He did not
    want this woman to see him for the first time with the wadding sticking
    out of his clothes. Later she would have to wash and mend, but not the first
    day. He drew over the blue cotton coat and trousers, a long robe made of
    the same material--his one long robe, which he wore on feast days only,
    ten days or so in the year, all told. Then with swift fingers he unplaited
    the long braid of hair that hung down his back, and taking a wooden comb
    from the drawer of the small, unsteady table, he began to comb out his hair.

    His father drew near again and put his mouth to the crack of the door.
    "Am I to have nothing to eat this day?" he complained.
    "At my age the bones are water in the morning until food is given them."

    "I am coming," said Wang Lung, braiding his hair quickly and smoothly and
    weaving into the strands a tasseled black silk cord.
    Then after a moment he removed his long gown and wound his braid about his
    head and went out, carrying the tub of water. He had quite forgotten the
    breakfast. He would stir a little water into cornmeal and give it to his
    father. For himself he could not eat. He staggered with the tub to the threshold
    and poured the water upon the earth nearest the door, and as he did so he
    remembered he had used all the water in the cauldron for his bathing and
    he would have to start the fire again. A wave of anger passed over him at
    his father.
    "That old head thinks of nothing except his eating and his drinking," he
    muttered into the mouth of the oven; but aloud he said nothing. It was the
    last morning he would have to prepare food for the old man. He put a very
    little water into the cauldron, drawing it in a bucket from the well near
    the door, and it boiled quickly and he stirred meal together and took it
    to the old man.
    "We will have rice this night, my father," he said.
    "Meanwhile, here is corn."
    "There is only a little rice left in the basket," said the old man, seating
    himself at the table in the middle room and stirring with his chopsticks
    the thick yellow gruel.
    "We will eat a little less then at the spring festival," said Wang Lung.
    But the old man did not hear. He was supping loudly at his bowl.
    Wang Lung went into his own room then, and drew about him again the long
    blue robe and let down the braid of his hair. He passed his hand over his
    shaven brow and over his cheeks. Perhaps he had better be newly shaven?
    It was scarcely sunrise yet. He could pass through the Street of the Barbers
    and be shaved before he went to the house where the woman waited for him.
    If he had the money he would do it. He took from his girdle a small greasy
    pouch of grey cloth and counted the money in it. There were six silver dollars
    and a double handful of copper coins. He had not yet told his father he
    had asked friends to sup that night. He had asked his male cousin, the young
    son of his uncle, and his uncle for his father's sake, and three neighboring
    farmers who lived in the village with him. He had planned to bring back from
    the town that morning pork, a small pond fish, and a handful of chestnuts.
    He might even buy a few of the bamboo sprouts from the south and a little
    beef to stew with the cabbage he had raised in his own garden. But this
    only if there were any money left after the bean oil and the soybean sauce
    had been bought. If he shaved his head he could not, perhaps, buy the beef.
    Well, he would shave his head, he decided suddenly.
    He left the old man without speech and went out into the early morning.
    In spite of the dark red dawn the sun was mounting the horizon clouds and
    sparkled upon the dew on the rising wheat and barley. The farmer in Wang
    Lung was diverted for an instant and he stooped to examine the budding heads.
    They were empty as yet and waiting for the rain. He smelled the air and
    looked anxiously at the sky. Rain was there, dark in the clouds, heavy upon
    the wind. He would buy a stick of incense and place it in the little temple
    to the Earth God. On a day like this he would do it. He wound his way in
    among the fields upon the narrow path. In the near distance the grey city
    wall arose. Within that gate in the wall through which he would pass stood
    the great house where the woman had been a slave girl since her childhood,
    the House of Hwang. There were those who said, "It is better to live alone
    than to marry a woman who has been a slave in a great house." But when he
    had said to his father, "Am I never to have a woman?" his father replied,
    "With weddings costing as they do in these evil days and every woman wanting
    gold rings and silk clothes before she will take a man, there remain only
    slaves to be had for the poor."
    His father had stirred himself, then, and gone to the House of Hwang and
    asked if there were a slave to spare.
    "Not a slave too young, and above all, not a pretty one," he had said. Wang
    Lung had suffered that she must not be pretty. It would be something to
    have a pretty wife that other men would congratulate him upon having. His
    father, seeing his mutinous face, had cried out at him, "And what will we
    do with a pretty woman? We must have a woman who will tend the house and
    bear children as she works in the fields, and will a pretty woman do these
    things? She will be forever thinking about clothes to go with her face!
    No, not a pretty woman in our house. We are farmers. Moreover, who has heard
    of a pretty slave who was virgin in a wealthy house? All the young lords
    have had their fill of her. It is better to be first with an ugly woman than
    the hundredth with a beauty. Do you imagine a pretty woman will think your
    farmer's hands as pleasing as the soft hands of a rich man's son, and your
    sun-black face as beautiful as the golden skin of the others who have had
    her for their pleasure?"
    Wang Lung knew his father spoke well. Nevertheless, he had to struggle with
    his flesh before he could answer. And then he said violently, "At least,
    I will not have a woman who is pockmarked, or who has a split upper lip."

    "We will have to see what is to be had," his father replied. Well, the woman
    was not pockmarked nor had she a split upper lip. This much he knew, but
    nothing more. He and his father had bought two silver rings, washed with
    gold, and silver earrings, and these his father had taken to the woman's
    owner in acknowledgment of betrothal.
    Beyond this, he knew nothing of the woman who was to be his, except that
    on this day he could go and get her.
    He walked into the cool darkness of the city gate. Water carriers, just
    outside, their barrows laden with great tubs of water, passed to and fro
    all day, the water splashing out of the tubs upon the stones.
    It was always wet and cool in the tunnel of the gate under the thick wall
    of earth and brick; cool even upon a summer's day, so that the melon vendors
    spread their fruits upon the stones, melons split open to drink in the moist
    coolness. There were none yet, for the season was too early, but baskets
    of small hard green peaches stood along the walls, and the vendor cried out,
    "The first peaches of spring--the first peaches! Buy, eat, purge your bowels
    of the poisons of winter!"
    Wang Lung said to himself, "If she likes them, I will buy her a handful
    when we return." He could not realize that when he walked back through the
    gate there would be a woman walking behind him.
    He turned to the right within the gate and after a moment was in the Street
    of Barbers. There were few before him so early, only some farmers who had
    carried their produce into the town the night before in order that they
    might sell their vegetables at the dawn markets and return for the day's
    work in the fields. They had slept shivering and crouching over their baskets,
    the baskets now empty at their feet. Wang Lung avoided them lest some recognize
    him, for he wanted none of their joking on this day. All down the street
    in a long line the barbers stood behind their small stalls, and Wang Lung
    went to the furthest one and sat down upon the stool and motioned to the
    barber who stood chattering to his neighbor. The barber came at once and
    began quickly to pour hot water from a kettle on his pot of charcoal into
    his brass basin.
    "Shave everything?" he said in a professional tone.
    "My head and my face," replied Wang Lung.
    "Ears and nostrils cleaned?" asked the barber.
    "How much will that cost extra?" asked Wang Lung cautiously.
    "Four pence," said the barber, beginning to pass a black cloth in and out
    of the hot water.
    "I will give you two," said Wang Lung.
    "Then I will clean one ear and one nostril," rejoined the barber promptly.

    "On which side of the face do you wish it done?" He grimaced at the next
    barber as he spoke and the other burst into a guffaw. Wang Lung perceived
    that he had fallen into the hands of a joker, and feeling inferior in some
    unaccountable way, as he always did, to these town dwellers, even though
    they were only barbers and the lowest of persons, he said quickly, "As you
    will--as you will..." Then he submitted himself to the barber's soaping and
    rubbing and shaving, and being after all a generous fellow enough, the barber
    gave him without extra charge a series of skilful poundings upon his shoulders
    and back to loosen his muscles. He commented upon Wang Lung as he shaved
    his upper forehead, "This would not be a badlooking farmer if he would cut
    off his hair. The new fashion is to take off the braid." His razor hovered
    so near the circle of hair upon Wang Lung's crown that Wang Lung cried out,
    "I cannot cut it off without asking my father!" And the barber laughed and
    skirted the round spot of hair.
    When it was finished and the money counted into the barber's wrinkled, watersoaked
    hand, Wang Lung had a moment of horror. So much money!
    But walking down the street again with the wind fresh upon his shaven skin,
    he said to himself, "It is only once."
    He went to the market, then, and bought two pounds of pork and watched the
    butcher as he wrapped it in a dried lotus leaf, and then, hesitating, he
    bought also six ounces of beef. When all had been bought, even to fresh
    squares of bean curd, shivering in a jelly upon its leaf, he went to a candle
    maker shop and there he bought a pair of incense sticks. Then he turned his
    steps with great shyness toward the House of Hwang. Once at the gate of
    the house he was seized with terror. How had he come alone?
    He should have asked his father--his uncle--even his nearest neighbor, Ching-
    -anyone to come with him. He had never been in a great house before. How
    could he go in with his wedding feast on his arm, and say, "I have come
    for a woman"?
    He stood at the gate for a long time, looking at it. It was closed fast,
    two great wooden gates, painted black and bound and studded with iron, closed
    upon each other. Two lions made of stone stood on guard, one at either side.
    There was no one else. He turned away. It was impossible.
    He felt suddenly faint. He would go first and buy a little food. He had
    eaten nothing--had forgotten food. He went into a small street restaurant,
    and putting two pence upon the table, he sat down. A dirty waiting boy with
    a shiny black apron came near and he called out to him, "Two bowls of noodles!
    " And when they were come, he ate them down greedily, pushing them into
    his month with his bamboo chopsticks, while the boy stood and spun the coppers
    between his black thumb and forefinger.
    "Will you have more?" asked the boy indifferently. Wang Lung shook his head.
    He sat up and looked about. There was no one he knew in the small, dark,
    crowded room full of tables. Only a few men sat eating or drinking tea.
    It was a place for poor men, and among them he looked neat and clean and
    almost well-to-do, so that a beggar, passing, whined at him, "Have a good
    heart, teacher, and give me a small cash--I starve!"
    Wang Lung had never had a beggar ask of him before, nor had any ever called
    him teacher. He was pleased and he threw into the beggar's bowl two small
    cash, which are one-fifth of a penny, and the beggar pulled back with swiftness
    his black claw of a hand, and grasping the cash, fumbled them within his
    Wang Lung sat and the sun climbed upwards. The waiting boy lounged about
    "If you are buying nothing more," he said at last with much impudence, "you
    will have to pay rent for the stool."
    Wang Lung was incensed at such impudence and he would have risen except
    that when he thought of going into the great House of Hwang and of asking
    there for a woman, sweat broke out over his whole body as though he were
    working in a field.
    "Bring me tea," he said weakly to the boy. Before he could turn it was there
    and the small boy demanded sharply, "Where is the penny?" And Wang Lung,
    to his horror, found there was nothing to do but to produce from his girdle
    yet another penny.
    "It is robbery," he muttered, unwilling. Then he saw entering the shop his
    neighbor whom he had invited to the feast, and he put the penny hastily
    upon the table and drank the tea at a gulp and went out quickly by the side
    door and was once more upon the street.
    "It is to be done," he said to himself desperately, and slowly he turned
    his way to the great gates.
    This time, since it was after high noon, the gates were ajar and the keeper
    of the gate idled upon the threshold, picking his teeth with a bamboo sliver
    after his meal. He was a tall fellow with a large mole upon his left cheek,
    and from the mole hung three long black hairs which had never been cut.
    When Wang Lung appeared he shouted roughly, thinking from the basket that
    he had come to sell something.
    "Now then, what?"
    With great difficulty Wang Lung replied, "I am Wang Lung, the farmer."
    "Well, and Wang Lung, the farmer, what?" retorted the gate man who was polite
    to none except the rich friends of his master and mistress.
    "I am come--I am come..." faltered Wang Lung.
    "That I see," said the gate man with elaborate patience, twisting the long
    hairs of his mole.
    "There is a woman," said Wang Lung, his voice sinking helplessly to a whisper.
    In the sunshine his face was wet.
    The gate man gave a great laugh.
    "So you are he!" he roared.
    "I was told to expect a bridegroom today.
    But I did not recognize you with a basket on your arm."
    "It is only a few meats," said Wang Lung apologetically, waiting for the
    gate man to lead him within. But the gate man did not move. At last Wang
    Lung said with anxiety,
    "Shall I go alone?"
    The gate man affected a start of horror.
    "The Old Lord would kill you!"
    Then, seeing that Wang Lung was too innocent, he said, "A little silver
    is a good key."
    Wang Lung saw at last that the man wanted money of him.
    "I am a poor man," he said pleadingly.
    "Let me see what you have in your girdle," said the gate man. And he grinned
    when Wang Lung in his simplicity actually put his basket upon the stones
    and lifting his robe took out the small bag from his girdle and shook into
    his left hand what money was left after his purchases. There was one silver
    piece and fourteen copper pence.
    "I will take the silver," said the gate man coolly, and before Wang Lung
    could protest the man had the silver in his sleeve and was striding through
    the gate, bawling loudly, "The bridegroom, the bridegroom!"
    Wang Lung, in spite of anger at what had just happened and horror at this
    loud announcing of his coming, could do nothing but follow, and this he
    did, picking up his basket and looking neither to the right nor left.
    Afterwards, although it was the first time he had ever been in a great family'
    s house, he could remember nothing. With his face burning and his head bowed,
    he walked through court after court, hearing that voice roaring ahead of
    him, hearing tinkles of laughter on every side. Then suddenly when it seemed
    to him he had gone through a hundred courts, the gate man fell silent and
    pushed him into a small waiting room. There he stood alone while the gate
    man went into some inner place, returning in a moment to say, "The Old Mistress
    says you are to appear before her." Wang Lung started forward, but the gate
    man stopped him, crying in disgust,
    "You cannot appear before a great lady with a basket on your arm--a basket
    of pork and bean curd! How will you bow?"
    "True--true..." said Wang Lung in agitation. But he did not dare to put
    the basket down because he was afraid something might be stolen from it.
    It did not occur to him that all the world might not desire such delicacies
    as two pounds of pork and six ounces of beef and a small pond fish. The
    gate man saw his fear and cried out in great contempt,
    "In a house like this we feed these meats to the dogs!" and seizing the
    basket he thrust it behind the door and pushed Wang Lung ahead of him.
    Down a long narrow veranda they went, the roofs supported by delicate carven
    posts, and into a hall the like of which Wang Lung had never seen. A score
    of houses such as his whole house could have been put into it and have disappeared,
    so wide were the spaces, so high the roofs. Lifting his head in wonder
    to see the great carven and painted beams above him he stumbled upon the
    high threshold of the door and would have fallen except that the gate man
    caught his arm and cried out, "Now will you be so polite as to fall on your
    face like this before the Old Mistress?" And, collecting himself in great
    shame, Wang Lung looked ahead of him, and upon a dais in the center of the
    room he saw a very old lady, her small fine body clothed in lustrous, pearly
    grey satin, and upon the low bench beside her a pipe of opium stood, burning
    over its little lamp. She looked at him out of small, sharp, black eyes,
    as sunken and sharp as a monkey's eyes in her thin and wrinkled face. The
    skin of her hand that held the pipe's end was stretched over her little
    bones as smooth and as yellow as the gilt upon an idol. Wang Lung fell to
    his knees and knocked his head on the tiled floor.
    "Raise him," said the old lady gravely to the gate man "these obeisances
    are not necessary. Has he come for the woman?"
    "Yes, Ancient One," replied the gate man.
    "Why does he not speak for himself?" asked the old lady.
    "Because he is a fool, Ancient One," said the gate man twirling the hairs
    of his mole.
    This roused Wang Lung and he looked with indignation at the gate man "I
    am only a coarse person, Great and Ancient Lady," he said.
    "I do not know what words to use in such a presence." The old lady looked
    at him carefully and with perfect gravity and made as though she would have
    spoken, except that her hand closed upon the pipe which a slave had been
    tending for her and at once she seemed to forget him. She bent and sucked
    greedily at the pipe for a moment and the sharpness passed from her eyes
    and a film of forgetfulness came over them. Wang Lung remained standing before
    her until in passing her eyes caught his figure.
    "What is this man doing here?" she asked with sudden anger. It was as though
    she had forgotten everything. The gate man face was immovable.
    He said nothing.
    "I am waiting for the woman, Great Lady," said Wang Lung in much astonishment.

    "The woman? What woman? ..." the old lady began, but the slave girl at her
    side stooped and whispered and the lady recovered herself.
    "Ah, yes, I forgot for the moment--a small affair--you have come for the
    slave called O-lan. I remember we promised her to some farmer in marriage.
    You are that farmer?"
    "I am he," replied Wang Lung.
    "Call O-lan quickly," said the old lady to her slave. It was as though she
    was suddenly impatient to be done with all this and to be left alone in
    the stillness of the great room with her opium pipe.
    And in an instant the slave appeared leading by the hand a square, rather
    tall figure, clothed in clean blue cotton coat and trousers.
    Wang Lung glanced once and then away, his heart beating. This was his woman.

    "Come here, slave," said the old lady carelessly.
    "This man has come for you."
    The woman went before the lady and stood with bowed head and hands clasped.

    "Are you ready?" asked the lady.
    The woman answered slowly as an echo, "Ready."
    Wang Lung, hearing her voice for the first time, looked at her back as she
    stood before him. It was a good enough voice, not loud, not soft, plain,
    and not ill-tempered. The woman's hair was neat and smooth and her coat
    clean. He saw with an instant's disappointment that her feet were not bound.
    But this he could not dwell upon, for the old lady was saying to the gate
    man "Carry her box out to the gate and let them begone." And then she called
    Wang Lung and said, "Stand beside her while I speak." And when Wang had
    come forward she said to him, "This woman came into our house when she was
    a child of ten and here she has lived until now, when she is twenty years
    old. I bought her in a year of famine when her parents came south because
    they had nothing to eat. They were from the north in Shantung and there they
    returned, and I know nothing further of them. You see she has the strong
    body and the square cheeks of her kind. She will work well for you in the
    field and drawing water and all else that you wish. She is not beautiful
    but that you do not need. Only men of leisure have the need for beautiful
    women to divert them. Neither is she clever. But she does well what she is
    told to do and she has a good temper. So far as I know she is virgin. She
    has not beauty enough to tempt my sons and grandsons even if she had not
    been in the kitchen. If there has been anything it has been only a serving
    man. But with the innumerable and pretty slaves running freely about the
    courts, I doubt if there has been anyone. Take her and use her well. She
    is a good slave, although somewhat slow and stupid, and had not wished to
    acquire merit at the temple for my future existence by bringing more life
    into the world I should have kept her, for she is good enough for the kitchen.
    But I marry my slaves off if any will have them and the lords do not want
    And to the woman she said, "Obey him and bear him sons and yet more sons.
    Bring the first child to me to see."
    "Yes, Ancient Mistress," said the woman submissively. They stood hesitating,
    and Wang Lung was greatly embarrassed, not knowing whether he should speak
    or what.
    "Well, go, will you!" said the old lady in irritation, and Wang Lung, bowing
    hastily, turned and went out, the woman after him, and after her the gate
    man carrying on his shoulder the box. This box he dropped down in the room
    where Wang Lung returned to find his basket and would carry it no further,
    and indeed he disappeared without another word.
    Then Wang Lung turned to the woman and looked at her for the first time.
    She had a square, honest face, a short, broad nose with large black nostrils,
    and her mouth was wide as a gash in her face. Her eyes were small and of
    a dull black in color, and were filled with some sadness that was not clearly
    expressed. It was a face that seemed habitually silent and unspeaking, as
    though it could not speak if it would. She bore patiently Wang Lung's look,
    without embarrassment or response, simply waiting until he had seen her.
    He saw that it was true there was not beauty of any kind in her face--a
    brown, common, patient face. But there were no pockmarks on her dark skin,
    nor was her lip split. In her ears he saw his rings hanging, the gold-washed
    rings he had bought, and on her hands were the rings he had given her.
    He turned away with secret exultation. Well, he had his woman!
    "Here is this box and this basket," he said gruffly. Without a word she
    bent over and picking up one end of the box she placed it upon her shoulder
    and, staggering under its weight, tried to rise. He watched her at this
    and suddenly he said, "I will take the box. Here is the basket." And he
    shifted the box to his own back, regardless of the best robe he wore, and
    she, still speechless, took the handle of the basket. He thought of the
    hundred courts he had come through and of his figure, absurd under its burden.

    "If there were a side gate..." he muttered, and she nodded after a little
    thought, as though she did not understand too quickly what he said. Then
    she led the way through a small unused court that was grown up with weed,
    its pool choked, and there under a bent pine tree was an old round gate
    that she pulled loose from its bar, and they went through and into the street.

    Once or twice he looked back at her. She plodded along steadily on her big
    feet as though she had walked there all her life, her wide face expressionless.
    In the gate of the wall he stopped uncertainly and fumbled in his girdle
    with one hand for the pennies he had left, holding the box steady on his
    shoulder with the other hand. He took out two pence and with these he bought
    six small green peaches.
    "Take these and eat them for yourself," he said gruffly. She clutched them
    greedily as a child might and held them in her hand without speech. When
    next he looked at her as they walked along the margin of the wheat fields
    she was nibbling one cautiously, but when she saw him looking at her she
    covered it again with her hand and kept her jaws motionless.
    And thus they went until they reached the western field where stood the
    temple to the earth. This temple was a small structure, not higher in all
    than a man's shoulder and made of grey bricks and roofed with tile.
    Wang Lung's grandfather, who had farmed the very fields upon which Wang
    Lung now spent his life, had built it, hauling the bricks from the town
    upon his wheelbarrow. The walls were covered with plaster on the outside
    and a village artist had been hired in a good year once to paint upon the
    white plaster a scene of hills and bamboo. But the rain of generations had
    poured upon this painting until now there was only a faint feathery shadow
    of bamboos left, and the hills were almost wholly gone. Within the temple
    snugly under the roof sat two small, solemn figures, earthen, for they were
    formed from the earth of the fields about the temple. These were the god
    himself and his lady. They wore robes of red and gilt paper, and the god
    had a scant, drooping moustache of real hair. Each year at the New Year
    Wang Lung's father bought sheets of red paper and carefully cut and pasted
    new robes for the pair. And each year rain and snow beat in and the sun
    of summer shone in and spoiled their robes. At this moment, however, the
    robes were still new, since the year was but well begun, and Wang Lung was
    proud of their spruce appearance. He took the basket from the woman's arm
    and carefully he looked about under the pork for the sticks of incense he
    had bought. He was anxious lest they were broken and thus make an evil omen,
    but they were whole, and when he had found them he stuck them side by side
    in the ashes of other sticks of incense that were heaped before the gods,
    for the whole neighborhood worshipped these two small figures. Then fumbling
    for his flint and iron he caught, with a dried leaf for tinder, a flame
    to light the incense.
    Together this man and this woman stood before the gods of their fields.
    The woman watched the ends of the incense redden and turn grey. When the
    ash grew heavy she leaned over and with her forefinger she pushed the head
    of ash away. Then as though fearful for what she had done, she looked quickly
    at Wang Lung, her eyes dumb. But there was something he liked in her movement.
    It was as though she felt that the incense belonged to them both; it was
    a moment of marriage. They stood there in complete silence, side by side,
    while the incense smouldered into ashes; and then because the sun was sinking,
    Wang Lung shouldered the box and they went home. At the door of the house
    the old man stood to catch the last rays of the sun upon him. He made no
    movement as Wang Lung approached with the woman. It would have been beneath
    him to notice her. Instead he feigned great interest in the clouds and he
    cried, "That cloud which hangs upon the left horn of the new moon speaks
    of rain. It will come not later than tomorrow night." And then as he saw
    Wang Lung take the basket from the woman he cried again, "And have you spent
    money?" Wang Lung set the basket on the table.
    "There will be guests tonight," he said briefly, and he carried the box
    into the room where he slept and set it down beside the box where his own
    clothes were. He looked at it strangely. But the old man came to the door
    and said volubly, "There is no end to the money spent in this house!"

    1) 生詞自查。
    2) 作者介紹﹕Pearl Sydenstricker Buck (June 26, 1892 – March 6, 1973),
    also known by her Chinese name 賽珍珠, was an American writer who spent
    most of her time until 1934 in China. Her novel The Good Earth was the best-selling
    fiction book in the U.S. in 1931 and 1932, and won the Pulitzer Prize in
    1932. In 1938, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, "for her rich
    and truly epic descriptions of peasant life in China and for her biographical
    3) 該書介紹﹕The Good Earth is a novel by Pearl S. Buck published in 1931
    and awarded the Pulitzer Prize for the Novel in 1932. The best-selling novel
    in the United States in both 1931 and 1932, it was an influential factor
    in Buck's winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1938. It is the first
    book in a trilogy that includes Sons (1932) and A House Divided (1935).
    The novel of family life in a Chinese village before World War II has been
    a steady favorite ever since. In 2004, the book was returned to the bestseller
    list when chosen by the television host Oprah Winfrey for Oprah's Book Club.
    The novel helped prepare Americans of the 1930s to consider Chinese as allies
    in the coming war with Japan. A Broadway stage adaptation was produced by
    the Theatre Guild in 1932, written by the father and son playwriting team
    of Owen and Donald Davis, but it was poorly received by the critics, and
    ran only 56 performances. However, the 1937 film, The Good Earth, which
    was based on the stage version, was more successful.
    4) 賽珍珠對中國讀者應該是不陌生的。“大地”是她的名著。這裡介紹給大家看看

    [will travel for two months. see you guys when back.]


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