高級英語教材第一課

這個教程是為中等英文程度以上的學習者提供較高程度的教材﹐都屬有名閱讀材料﹐
幫助學習者進一步提高英語水平。

先讀課文﹕
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent,
a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that
all men are created equal.
        Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or
any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on
a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of
that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives
that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we
should do this.
        But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate --
we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled
here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The
world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never
forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated
here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly
advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining
before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to
that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that
we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that
this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government
of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the
earth.

1) 生詞﹕請自己查字典。
2) 註解﹕無語言難點﹐無註解。
3) 說明﹕這篇演講稿﹐節奏感強。特別注意HERE的不同位置﹐有時在動詞後﹐有時
在動詞複合形式之間﹐有時在主語後面﹐主要為了調節演講時輕重音的節奏。
4) 要求﹕能背誦。有志于提高英文寫作者﹐可以自己定內容寫篇演講稿﹐跟貼在後﹐
本人將抽時間予以評閱修改。

　　恐怕有些人硬是跳過了這個階段的基礎訓練，直接讀研究生去了。結果變成了一支“6B”號鉛筆，嘴很尖，鉛芯卻很鬆軟。

高級英語教材第二課
先讀課文﹕
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。

逸士

你还有闲心用英语 误人子弟，当务之急应该卖家产 旅游世界， 下个月 十一日
十一时十一分十一秒，世界就要毁灭了(：)

你怕被誤﹐就不應該進來。不過﹐以你的英文水平﹐不自己耽誤就好了。

我的前贴打趣而已， 碰上恶语中伤了(：)

不过以你水平， 就如此神气活现，牛B哄哄， 真要到了语言学校教授， 或者美国人的水平不要上天了吧(：)

人贵在自制，放好自己的半斤八两，说实话你的水平到底高到什么程度，我评估不出
来， 但总不会比美国人高吧(：)，美国人都不那么神气，何况你呢，人真要怎么样
了，也要有自知之明。良药苦口， 这几句对你有用的话谅你是听不进去的。

開玩笑要掌握個度﹐特別跟以前有過矛盾的人。

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 against your satisfaction 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 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 who 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.

与你有过矛盾？什么时候你将我恨上的？ 老天，我都不知道， 我真是马大哈(：)

至少我没有当你敌人， 俗话说不知不见怪， 我们讲和吧(：)

还不知这里还有多少和我有矛盾的？  我真的一点都不知道， 我们都讲和吧(：
)

很好。我其實是很不願意跟人爭吵的。都是被迫應付。

高級英語教材第三課

先讀課文﹕
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?"
"Bingley."
"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
all.)"
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
些幽默的說法﹐用括弧表出。都可學習使用。
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
將抽空評閱修改。

高級英語教材第四課

先讀課文﹕
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
desolate.

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
樣的好句子﹐寫作水平已達到文學層次。
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。

高級英語教材第五課

先讀課文﹕
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
奏感﹐否則就不能算詩。詩要有一定的意境﹐沒有意境的不能算詩。
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。

请改


Tear

(When God made human and at the moment
everything is done,he felt there are
something is missing. Then he put the
tears in the eyes of human)


If someday
you feel lonely
and painful
you find no one understand you
And every effort
you made hasn't turned out so well

Then cry, cry it out
Let teardrops roll

From your eyes
Down your cheeks
Down your lips
Drop by drop
Dripping on your limbs

And He knew
There'd be a time
When you find in your tears
The love He had prepared

请改


Wild goose


This is a story from many years ago, while I was in a labor camp as
a prisoner. The camp was located at the border of China and Russia.The Chinese used to call it the Great Northern Wilderness. I was assigned to grow rice in a paddy by a lake far from the village center with several government Cadres who lost their power during the struggle of the culture revolution.

One day, a wild goose appeared in the sky, and made several circles around the paddy field. Finally, it descended and began to eat the rice seedlings. He never thought, that there were several pairs of eager eyes staring intently at him, anxiously swallowing him whole into the stomach.

One of my coworkers, Lao Wang, retired from the army. That night, he stayed late to make a trap clamp. When it was done, we put it in the paddy field. Every day, we all went around the paddy field several times to assess if the wild goose had been trapped. We dreamed at night of tasting a wild goose meat. For people who had no taste of any meat all year round and who had little fat stored in the stomach, the meat of wild goose was a strong attraction! However, every time, we only saw an empty clamp. It seemed the wild goose would never come again. Gradually, we forgot the goose.

After several months had passed, we walked around the paddy field one afternoon and heard a sound like a child crying. We followed the sound and found a wild goose on the clamp, his leg gripped and bleeding. Our happiness could not be imagined. While we were going to the clamp to get the goose off, we heard a yelling in the sky. Sounds of grief, sounds of anxiousness, a wild goose circled over our heads. It charged towards us one moment and then charged into the sky again. We noticed food around
the wounded goose, and we knew exactly what had happened. The male wild goose had been trapped for several days, and the female wild goose had been feeding him every day. Compassion rising in hearts, we all were caught in one affection that was complicated and difficult to express by words. After a short, but fierce debate, we all agreed to release the goose.

It seems amusing, in this age, and in time without any sympathy between human beings, several people being pressed on cruelly by the society down into the bottom, treated like wandering dogs of the street, without receiving any sympathy from the people, had given mercy to one wild goose wounded. I believe, lying on the bed that night, with a hunger to the abdomen, everyone would feel remorse about what they had done in the day.

However, if this story appears again, we may do the same thing. This weakness we inherited might be just the incorrigible weakness of our human nature.

請與原文對照﹐就知道哪裡改過了。有問題再提。

This is a story from many years ago, while I was in a labor camp as
a prisoner. The camp was located at the border of China and Russia.The Chinese
used to call it the Great Northern Wilderness. I was assigned to grow rice
in a paddy by a lake far from the village with several government Cadres
who lost their power during the culture revolution.

One day, a wild goose appeared in the sky, and made several circles around
the paddy field. Finally, it descended and began to eat the rice seedlings.
He never thought that there were several pairs of eager eyes staring intently
at him, anxiously swallowing him whole.

One of my coworkers, Old Wang, was a veteran from the army. That night,
he stayed late to make a trap clamp. When it was done, we put it in the
paddy field. Every day, we all went around the paddy field several times
to see if the wild goose had been caught. At night we dreamed of tasting
a wild goose meat. For people who hadn't eaten any meat all year round and
who had little fat stored in the body, the meat of wild goose was a strong
attraction! However, every time, we only saw an empty clamp. It seemed the
wild goose would never come again. Gradually, we forgot the goose.

After several months had passed, we walked around the paddy field one afternoon
and heard a sound like a child crying. We followed the sound and found a
wild goose caught by the clamp, his leg clamped and bleeding. Our happiness
was beyond imagination. While we were going to the clamp to get the goose
off it, we heard a cry in the sky. Sounds of grief, sounds of anxiousness.
A wild goose circled over our heads. It charged towards us one moment and
then soared into the sky again. We noticed food around
the wounded goose, and we knew exactly what had happened. The male wild
goose had been trapped for several days, and the female wild goose had been
feeding him every day. Compassion rising in our hearts, we were all trapped
in one feeling that was complicated and difficult to express in words. After
a short, but fierce debate, we all agreed to release the goose.

It seems unbelievable in a time without any sympathy between human beings,
some people being oppressed cruelly by powerful persons, and treated like
wandering dogs in the street, without receiving any sympathy from the society,
that we had given mercy to a wounded wild goose. I believe, lying on the
bed that night, with a hunger to the stomach, that everyone of us would
feel remorse about what they had done in the day.

However, if it happens again, we may do the same thing. This weakness we
inherited might be just the incorrigible weakness in our human nature.

谢谢老海的批改， 改得很好， 很认真， 为便于大家学习， 我将删去的用括弧，加上的用黑体表示，列在下面， 现在等着看老海改的那篇诗了(：)

This is a story from many years ago, while I was in a labor camp as
a prisoner. The camp was located at the border of China and Russia.The Chinese used to call it the Great Northern Wilderness. I was assigned to grow rice in a paddy by a lake far from the village (center]) with several government Cadres who lost their power during (the struggle of) the culture revolution.

One day, a wild goose appeared in the sky, and made several circles around the paddy field. Finally, it descended and began to eat the rice seedlings. He never thought, that there were several pairs of eager eyes staring intently at him, anxiously swallowing him whole (into the stomach).

One of my coworkers, Lao Wang, was a veteran (retired) from the army. That night, he stayed late to make a trap clamp. When it was done, we put it in the paddy field. Every day, we all went around the paddy field several times to see (assess) if the wild goose had been caught (trapped). At night we (We) dreamed (at night) of tasting a wild goose meat. For people who hadn't eaten (had no taste of )any meat all year round and who had little fat stored in the body (stomach), the meat of wild goose was a strong attraction! However, every time, we only saw an empty clamp. It seemed the wild goose would never come again. Gradually, we forgot the goose.

After several months had passed, we walked around the paddy field one afternoon and heard a sound like a child crying. We followed the sound and found a wild goose caught by (on) the clamp, his leg  clamped  (gripped) and bleeding. Our happiness was beyond imagination. (could not be imagined.) While we were going to the clamp to get the goose off it, we heard a cry (yelling) in the sky. Sounds of grief, sounds of anxiousness. (,)   A wild goose circled over our heads. It charged towards us one moment and then  soared into (charged) into the sky again. We noticed food around
the wounded goose, and we knew exactly what had happened. The male wild goose had been trapped for several days, and the female wild goose had been feeding him every day. Compassion rising in our hearts, we were all trapped (all were caught) in one affection that was complicated and difficult to express in (by) words. After a short, but fierce debate, we all agreed to release the goose.


It seems unbelievable in a time (amusing, in this age, and in time) without any sympathy between human beings, some people being oppressed cruelly by powerful persons,and (several people being pressed on cruelly by the society down into the bottom), treated like wandering dogs of the street, without receiving any sympathy from the society (people), that we had given mercy to a (one)  woundedwild goose (wounded). I believe, lying on the bed that night, with  a hunger to the stomach (abdomen),  that everyone would feel remorse about what they had done in the day.

However, if it happens (this story appears) again, we may do the same thing. This weakness we inherited might be just the incorrigible weakness of our human nature.

Tear

(When God made man and at the moment
everything is done, he felt there is
something missing. Then he put the
tears in the eyes of man)

If someday
you feel lonely and painful
you find no one understand you
And every effort you made
Hasn't turned out so well
為什麼要這麼斷句﹖詩行長短相差太大不妥。
Then cry, cry it out
Let teardrops roll
為什么要在這裡分段﹖這裡意思是連貫的﹐應該放在一個小節裡。你還沒知道寫詩
的原則。分行分段都得有個道理。
From your eyes
Down your cheeks
Down your lips 這裡用CHIN較好。
Drop by drop
Dripping on your limbs

And He knew
There'd be a time
When you find in your tears
The love He had prepared

高級英語教材第六課

先讀課文﹕
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
Hebrides."
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
sinking.
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。

顶一下。尽管我对英文实在感不起兴趣。主要是我笨。多好的学习机会啊。

主要你沒有學英文的需要﹐沒有動力。謝謝支持。

高級英語教材第七課

先讀課文﹕

LIFE
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
也是積極的。請對比Longfellow的詩﹐看他們的異同。
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。

高級英語教材第八課

先讀課文﹕
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
些古文一樣﹐打好語言的基本功。如果有人看著長句子﹐特別中間逗號分隔較多的﹐
有點糊塗﹐教你一招。把句子結構仔細分析一下﹐看哪個成份與哪個成份意義上相
關聯﹐一步步梳理清楚﹐就能不糊塗了。

高級英語教材第九課

先讀課文﹕
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?'
'Badger-baiting.'
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
terms.'
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
gravely.
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
it.
'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
long.'
'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,
GILBERT MARKHAM.  

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
去即可。泛讀一方面可以擴大知識面﹐另一方面可以逐步培養語感。語感是要不斷
與某種語言接觸而得到的。

高級英語教材第十課

先讀課文﹕
Ode to the West Wind 西風頌   
by Percy Bysshe Shelley  

                I
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 hill4)

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;(5)
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!(5)
[下面押韻模式相同]

                II
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!

                III
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!

                IV
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.

                V
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
會延續到下一小節去﹐以構成一個完整句。閱讀時﹐注意句子結構。掌握了句子結
構安排﹐才能更好理解。

老海真是点到为止啊

我不能化太多時間。要學的人也應該化點查生詞的時間。要提高英文程度﹐讀這些大
有幫助。

高級英語教材第11課

先讀課文﹕
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
suns.
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."
"Why?"
"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
it.
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
picnic."
"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
bottoms.
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
ball."
"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?"
"All."
"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."
"What?"
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
headache."
"I noticed that but I didn't pay it any mind then. What do you suppose ailed
her?"
"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.
"Jeems!"
"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
uniforms."
"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
me."
"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
doing."
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
示省去了一個字母。
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
小說已改變成電影。讀者可以在網上找到全書閱讀。

高級英語教材第12課

先讀課文﹕
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
Christmas.
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
first.
"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
not.''
"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
it.''
"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
there.''
"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
me?''
"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
not?''
"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
hands.
"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
nothing.
"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
Scrooge.
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!
Pray!''
"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
voice.
"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
這章裡提到的耶穌誕生的小段子。從這一章﹐可以先看一下DICKENS的寫作風格。

高級英語教材第13課

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
rags.
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
過。童話故事的寫作就有點對小孩講話的語氣。

高級英語教材第14課

先讀課文﹕
Daffodils  
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
同義詞我曾收集到20多個。看你能收集到多少。這項工作對英語專業人士特別有用。
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
行一小節﹐四音步抑揚格。押韻模式是ABABCC。

高級英語教材第15課

先讀課文﹕
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
dreaming.
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
me."
"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
leaves."
"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
feet.
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/
wiki/painting_235859/Charles-Robinson/The-King-of-the-Mountains-of-the-Moon,-
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
的。故事非常感人。

高級英語教材第16課

先讀課文﹕
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
days."
     "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
that."
     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
cab."
     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?"
     "No."
     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
nothing.
<  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
admired.
<  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
Ministry?"
     "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
也給我們留下了一個懸念﹕如果女主角的朋友把那串真的鑽石項鏈還給她﹐她的生
活又會怎樣﹖她的人生觀念又會怎樣變化﹖
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
把它收入作為教材。英文的翻譯很通暢。懂法文的人可以找原著讀一下。

高級英語教材第17課

先讀課文﹕
Pygmalion 賣花女
by George Bernard Shaw 蕭伯納
不想老從頭上選起﹐這次選了最後一幕。先看本課最後面的大致劇情介紹。

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
Pickering.   
  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
her.   
  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.
Why〞
  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
this.   
  HIGGINS. Done what, man?   
  DOOLITTLE. This, I tell you. Look at it. Look at this hat. Look at this
coat.
  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
dustman.   
  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
all.
  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
woman!   
  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
straight?   
  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
you.   
  LIZA [earnestly] Don't you try to get round me. You'll have to do without
me.   
  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
ask?   
  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
face.   
  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
please.   
  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
myself.   
  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
manner.   

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
worlds.
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
到。

高級英語教材第18課

先讀課文﹕
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
模式是 ABABCDECDE。

高級英語教材第19課

先讀課文﹕
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
dog.
"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
是個小孩﹐跟隨那裡的紳士們一起乘船去找寶。船上水手中混進了海盜﹐到達島上
後就打了起來。欲知結果﹐請網上找書一讀。

高級英語教材第20課

先讀課文﹕
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。
所以說﹐小說的開端最好有個特殊的切入點﹐如以前提到過的“傲慢與偏見”的開
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.

高級英語教材第21課

先讀課文﹕
Sister Carrie 嘉莉妹妹
By Theodore Dreiser

Chapter I
THE MAGNET ATTRACTING--A WAIF AMID FORCES
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
哥城就在伊利諾州裡。
"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
answered.  
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
比亞城在印地安那州﹐印州在伊州東面。從印州去芝加哥是不需要經過Wisconsin州
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
weight.  
"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
作家的文筆有什麼不同。據本人一位師執前輩說﹐要作家寫好英文﹐要找一本自己
喜歡的世界名著﹐作精讀本﹐把自己的寫作文筆儘量向之靠攏﹐再讀些其他作家﹐
參考別家的文筆﹐最後形成自己的。

高級英語教材第22課

先讀課文﹕
TOO DEAR FOR THE WHISTLE
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
賞。

高級英語教材第23課

先讀課文﹕
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]
SHYLOCK ﹕
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?
BASSANIO ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
ANTONIO ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!
PORTIA ﹕
Therefore lay bare your bosom.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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?
SHYLOCK ﹕
I have them ready.
PORTIA ﹕
Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.
PORTIA ﹕
You, merchant, have you any thing to say?
ANTONIO ﹕
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.
BASSANIO ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
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.
NERISSA ﹕
'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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!
Aside
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.
SHYLOCK ﹕
Most rightful judge!
PORTIA ﹕
And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!
SHYLOCK ﹕
I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
And let the Christian go.
BASSANIO ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.
PORTIA ﹕
Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.
SHYLOCK ﹕
Give me my principal 本金, and let me go.
BASSANIO ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
SHYLOCK ﹕
Shall I not have barely my principal?
PORTIA ﹕
Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
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.
PORTIA
Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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?
GRATIANO ﹕
A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.
ANTONIO ﹕
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?
SHYLOCK ﹕
I am content.
PORTIA ﹕
Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
SHYLOCK ﹕
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.
GRATIANO ﹕
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。
凡是長度到底的句子一般都是五音步抑揚格﹐不押韻。

高級英語教材第24課

先讀課文﹕
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
中MERCURY的形象
"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
gold?"
"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
touch.
"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。

高級英語教材第25課

先讀課文﹕
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
earth,
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
教徒或牧師是不會去讀全部聖經的﹐就像本人那樣。但學英文的人讀點英文聖經還
是應該的。所以我介紹了開頭的一點。據說最初的聖經是希伯萊文HEBREW的。後來
譯成英文。聖經的版本是很多的﹐已譯成多國文字。據說中文的聖經還有譯成中國
方言的。聽說有用寧波話譯的聖經。文革前﹐有人要介紹我到一位教會老修女那裡
去學希伯萊文。我想這也可算奇貨可居。後因文革開始﹐此事不果。

高級英語教材第26課

先讀課文﹕
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
esquire-at-arms.
   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
dust.
   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。

高級英語教材第27課

先讀課文﹕
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
necessary.
        "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
screamed.
        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
assistance.
        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
paroxysms.
        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
fog.
        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
House".
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﹐
他也寫了許多小說。我們已經介紹了一些男作家﹐及一些女作家﹐搞文學或有興趣
的人﹐可以比較一下男女作家間文筆的不同。