英文小说阅读
高中生经典英文小说阅读与欣赏系列TheLastLesson
⾼中⽣经典英⽂⼩说阅读与欣赏系列TheLastLessonThe Last Lessonby Alphonse DaudetI started for school very late that morning and was in great dread of a scolding, especially because M. Hamel had said that he would question us on participles, and I did not know the first word about them. For a moment I thought of running away and spending the day out of doors. It was so warm, so bright! The birds were chirping at the edge of the woods; and in the open field back of the sawmill the Prussian soldiers were drilling. It was all much more tempting than the rule for participles, but I had the strength to resist, and hurried off to school.When I passed the town hall there was a crowd in front of the bulletin-board. For the last two years all our bad news had come from there—the lost battles, the draft, the orders of the commanding officer—and I thought to myself, without stopping:“What can be the matter now?”Then, as I hurried by as fast as I could go, the blacksmith, Wachter, who was there, with his apprentice, reading the bulletin, called after me:“Don’t go so fast, bub; you’ll get to your school in plenty of time!”I thought he was making fun of me, and reached M. Hamel’s little garden all out of breath.Usually, when school began, there was a great bustle, which could be heard out in the street, the opening and closing of desks, lessons repeated in unison, very loud, with our hands over our ears to understand better, and the teacher’s great ruler rapping on the table. But now it was all so still! I had counted on the commotion to get to my desk without being seen; but, of course, that day everything had to be as quiet as Sunday morning. Through the window I saw my classmates, already in their places, and M. Hamel walking up and down with his terrible iron ruler under his arm. I had to open the door and go in before everybody. You can imagine how I blushed and how frightened I was.But nothing happened. M. Hamel saw me and said very kindly:“Go to your place quickly, little Franz. We were beginning without you.”I jumped over the bench and sat down at my desk. Not till then, when I had gota little over my fright, did I see that our teacher had on his beautiful green coat, his frilled shirt, and the little black silk cap, all embroidered, that he never wore except on inspection and prize days. Besides, the whole school seemed so strange and solemn. But the thing that surprised me most was to see, on the back benches that were always empty, the village people sitting quietly like ourselves; old Hauser, with his three-cornered hat, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and several others besides. Everybody looked sad; and Hauser had brought an old primer, thumbed at the edges, and he held it open on his knees with his great spectacles lying across the pages.While I was wondering about it all, M. Hamel mounted his chair, and, in the same grave and gentle tone which he had used to me, said:“My children, this is the last lesson I shall give you. The order has come from Berlin to teach only German in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The new master comes to-mor row. This is your last French lesson. I want you to be very attentive.”What a thunderclap these words were to me!Oh, the wretches; that was what they had put up at the town-hall!My last French lesson! Why, I hardly knew how to write! I should never learn any more! I must stop there, then! Oh, how sorry I was for not learning my lessons, for seeking birds’ eggs, or going sliding on the Saar! My books, that had seemed such a nuisance a while ago, so heavy to carry, my grammar, and my history of the saints, were old friends now that I couldn’t give up. And M. Hamel, too; the idea that he was going away, that I should never see him again, made me forget all about his ruler and how cranky he was.Poor man! It was in honor of this last lesson that he had put on his fine Sunday clothes, and now I understood why the old men of the village were sitting there in the back of the room. It was because they were sorry, too, that they had not gone to school more. It was their way of thanking our master for his forty years of faithful service and of showing their respect for the country that was theirs no more.While I was thinking of all this, I heard my name called. It was my turn to recite. What would I not have given to be able to say that dreadful rule for the participle all through, very loud and clear, and without one mistake? But I got mixed up on the first words and stood there, holding on to my desk, my heart beating, and not daring to look up. I heard M. Hamel say to me:“I won’t scold you, little Franz; you must feel bad enough. See how it is! Every day we have said to ourselves: ‘Bah! I’ve plenty of time. I’ll learn it to-morrow.’ And now you see where we’ve come out. Ah, that’s the great trouble with Alsace; she puts off learning till to-morrow. Now those fellows out there will have the right to say to you: ‘How is it; you pretend to be Frenchmen, and yet you can neither speak nor write your own language?’ But you are not the worst, poor little Franz. We’ve all a great deal to reproach ourselves with.“Your pare nts were not anxious enough to have you learn. They preferred to put you to work on a farm or at the mills, so as to have a little more money. And I? I’ve been to blame also. Have I not often sent you to water my flowers instead of learning your lessons? And when I wanted to go fishing, did I not just give you a holiday?”Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel went on to talk of the French language, saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world—the clearest, the most logical; that we must guard it among us and never forget it, because when a people are enslaved, as long as they hold fast to their language it is as if they had the key to their prison. Then he opened a grammar and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how well I understood it. All he said seemed so easy, so easy! I think, too, that I had never listened so carefully, and that he had never explained everything with so much patience. It seemed almost as if the poor man wanted to give us all he knew before going away, and to put it all into our heads at one stroke. After the grammar, we had a lesson in writing. That day M. Hamel had new copies for us, written in a beautiful round hand: France, Alsace, France, Alsace. They looked like little flags floating everywhere in the school-room, hung from the rod at the top of our desks. You ought to have seen how every one set to work, and how quiet it was! The only sound was the scratching of the pens over the paper. Once some beetles flew in; but nobody paid any attention to them, not even the littlest ones, who worked right on tracing their fish-hooks, as if that was French, too. On the roof the pigeons cooed very low, and I thought to myself: “Will they make them sing in German, even the pigeons?”Whenever I looked up from my writing I saw M. Hamel sitting motionless in his chair and gazing first at one thing, then at another, as if he wanted to fix in his mind just how everything looked in that little school-room. Fancy! For forty years he had been there in the same place, with his garden outside the window and his class in front of him, just like that. Only the desks and benches had been worn smooth; the walnut-trees in the garden were taller, and the hopvine that he had planted himself twined about the windows to the roof. How it must have broken his heart to leave it all, poor man; to hear his sister moving about in the room above, packing their trunks! For they must leave the country next day.But he had the courage to hear every lesson to the very last. After the writing, we had a lesson in history, and then the babies chanted their ba, be bi, bo, bu. Down there at the back of the room old Hauser had put on his spectacles and, holding his primer in both hands, spelled the letters with them. You could see that he, too, was crying; his voice trembled with emotion, and it was so funny to hear him that we all wanted to laugh and cry. Ah, how well I remember it, that last lesson!All at once the church-clock struck twelve. Then the Angelus. At the same moment the trumpets of the Prussians, returning from drill, sounded under our windows. M. Hamel stood up, very pale, in his chair. I never saw him look so tall.“My friends,” said he, “I—I—” But something choked him. He could not go on.Then he turned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and, bearing on withall his might, he wrote as large as he could:“Vive La France!”Then he stopped and leaned his head against the wall, and, without a word, he made a gesture to us with his hand:“School is dismissed—you may go.”。
经典英文短篇小说 (108)
The Romance of a Busy Brokerby O. HenryPitcher, confidential clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. With a snappy "Good-morning, Pitcher," Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him.The young lady had been Maxwell's stenographer for a year. She was beautiful in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. She forewent the pomp of the alluring pompadour. She wore no chains, bracelets or lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to luncheon. Her dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her figure with fidelity and discretion. In her neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing of a macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peachblow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence.Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Maxwell's desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence.The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy New York broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs."Well--what is it? Anything?" asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently."Nothing," answered the stenographer, moving away with a little smile."Mr. Pitcher," she said to the confidential clerk, did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?""He did," answered Pitcher. "He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. It's 9.45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet.""I will do the work as usual, then," said the young lady, "until some one comes to fill the place." And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The poet singsof the "crowded hour of glorious life." The broker's hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms.And this day was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed into something resembling animation.On the Exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer. He jumped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin.In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart. There was a self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and Pitcher was there to construe her."Lady from the Stenographer's Agency to see about the position," said Pitcher.Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape."What position?" he asked, with a frown."Position of stenographer," said Pitcher. "You told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning.""You are losing your mind, Pitcher," said Maxwell. "Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. There's no place open here, madam. Countermand that order with the agency, Pitcher, and don't bring any more of 'em in here."The silver heart left the office, swinging and banging itself independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed. Pitcher seized a moment to remark to the bookkeeper that the "old man" seemed to get more absent-minded and forgetful every day of the world.The rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. On the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell's customers were heavy investors. Orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the flight of swallows. Some of his own holdings were imperilled, and the man was working like some high-geared, delicate, strong machine--strung to full tension, going at full speed, accurate, never hesitating, with the proper word and decision and act ready andprompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages, margins and securities--here was a world of finance, and there was no room in it for the human world or the world of nature.When the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight lull in the uproar.Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead. His window was open, for the beloved janitress Spring had turned on a little warmth through the waking registers of the earth.And through the window came a wandering--perhaps a lost--odour--a delicate, sweet odour of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. For this odour belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own, and hers only.The odour brought her vividly, almost tangibly before him. The world of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. And she was in the next room--twenty steps away."By George, I'll do it now," said Maxwell, half aloud. "I'll ask her now. I wonder I didn't do it long ago."He dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying to cover. He charged upon the desk of the stenographer.She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her cheek, and her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk. He still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his ear."Miss Leslie," he began hurriedly, "I have but a moment to spare. I want to say something in that moment. Will you he my wife? I haven't had time to make love to you in the ordinary way, but I really do love you. Talk quick, please--those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific.""Oh, what are you talking about?" exclaimed the young lady. She rose to her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed."Don't you understand?" said Maxwell, restively. "I want you to marry me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you, and I snatched a minute when things had slackened up a bit. They're calling me for the 'phone now. Tell 'em to wait a minute, Pitcher. Won't you, Miss Leslie?"The stenographer acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled sunnily through them, and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker's neck."I know now," she said, softly. "It's this old business that has driven everything else out of your head for the time. I was frightened at first. Don't you remember, Harvey? We were married last evening at 8 o'clock in the Little Church Around the Corner."。
经典英文短篇小说 (1)
A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be Trueby Louisa May Alcott"I'm so tired of Christmas I wish there never would be another one!" exclaimed a discontented-looking little girl, as she sat idly watching her mother arrange a pile of gifts two days before they were to be given."Why, Effie, what a dreadful thing to say! You are as bad as old Scrooge; and I'm afraid something will happen to you, as it did to him, if you don't care for dear Christmas," answered mamma, almost dropping the silver horn she was filling with delicious candies."Who was Scrooge? What happened to him?" asked Effie, with a glimmer of interest in her listless face, as she picked out the sourest lemon-drop she could find; for nothing sweet suited her just then."He was one of Dickens's best people, and you can read the charming story some day. He hated Christmas until a strange dream showed him how dear and beautiful it was, and made a better man of him.""I shall read it; for I like dreams, and have a great many curious ones myself. But they don't keep me from being tired of Christmas," said Effie, poking discontentedly among the sweeties for something worth eating."Why are you tired of what should be the happiest time of all the year?" asked mamma, anxiously."Perhaps I shouldn't be if I had something new. But it is always the same, and there isn't any more surprise about it. I always find heaps of goodies in my stocking. Don't like some of them, and soon get tired of those I do like. We always have a great dinner, and I eat too much, and feel ill next day. Then there is a Christmas tree somewhere, with a doll on top, or a stupid old Santa Claus, and children dancing and screaming over bonbons and toys that break, and shiny things that are of no use. Really, mamma, I've had so many Christmases all alike that I don't think I can bear another one." And Effie laid herself flat on the sofa, as if the mere idea was too much for her.Her mother laughed at her despair, but was sorry to see her little girl so discontented, when she had everything to make her happy, and had known but ten Christmas days."Suppose we don't give you any presents at all,--how would that suit you?" asked mamma, anxious to please her spoiled child."I should like one large and splendid one, and one dear little one, to remember some very nice person by," said Effie, who was a fanciful little body, full of odd whims and notions, which her friends loved to gratify, regardless of time, trouble, or money; for she was the last of three little girls, and very dear to all the family."Well, my darling, I will see what I can do to please you, and not say a word until all is ready. If I could only get a new idea to start with!" And mamma went on tying up her pretty bundles with a thoughtful face, while Effie strolled to the window to watch the rain that kept her in-doors and made her dismal."Seems to me poor children have better times than rich ones. I can't go out, and there is a girl about my age splashing along, without any maid to fuss about rubbers and cloaks and umbrellas and colds. I wish I was a beggar-girl.""Would you like to be hungry, cold, and ragged, to beg all day, and sleep on an ash-heap at night?" asked mamma, wondering what would come next."Cinderella did, and had a nice time in the end. This girl out here has a basket of scraps on her arm, and a big old shawl all round her, and doesn't seem to care a bit, though the water runs out of the toes of her boots. She goes paddling along, laughing at the rain, and eating a cold potato as if it tasted nicer than the chicken and ice-cream I had for dinner. Yes, I do think poor children are happier than rich ones.""So do I, sometimes. At the Orphan Asylum today I saw two dozen merry little souls who have no parents, no home, and no hope of Christmas beyond a stick of candy or a cake. I wish you had been there to see how happy they were, playing with the old toys some richer children had sent them.""You may give them all mine; I'm so tired of them I never want to see them again," said Effie, turning from the window to the pretty baby-house full of everything a child's heart could desire."I will, and let you begin again with something you will not tire of, if I can only find it." And mamma knit her brows trying to discover some grand surprise for this child who didn't care for Christmas.Nothing more was said then; and wandering off to the library, Effie found "A Christmas Carol," and curling herself up in the sofa corner, read it all before tea. Some of it she did not understand; but she laughed and cried over many parts of the charming story, and felt better without knowing why.All the evening she thought of poor Tiny Tim, Mrs. Cratchit with the pudding, and the stout old gentleman who danced so gayly that "his legs twinkled in the air." Presently bedtime arrived."Come, now, and toast your feet," said Effie's nurse, "while I do your pretty hair and tell stories." "I'll have a fairy tale to-night, a very interesting one," commanded Effie, as she put on her blue silk wrapper and little fur-lined slippers to sit before the fire and have her long curls brushed.So Nursey told her best tales; and when at last the child lay down under her lace curtains, her head was full of a curious jumble of Christmas elves, poor children, snow-storms, sugarplums, and surprises. So it is no wonder that shedreamed all night; and this was the dream, which she never quite forgot.She found herself sitting on a stone, in the middle of a great field, all alone. The snow was falling fast, a bitter wind whistled by, and night was coming on. She felt hungry, cold, and tired, and did not know where to go nor what to do."I wanted to be a beggar-girl, and now I am one; but I don't like it, and wish somebody would come and take care of me. I don't know who I am, and I think I must be lost," thought Effie, with the curious interest one takes in one's self in dreams. But the more she thought about it, the more bewildered she felt. Faster fell the snow, colder blew the wind, darker grew the night; and poor Effie made up her mind that she was quite forgotten and left to freeze alone. The tears were chilled on her cheeks, her feet felt like icicles, and her heart died within her, so hungry, frightened, and forlorn was she. Laying her head on her knees, she gave herself up for lost, and sat there with the great flakes fast turning her to a little white mound, when suddenly the sound of music reached her, and starting up, she looked and listened with all her eyes and ears.Far away a dim light shone, and a voice was heard singing. She tried to run toward the welcome glimmer, but could not stir, and stood like a small statue of expectation while the light drew nearer, and the sweet words of the song grew clearer.From our happy homeThrough the world we roamOne week in all the year,Making winter springWith the joy we bring,For Christmas-tide is here.Now the eastern starShines from afarTo light the poorest home;Hearts warmer grow,Gifts freely flow,For Christmas-tide has come.Now gay trees riseBefore young eyes,Abloom with tempting cheer;Blithe voices sing,And blithe bells ring,For Christmas-tide is here.Oh, happy chime,Oh, blessed time,That draws us all so near!"Welcome, dear day,"All creatures say,For Christmas-tide is here.A child's voice sang, a child's hand carried the little candle; and in the circle of soft light it shed, Effie saw a pretty child coming to her through the night and snow.A rosy, smiling creature, wrapped in white fur, with a wreath of green and scarlet holly on its shining hair, the magic candle in one hand, and the other outstretched as if to shower gifts and warmly press all other hands.Effie forgot to speak as this bright vision came nearer, leaving no trace of footsteps in the snow, only lighting the way with its little candle, and filling the air with the music of its song."Dear child, you are lost, and I have come to find you," said the stranger, taking Effie's cold hands in his, with a smile like sunshine, while every holly berry glowed like a little fire."Do you know me?" asked Effie, feeling no fear, but a great gladness, at his coming."I know all children, and go to find them; for this is my holiday, and I gather them from all parts of the world to be merry with me once a year.""Are you an angel?" asked Effie, looking for the wings."No; I am a Christmas spirit, and live with my mates in a pleasant place, getting ready for our holiday, when we are let out to roam about the world, helping make this a happy time for all who will let us in. Will you come and see how we work?" "I will go anywhere with you. Don't leave me again," cried Effie, gladly."First I will make you comfortable. That is what we love to do. You are cold, and you shall be warm, hungry, and I will feed you; sorrowful, and I will make you gay."With a wave of his candle all three miracles were wrought,--for the snow- flakes turned to a white fur cloak and hood on Effie's head and shoulders, a bowl of hot soup came sailing to her lips, and vanished when she had eagerly drunk the last drop; and suddenly the dismal field changed to a new world so full of wonders that all her troubles were forgotten in a minute. Bells were ringing so merrily that it was hard to keep from dancing. Green garlands hung on the walls, and every tree was a Christmas tree full of toys, and blazing with candles that never went out.In one place many little spirits sewed like mad on warm clothes, turning off work faster than any sewing-machine ever invented, and great piles were made ready to be sent to poor people. Other busy creatures packed money into purses, and wrote checks which they sent flying away on the wind,--a lovely kind of snow-storm to fall into a world below full of poverty. Older and graver spirits werelooking over piles of little books, in which the records of the past year were kept, telling how different people had spent it, and what sort of gifts they deserved. Some got peace, some disappointment, some remorse and sorrow, some great joy and hope. The rich had generous thoughts sent them; the poor, gratitude and contentment. Children had more love and duty to parents; and parents renewed patience, wisdom, and satisfaction for and in their children. No one was forgotten."Please tell me what splendid place this is?" asked Effie, as soon as she could collect her wits after the first look at all these astonishing things."This is the Christmas world; and here we work all the year round, never tired of getting ready for the happy day. See, these are the saints just setting off; for some have far to go, and the children must not be disappointed."As he spoke the spirit pointed to four gates, out of which four great sleighs were just driving, laden with toys, while a jolly old Santa Claus sat in the middle of each, drawing on his mittens and tucking up his wraps for a long cold drive. "Why, I thought there was only one Santa Claus, and even he was a humbug," cried Effie, astonished at the sight. "Never give up your faith in the sweet old stones, even after you come to see that they are only the pleasant shadow of a lovely truth."Just then the sleighs went off with a great jingling of bells and pattering of reindeer hoofs, while all the spirits gave a cheer that was heard in the lower world, where people said, "Hear the stars sing.""I never will say there isn't any Santa Claus again. Now, show me more.""You will like to see this place, I think, and may learn something here perhaps."The spirit smiled as he led the way to a little door, through which Effie peeped into a world of dolls. Baby-houses were in full blast, with dolls of all sorts going on like live people. Waxen ladies sat in their parlors elegantly dressed; black dolls cooked in the kitchens; nurses walked out with the bits of dollies; and the streets were full of tin soldiers marching, wooden horses prancing, express wagons rumbling, and little men hurrying to and fro. Shops were there, and tiny people buying legs of mutton, pounds of tea, mites of clothes, and everything dolls use or wear or want.But presently she saw that in some ways the dolls improved upon the manners and customs of human beings, and she watched eagerly to learn why they did these things. A fine Paris doll driving in her carriage took up a black worsted Dinah who was hobbling along with a basket of clean clothes, and carried her to her journey's end, as if it were the proper thing to do. Another interesting china lady took off her comfortable red cloak and put it round a poor wooden creature done up in a paper shift, and so badly painted that its face would have sent some babies into fits."Seems to me I once knew a rich girl who didn't give her things to poor girls. Iwish I could remember who she was, and tell her to be as kind as that china doll," said Effie, much touched at the sweet way the pretty creature wrapped up the poor fright, and then ran off in her little gray gown to buy a shiny fowl stuck on a wooden platter for her invalid mother's dinner."We recall these things to people's minds by dreams. I think the girl you speak of won't forget this one." And the spirit smiled, as if he enjoyed some joke which she did not see.A little bell rang as she looked, and away scampered the children into the red-and-green school-house with the roof that lifted up, so one could see how nicely they sat at their desks with mites of books, or drew on the inch-square blackboards with crumbs of chalk."They know their lessons very well, and are as still as mice. We make a great racket at our school, and get bad marks every day. I shall tell the girls they had better mind what they do, or their dolls will be better scholars than they are," said Effie, much impressed, as she peeped in and saw no rod in the hand of the little mistress, who looked up and shook her head at the intruder, as if begging her to go away before the order of the school was disturbed.Effie retired at once, but could not resist one look in at the window of a fine mansion, where the family were at dinner, the children behaved so well at table, and never grumbled a bit when their mamma said they could not have any more fruit. "Now, show me something else," she said, as they came again to the low door that led out of Doll-land. "You have seen how we prepare for Christmas; let me show you where we love best to send our good and happy gifts," answered the spirit, giving her his hand again."I know. I've seen ever so many," began Effie, thinking of her own Christmases."No, you have never seen what I will show you. Come away, and remember what you see to-night."Like a flash that bright world vanished, and Effie found herself in a part of the city she had never seen before. It was far away from the gayer places, where every store was brilliant with lights and full of pretty things, and every house wore a festival air, while people hurried to and fro with merry greetings. It was down among the dingy streets where the poor lived, and where there was no making ready for Christmas.Hungry women looked in at the shabby shops, longing to buy meat and bread, but empty pockets forbade. Tipsy men drank up their wages in the bar- rooms; and in many cold dark chambers little children huddled under the thin blankets, trying to forget their misery in sleep.No nice dinners filled the air with savory smells, no gay trees dropped toys andbonbons into eager hands, no little stockings hung in rows beside the chimney-piece ready to be filled, no happy sounds of music, gay voices, and dancing feet were heard; and there were no signs of Christmas anywhere."Don't they have any in this place?" asked Effie, shivering, as she held fast the spirit's hand, following where he led her. "We come to bring it. Let me show you our best workers." And the spirit pointed to some sweet-faced men and women who came stealing into the poor houses, working such beautiful miracles that Effie could only stand and watch.Some slipped money into the empty pockets, and sent the happy mothers to buy all the comforts they needed; others led the drunken men out of temptation, and took them home to find safer pleasures there. Fires were kindled on cold hearths, tables spread as if by magic, and warm clothes wrapped round shivering limbs. Flowers suddenly bloomed in the chambers of the sick; old people found themselves remembered; sad hearts were consoled by a tender word, and wicked ones softened by the story of Him who forgave all sin.But the sweetest work was for the children; and Effie held her breath to watch these human fairies hang up and fill the little stockings without which a child's Christmas is not perfect, putting in things that once she would have thought very humble presents, but which now seemed beautiful and precious because these poor babies had nothing."That is so beautiful! I wish I could make merry Christmases as these good people do, and be loved and thanked as they are," said Effie, softly, as she watched the busy men and women do their work and steal away without thinking of any reward but their own satisfaction."You can if you will. I have shown you the way. Try it, and see how happy your own holiday will be hereafter."As he spoke, the spirit seemed to put his arms about her, and vanished with a kiss."Oh, stay and show me more!" cried Effie, trying to hold him fast."Darling, wake up, and tell me why you are smiling in your sleep," said a voice in her ear; and opening her eyes, there was mamma bending over her, and morning sunshine streaming into the room."Are they all gone? Did you hear the bells? Wasn't it splendid?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, and looking about her for the pretty child who was so real and sweet."You have been dreaming at a great rate,--talking in your sleep, laughing, and clapping your hands as if you were cheering some one. Tell me what was so splendid," said mamma, smoothing the tumbled hair and lifting up the sleepy head. Then, while she was being dressed, Effie told her dream, and Nursey thought itvery wonderful; but mamma smiled to see how curiously things the child had thought, read, heard, and seen through the day were mixed up in her sleep."The spirit said I could work lovely miracles if I tried; but I don't know how to begin, for I have no magic candle to make feasts appear, and light up groves of Christmas trees, as he did," said Effie, sorrowfully."Yes, you have. We will do it! we will do it!" And clapping her hands, mamma suddenly began to dance all over the room as if she had lost her wits."How? how? You must tell me, mamma," cried Effie, dancing after her, and ready to believe anything possible when she remembered the adventures of the past night."I've got it! I've got it!--the new idea. A splendid one, if I can only carry it out!" And mamma waltzed the little girl round till her curls flew wildly in the air, while Nursey laughed as if she would die."Tell me! tell me!" shrieked Effie. "No, no; it is a surprise,--a grand surprise for Christmas day!" sung mamma, evidently charmed with her happy thought. "Now, come to breakfast; for we must work like bees if we want to play spirits tomorrow. You and Nursey will go out shopping, and get heaps of things, while I arrange matters behind the scenes."They were running downstairs as mamma spoke, and Effie called out breathlessly,--"It won't be a surprise; for I know you are going to ask some poor children here, and have a tree or something. It won't be like my dream; for they had ever so many trees, and more children than we can find anywhere.""There will be no tree, no party, no dinner, in this house at all, and no presents for you. Won't that be a surprise?" And mamma laughed at Effie's bewildered face."Do it. I shall like it, I think; and I won't ask any questions, so it will all burst upon me when the time comes," she said; and she ate her breakfast thoughtfully, for this really would be a new sort of Christmas.All that morning Effie trotted after Nursey in and out of shops, buying dozens of barking dogs, woolly lambs, and squeaking birds; tiny tea-sets, gay picture-books, mittens and hoods, dolls and candy. Parcel after parcel was sent home; but when Effie returned she saw no trace of them, though she peeped everywhere. Nursey chuckled, but wouldn't give a hint, and went out again in the afternoon with a long list of more things to buy; while Effie wandered forlornly about the house, missing the usual merry stir that went before the Christmas dinner and the evening fun.As for mamma, she was quite invisible all day, and came in at night so tired that she could only lie on the sofa to rest, smiling as if some very pleasant thought made her happy in spite of weariness."Is the surprise going on all right?" asked Effie, anxiously; for it seemed an immense time to wait till another evening came."Beautifully! better than I expected; for several of my good friends are helping, or I couldn't have done it as I wish. I know you will like it, dear, and long remember this new way of making Christmas merry."Mamma gave her a very tender kiss, and Effie went to bed.The next day was a very strange one; for when she woke there was no stocking to examine, no pile of gifts under her napkin, no one said "Merry Christmas!" to her, and the dinner was just as usual to her. Mamma vanished again, and Nursey kept wiping her eyes and saying: "The dear things! It's the prettiest idea I ever heard of. No one but your blessed ma could have done it." "Do stop, Nursey, or I shall go crazy because I don't know the secret!" cried Effie, more than once; and she kept her eye on the clock, for at seven in the evening the surprise was to come off.The longed-for hour arrived at last, and the child was too excited to ask questions when Nurse put on her cloak and hood, led her to the carriage, and they drove away, leaving their house the one dark and silent one in the row. "I feel like the girls in the fairy tales who are led off to strange places and see fine things," said Effie, in a whisper, as they jingled through the gay streets."Ah, my deary, it is like a fairy tale, I do assure you, and you will see finer things than most children will tonight. Steady, now, and do just as I tell you, and don't say one word whatever you see," answered Nursey, quite quivering with excitement as she patted a large box in her lap, and nodded and laughed with twinkling eyes.They drove into a dark yard, and Effie was led through a back door to a little room, where Nurse coolly proceeded to take off not only her cloak and hood, but her dress and shoes also. Effie stared and bit her lips, but kept still until out of the box came a little white fur coat and boots, a wreath of holly leaves and berries, and a candle with a frill of gold paper round it. A long "Oh!" escaped her then; and when she was dressed and saw herself in the glass, she started back, exclaiming, "Why, Nursey, I look like the spirit in my dream!""So you do; and that's the part you are to play, my pretty! Now whist, while I blind your eyes and put you in your place.""Shall I be afraid?" whispered Effie, full of wonder; for as they went out she heard the sound of many voices, the tramp of many feet, and, in spite of the bandage, was sure a great light shone upon her when she stopped."You needn't be; I shall stand close by, and your ma will be there."After the handkerchief was tied about her eyes, Nurse led Effie up some steps, and placed her on a high platform, where something like leaves touched her head,and the soft snap of lamps seemed to fill the air. Music began as soon as Nurse clapped her hands, the voices outside sounded nearer, and the tramp was evidently coming up the stairs."Now, my precious, look and see how you and your dear ma have made a merry Christmas for them that needed it!"Off went the bandage; and for a minute Effie really did think she was asleep again, for she actually stood in "a grove of Christmas trees," all gay and shining as in her vision. Twelve on a side, in two rows down the room, stood the little pines, each on its low table; and behind Effie a taller one rose to the roof, hung with wreaths of popcorn, apples, oranges, horns of candy, and cakes of all sorts, from sugary hearts to gingerbread Jumbos. On the smaller trees she saw many of her own discarded toys and those Nursey bought, as well as heaps that seemed to have rained down straight from that delightful Christmas country where she felt as if she was again."How splendid! Who is it for? What is that noise? Where is mamma?" cried Effie, pale with pleasure and surprise, as she stood looking down the brilliant little street from her high place.Before Nurse could answer, the doors at the lower end flew open, and in marched twenty-four little blue-gowned orphan girls, singing sweetly, until amazement changed the song to cries of joy and wonder as the shining spectacle appeared. While they stood staring with round eyes at the wilderness of pretty things about them, mamma stepped up beside Effie, and holding her hand fast to give her courage, told the story of the dream in a few simple words, ending in this way:--"So my little girl wanted to be a Christmas spirit too, and make this a happy day for those who had not as many pleasures and comforts as she has. She likes surprises, and we planned this for you all. She shall play the good fairy, and give each of you something from this tree, after which every one will find her own name on a small tree, and can go to enjoy it in her own way. March by, my dears, and let us fill your hands."Nobody told them to do it, but all the hands were clapped heartily before a single child stirred; then one by one they came to look up wonderingly at the pretty giver of the feast as she leaned down to offer them great yellow oranges, red apples, bunches of grapes, bonbons, and cakes, till all were gone, and a double row of smiling faces turned toward her as the children filed back to their places in the orderly way they had been taught.Then each was led to her own tree by the good ladies who had helped mamma with all their hearts; and the happy hubbub that arose would have satisfied even Santa Claus himself,--shrieks of joy, dances of delight, laughter and tears (for sometender little things could not bear so much pleasure at once, and sobbed with mouths full of candy and hands full of toys). How they ran to show one another the new treasures! how they peeped and tasted, pulled and pinched, until the air was full of queer noises, the floor covered with papers, and the little trees left bare of all but candles!"I don't think heaven can be any gooder than this," sighed one small girl, as she looked about her in a blissful maze, holding her full apron with one hand, while she luxuriously carried sugar-plums to her mouth with the other."Is that a truly angel up there?" asked another, fascinated by the little white figure with the wreath on its shining hair, who in some mysterious way had been the cause of all this merry-making."I wish I dared to go and kiss her for this splendid party," said a lame child, leaning on her crutch, as she stood near the steps, wondering how it seemed to sit in a mother's lap, as Effie was doing, while she watched the happy scene before her. Effie heard her, and remembering Tiny Tim, ran down and put her arms about the pale child, kissing the wistful face, as she said sweetly, "You may; but mamma deserves the thanks. She did it all; I only dreamed about it."Lame Katy felt as if "a truly angel" was embracing her, and could only stammer out her thanks, while the other children ran to see the pretty spirit, and touch her soft dress, until she stood in a crowd of blue gowns laughing as they held up their gifts for her to see and admire.Mamma leaned down and whispered one word to the older girls; and suddenly they all took hands to dance round Effie, singing as they skipped.It was a pretty sight, and the ladies found it hard to break up the happy revel; but it was late for small people, and too much fun is a mistake. So the girls fell into line, and marched before Effie and mamma again, to say goodnight with such grateful little faces that the eyes of those who looked grew dim with tears. Mamma kissed every one; and many a hungry childish heart felt as if the touch of those tender lips was their best gift. Effie shook so many small hands that her own tingled; and when Katy came she pressed a small doll into Effie's hand, whispering, "You didn't have a single present, and we had lots. Do keep that; it's the prettiest thing I got.""I will," answered Effie, and held it fast until the last smiling face was gone, the surprise all over, and she safe in her own bed, too tired and happy for anything but sleep."Mamma, it was a beautiful surprise, and I thank you so much! I don't see how you did it; but I like it best of all the Christmases I ever had, and mean to make one every year. I had my splendid big present, and here is the dear little one to keep for love of poor Katy; so even that part of my wish came true."。
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高三英语学科英文短篇小说阅读单选题30题
高三英语学科英文短篇小说阅读单选题30题1.The main character in the story is described as having ________ hair.A.blackB.blondeC.brownD.red答案：B。
本题主要考查对故事中人物外貌的描述。
选项A“black”黑色头发；选项C“brown”棕色头发；选项D“red”红色头发。
而文中明确提到故事的主人公有着金色的头发，即“blonde”。
2.The character's personality is best described as ________.A.shyB.outgoingC.quietD.angry答案：B。
本题考查人物性格。
选项A“shy”害羞的；选项C“quiet”安静的；选项D“angry”生气的。
文中对这个人物的描述表明他很外向，所以选“outgoing”。
3.The character is often seen ________.A.reading booksB.playing sportsC.watching TVD.listening to music答案：A。
本题考查人物行为。
选项B“playing sports”做运动；选项C“watching TV”看电视；选项D“listening to music”听音乐。
文中提到这个人物经常被看到在读书，所以选“reading books”。
4.The character's face is described as ________.A.roundB.squareC.ovalD.heart-shaped答案：C。
本题考查人物外貌。
选项A“round”圆形的；选项B“square”方形的；选项D“heart-shaped”心形的。
文中提到人物的脸是椭圆形的，即“oval”。
5.The character is known for being ________.zyB.hardworkingC.carelessD.forgetful答案：B。
英语阅读-康拉德短篇英文小说《青春》节选
刹那间火星四处乱迸美联英语提供A magnificent death had come like a grace, like a gift, like a reward to that old ship at the end of her laborious days.这艘老破船度过了辛苦的一生，最终迎来了辉煌的死亡，如同蒙受天恩，如同领赏获奖。
The surrender of her weary ghost to the keeping of stars and sea was stirring like the sight of a glorious triumph.它将自己疲惫的灵魂交给了星星和大海，这一幕真像壮观的胜利庆典一样令人激动。
The masts fell just before daybreak, and for a moment there was a burst and turmoil of sparks that seemed to fill with flying fire the night patient and watchful, the vast night lying silent upon the sea.桅杆在黎明将至时倒下，刹那间火星四处乱迸，飞舞的火花似乎一下子洒满了耐心看护的夜空，洒满了海面上那浩淼静谧的夜空。
背景介绍：作者约瑟夫·康拉德(JosephConrad,1857-1924),英国著名小说家。
他的中长篇代表作包括：《黑暗的心灵》(HeartofDarkness)和《特务》(TheSecretAgent)等。
《青春》是康拉德的短篇小说，讲述了充满青春激情的小伙子马洛的首次东方之旅。
马洛在破旧的“圣地”号货船上任二副，他和同伴经历了水与火的洗礼，勇往直前。
虽然“圣地”号后来遭到灭顶之灾，但全体水手分乘救生艇继续前进。
马洛指挥最小的救生艇率先抵达陌生的海岸，赢得了胜利。
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The Looking Glassby Anton ChekhovNEW YEAR'S EVE. Nellie, the daughter of a landowner and general, a young and pretty girl, dreaming day and night of being married, was sitting in her room, gazing with exhausted, half-closed eyes into the looking-glass. She was pale, tense, and as motionless as the looking-glass.The non-existent but apparent vista of a long, narrow corridor with endless rows of candles, the reflection of her face, her hands, of the frame -- all this was already clouded in mist and merged into a boundless grey sea. The sea was undulating, gleaming and now and then flaring crimson. . . .Looking at Nellie's motionless eyes and parted lips, one could hardly say whether she was asleep or awake, but nevertheless she was seeing. At first she saw only the smile and soft, charming expression of someone's eyes, then against the shifting grey background there gradually appeared the outlines of a head, a face, eyebrows, beard. It was he, the destined one, the object of long dreams and hopes. The destined one was for Nellie everything, the significance of life, personal happiness, career, fate. Outside him, as on the grey background of the looking-glass, all was dark, empty, meaningless. And so it was not strange that, seeing before her a handsome, gently smiling face, she was conscious of bliss, of an unutterably sweet dream that could not be expressed in speech or on paper. Then she heard his voice, saw herself living under the same roof with him, her life merged into his. Months and years flew by against the grey background. And Nellie saw her future distinctly in all its details.Picture followed picture against the grey background. Now Nellie saw herself one winter night knocking at the door of Stepan Lukitch, the district doctor. The old dog hoarsely and lazily barked behind the gate. The doctor's windows were in darkness. All was silence."For God's sake, for God's sake!" whispered Nellie.But at last the garden gate creaked and Nellie saw the doctor's cook."Is the doctor at home?""His honour's asleep," whispered the cook into her sleeve, as though afraid of waking her master."He's only just got home from his fever patients, and gave orders he was not to be waked."But Nellie scarcely heard the cook. Thrusting her aside, she rushed headlong into the doctor's house. Running through some dark and stuffy rooms, upsetting two or three chairs, she at last reached the doctor's bedroom. Stepan Lukitch waslying on his bed, dressed, but without his coat, and with pouting lips was breathing into his open hand. A little night-light glimmered faintly beside him. Without uttering a word Nellie sat down and began to cry. She wept bitterly, shaking all over."My husband is ill!" she sobbed out. Stepan Lukitch was silent. He slowly sat up, propped his head on his hand, and looked at his visitor with fixed, sleepy eyes. "My husband is ill!" Nellie continued, restraining her sobs. "For mercy's sake come quickly. Make haste. . . . Make haste!""Eh?" growled the doctor, blowing into his hand."Come! Come this very minute! Or . . . it's terrible to think! For mercy's sake!"And pale, exhausted Nellie, gasping and swallowing her tears, began describing to the doctor her husband's illness, her unutterable terror. Her sufferings would have touched the heart of a stone, but the doctor looked at her, blew into his open hand, and -- not a movement."I'll come to-morrow!" he muttered."That's impossible!" cried Nellie. "I know my husband has typhus! At once . . . this very minute you are needed!""I . . . er . . . have only just come in," muttered the doctor. "For the last three days I've been away, seeing typhus patients, and I'm exhausted and ill myself. . . . I simply can't! Absolutely! I've caught it myself! There!"And the doctor thrust before her eyes a clinical thermometer."My temperature is nearly forty. . . . I absolutely can't. I can scarcely sit up. Excuse me. I'll lie down. . . ."The doctor lay down."But I implore you, doctor," Nellie moaned in despair. "I beseech you! Help me, for mercy's sake! Make a great effort and come! I will repay you, doctor!""Oh, dear! . . . Why, I have told you already. Ah!"Nellie leapt up and walked nervously up and down the bedroom. She longed to explain to the doctor, to bring him to reason. . . . She thought if only he knew how dear her husband was to her and how unhappy she was, he would forget his exhaustion and his illness. But how could she be eloquent enough?"Go to the Zemstvo doctor," she heard Stepan Lukitch's voice."That's impossible! He lives more than twenty miles from here, and time is precious. And the horses can't stand it. It is thirty miles from us to you, and as much from here to the Zemstvo doctor. No, it's impossible! Come along, Stepan Lukitch. I ask of you an heroic deed. Come, perform that heroic deed! Have pity on us!""It's beyond everything. . . . I'm in a fever. . . my head's in a whirl . . . and she won't understand! Leave me alone!""But you are in duty bound to come! You cannot refuse to come! It's egoism! A man is bound to sacrifice his life for his neighbour, and you. . . you refuse to come!I will summon you before the Court."Nellie felt that she was uttering a false and undeserved insult, but for her husband's sake she was capable of forgetting logic, tact, sympathy for others. . . . In reply to her threats, the doctor greedily gulped a glass of cold water. Nellie fell to entreating and imploring like the very lowest beggar. . . . At last the doctor gave way. He slowly got up, puffing and panting, looking for his coat."Here it is!" cried Nellie, helping him. "Let me put it on to you. Come along! I will repay you. . . . All my life I shall be grateful to you. . . ."But what agony! After putting on his coat the doctor lay down again. Nellie got him up and dragged him to the hall. Then there was an agonizing to-do over his goloshes, his overcoat. . . . His cap was lost. . . . But at last Nellie was in the carriage with the doctor. Now they had only to drive thirty miles and her husband would have a doctor's help. The earth was wrapped in darkness. One could not see one's hand before one's face. . . . A cold winter wind was blowing. There were frozen lumps under their wheels. The coachman was continually stopping and wondering which road to take.Nellie and the doctor sat silent all the way. It was fearfully jolting, but they felt neither the cold nor the jolts."Get on, get on!" Nellie implored the driver.At five in the morning the exhausted horses drove into the yard. Nellie saw the familiar gates, the well with the crane, the long row of stables and barns. At last she was at home."Wait a moment, I will be back directly," she said to Stepan Lukitch, making him sit down on the sofa in the dining-room. "Sit still and wait a little, and I'll see how he is going on."On her return from her husband, Nellie found the doctor lying down. He was lying on the sofa and muttering."Doctor, please! . . . doctor!""Eh? Ask Domna!" muttered Stepan Lukitch."What?""They said at the meeting . . . Vlassov said . . . Who? . . . what?"And to her horror Nellie saw that the doctor was as delirious as her husband. What was to be done?"I must go for the Zemstvo doctor," she decided.Then again there followed darkness, a cutting cold wind, lumps of frozen earth. She was suffering in body and in soul, and delusive nature has no arts, no deceptions to compensate these sufferings. . . .Then she saw against the grey background how her husband every spring was in straits for money to pay the interest for the mortgage to the bank. He could not sleep, she could not sleep, and both racked their brains till their heads ached, thinking how to avoid being visited by the clerk of the Court.She saw her children: the everlasting apprehension of colds, scarlet fever, diphtheria, bad marks at school, separation. Out of a brood of five or six one was sure to die.The grey background was not untouched by death. That might well be. A husband and wife cannot die simultaneously. Whatever happened one must bury the other. And Nellie saw her husband dying. This terrible event presented itself to her in every detail. She saw the coffin, the candles, the deacon, and even the footmarks in the hall made by the undertaker."Why is it, what is it for?" she asked, looking blankly at her husband's face.And all the previous life with her husband seemed to her a stupid prelude to this.Something fell from Nellie's hand and knocked on the floor. She started, jumped up, and opened her eyes wide. One looking-glass she saw lying at her feet. The other was standing as before on the table.She looked into the looking-glass and saw a pale, tear-stained face. There was no grey background now."I must have fallen asleep," she thought with a sigh of relief.。
经典英文短篇小说 (20)
Christmas Every Dayby William Dean HowellsThe little girl came into her papa's study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:"Well, once there was a little pig--"She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them."Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?""About Christmas. It's getting to be the season. It's past Thanksgiving already.""It seems to me," her papa argued, "that I've told as often about Christmas as I have about little pigs.""No difference! Christmas is more interesting.""Well!" Her papa roused himself from his writing by a great effort. "Well, then, I'll tell you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas every day in the year. How would you like that?""First-rate!" said the little girl; and she nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for listening."Very well, then, this little pig--Oh, what are you pounding me for?""Because you said little pig instead of little girl.""I should like to know what's the difference between a little pig and a little girl that wanted it Christmas every day!""Papa," said the little girl, warningly, "if you don't go on, I'll give it to you!" And at this her papa darted off like lightning, and began to tell the story as fast as he could.Well, once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanksgiving was over she began to send postal-cards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she mightn't have it. But the old fairy never answered any of the postals; and after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and wouldn't notice anything but letters--not even correspondence cards in envelopes; but real letters on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a monogram--or your initial, anyway. So, then, she began to send her letters; and in about three weeks--or just the day before Christmas, it was--she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year, and then they would see about having it longer.The little girl was a good deal excited already, preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day, and perhaps the Fairy'spromise didn't make such an impression on her as it would have made at some other time. She just resolved to keep it to herself, and surprise everybody with it as it kept coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind altogether.She had a splendid Christmas. She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance at the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of anybody and went and felt them, and found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and rubber balls, and all kinds of small presents, and her big brother's with nothing but the tongs in them, and her young lady sister's with a new silk umbrella, and her papa's and mamma's with potatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue-paper, just as they always had every Christmas. Then she waited around till the rest of the family were up, and she was the first to burst into the library, when the doors were opened, and look at the large presents laid out on the library-table--books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little easels, and boxes of water-colors, and Turkish paste, and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls' houses, and waterproofs--and the big Christmas-tree, lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the middle.She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate so much candy that she did not want any breakfast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that the expressman had not had time to deliver the night before; and she went round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and ate turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins and oranges and more candy, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomach-ache, crying; and her papa said he would see if his house was turned into that sort of fool's paradise another year; and they had a light supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.Here the little girl pounded her papa in the back, again."Well, what now? Did I say pigs?""You made them act like pigs.""Well, didn't they?""No matter; you oughtn't to put it into a story.""Very well, then, I'll take it all out."Her father went on:The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept very late, but she was wakened at last by the other children dancing round her bed with their stockings full of presents in their hands."What is it?" said the little girl, and she rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed."Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!" they all shouted, and waved their stockings."Nonsense! It was Christmas yesterday."Her brothers and sisters just laughed. "We don't know about that. It's Christmas to-day, anyway. You come into the library and see."Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark--a lark that had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross--and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins--"You needn't go over it all, papa; I guess I can remember just what was there," said the little girl.Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. "I'm sure I don't see how I'm to dispose of all these things," said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best kind of a joke; and so she ate so much candy she didn't want any breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a--"Papa!""Well, what now?""What did you promise, you forgetful thing?""Oh! oh yes!"Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser; and at the end of a week's time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else's, and it made the most dreadful mix.The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her mother, but she didn't dare to; and she was ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine's Day and Washington's Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn't skip even the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some little relief.After a while coal and potatoes began to be awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in tissue-paper to fool papas and mammas with. Turkeys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece--"Papa!""Well, what?""You're beginning to fib.""Well, two thousand, then."And they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys--half-grown humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights--the real turkeys were so scarce. And cranberries--well, they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-trees, and where the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas-trees out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls; but there were plenty of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn't get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-house, except the confectioners, and the fancy-store keepers, and the picture-book sellers, and the expressmen; and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!Well, after it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the disgusting presents around everywhere, used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was perfectly exhausted; she couldn't even cry any more; she just lay on the lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them--French dolls, or any kind--she hated the sight of them so; and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed her presents across the room.By that time people didn't carry presents around nicely any more. They flung them over the fence, or through the window, or anything; and, instead of running their tongues out and taking great pains to write "For dear Papa," or "Mamma," or "Brother," or "Sister," or "Susie," or "Sammie," or "Billie," or "Bobbie," or "Jimmie," or "Jennie," or whoever it was, and troubling to get the spelling right, and then signing their names, and "Xmas, 18--," they used to write in the gift-books, "Take it, you horrid old thing!" and then go and bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to let them lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them."I thought you said everybody had gone to the poor-house," interrupted the little girl."They did go, at first," said her papa; "but after a while the poor-houses got sofull that they had to send the people back to their own houses. They tried to cry, when they got back, but they couldn't make the least sound.""Why couldn't they?""Because they had lost their voices, saying 'Merry Christmas' so much. Did I tell you how it was on the Fourth of July?""No; how was it?" And the little girl nestled closer, in expectation of something uncommon.Well, the night before, the boys stayed up to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep before twelve o'clock, as usual, expecting to be wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was nearly eight o'clock before the first boy in the United States woke up, and then he found out what the trouble was. As soon as he could get his clothes on he ran out of the house and smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pavement; but it didn't make any more noise than a damp wad of paper; and after he tried about twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big raisin! Then he just streaked it up-stairs, and examined his fire-crackers and toy-pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they were nothing but sugar and candy painted up to look like fireworks! Before ten o'clock every boy in the United States found out that his Fourth of July things had turned into Christmas things; and then they just sat down and cried--they were so mad. There are about twenty million boys in the United States, and so you can imagine what a noise they made. Some men got together before night, with a little powder that hadn't turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of saying, "When in the course of human events it becomes necessary," he was sure to sing, "God rest you, merry gentlemen." It was perfectly awful.The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction."And how was it at Thanksgiving?"Her papa hesitated. "Well, I'm almost afraid to tell you. I'm afraid you'll think it's wicked.""Well, tell, anyway," said the little girl.Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn't have happened; and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that allthe turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they would see about the gratitude. Wasn't it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it didn't do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy's house, but the girl that came to the door always said, "Not at home," or "Engaged," or "At dinner," or something like that; and so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve. The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning--"She found it was all nothing but a dream," suggested the little girl."No, indeed!" said her papa. "It was all every bit true!""Well, what did she find out, then?""Why, that it wasn't Christmas at last, and wasn't ever going to be, any more. Now it's time for breakfast."The little girl held her papa fast around the neck."You sha'n't go if you're going to leave it so!""How do you want it left?""Christmas once a year.""All right," said her papa; and he went on again.Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and it made the fish perfectly sick; and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They had the greatest time!The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that Christmas never, never came again. Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she was sure she knew what she meant; and the little girl asked her, Why not? and the old Fairy said that now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and she'd better look out. This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years; and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed. Then the little girl said, "What're your shoes made of?" And the Fairy said, "Leather." And the little girl said, "Bargain's done forever," and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad."How will that do?" asked the papa."First-rate!" said the little girl; but she hated to have the story stop, and wasrather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her papa: "Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?""Oh, just a moral tale."The little girl caught him around the neck again."We know! Don't you tell what, papa! Don't you tell what!"。
经典英文短篇小说 (58)
The Handby Guy de MaupassantAll were crowding around M. Bermutier, the judge, who was giving his opinion about the Saint-Cloud mystery. For a month this inexplicable crime had been the talk of Paris. Nobody could make head or tail of it.M. Bermutier, standing with his back to the fireplace, was talking, citing the evidence, discussing the various theories, but arriving at no conclusion.Some women had risen, in order to get nearer to him, and were standing with their eyes fastened on the clean-shaven face of the judge, who was saying such weighty things. They, were shaking and trembling, moved by fear and curiosity, and by the eager and insatiable desire for the horrible, which haunts the soul of every woman. One of them, paler than the others, said during a pause: "It's terrible. It verges on the supernatural. The truth will never be known."The judge turned to her:"True, madame, it is likely that the actual facts will never be discovered. As for the word 'supernatural' which you have just used, it has nothing to do with the matter. We are in the presence of a very cleverly conceived and executed crime, so well enshrouded in mystery that we cannot disentangle it from the involved circumstances which surround it. But once I had to take charge of an affair in which the uncanny seemed to play a part. In fact, the case became so confused that it had to be given up."Several women exclaimed at once:"Oh! Tell us about it!"M. Bermutier smiled in a dignified manner, as a judge should, and went on: "Do not think, however, that I, for one minute, ascribed anything in the case to supernatural influences. I believe only in normal causes. But if, instead of using the word 'supernatural' to express what we do not understand, we were simply to make use of the word 'inexplicable,' it would be much better. At any rate, in the affair of which I am about to tell you, it is especially the surrounding, preliminary circumstances which impressed me. Here are the facts:"I was, at that time, a judge at Ajaccio, a little white city on the edge of a bay which is surrounded by high mountains."The majority of the cases which came up before me concerned vendettas. There are some that are superb, dramatic, ferocious, heroic. We find there the most beautiful causes for revenge of which one could dream, enmities hundreds of years old, quieted for a time but never extinguished; abominable stratagems, murders becoming massacres and almost deeds of glory. For two years I heard of nothingbut the price of blood, of this terrible Corsican prejudice which compels revenge for insults meted out to the offending person and all his descendants and relatives. I had seen old men, children, cousins murdered; my head was full of these stories."One day I learned that an Englishman had just hired a little villa at the end of the bay for several years. He had brought with him a French servant, whom he had engaged on the way at Marseilles."Soon this peculiar person, living alone, only going out to hunt and fish, aroused a widespread interest. He never spoke to any one, never went to the town, and every morning he would practice for an hour or so with his revolver and rifle."Legends were built up around him. It was said that he was some high personage, fleeing from his fatherland for political reasons; then it was affirmed that he was in hiding after having committed some abominable crime. Some particularly horrible circumstances were even mentioned."In my judicial position I thought it necessary to get some information about this man, but it was impossible to learn anything. He called himself Sir John Rowell."I therefore had to be satisfied with watching him as closely as I could, but I could see nothing suspicious about his actions."However, as rumors about him were growing and becoming more widespread, I decided to try to see this stranger myself, and I began to hunt regularly in the neighborhood of his grounds."For a long time I watched without finding an opportunity. At last it came to me in the shape of a partridge which I shot and killed right in front of the Englishman. My dog fetched it for me, but, taking the bird, I went at once to Sir John Rowell and, begging his pardon, asked him to accept it."He was a big man, with red hair and beard, very tall, very broad, a kind of calm and polite Hercules. He had nothing of the so-called British stiffness, and in a broad English accent he thanked me warmly for my attention. At the end of a month we had had five or six conversations."One night, at last, as I was passing before his door, I saw him in the garden, seated astride a chair, smoking his pipe. I bowed and he invited me to come in and have a glass of beer. I needed no urging."He received me with the most punctilious English courtesy, sang the praises of France and of Corsica, and declared that he was quite in love with this country."Then, with great caution and under the guise of a vivid interest, I asked him a few questions about his life and his plans. He answered without embarrassment, telling me that he had travelled a great deal in Africa, in the Indies, in America. He added, laughing:"'I have had many adventures.'"Then I turned the conversation on hunting, and he gave me the most curious details on hunting the hippopotamus, the tiger, the elephant and even the gorilla."I said:"'Are all these animals dangerous?'"He smiled:"'Oh, no! Man is the worst.'"And he laughed a good broad laugh, the wholesome laugh of a contented Englishman."'I have also frequently been man-hunting.'"Then he began to talk about weapons, and he invited me to come in and see different makes of guns."His parlor was draped in black, black silk embroidered in gold. Big yellow flowers, as brilliant as fire, were worked on the dark material."He said:"'It is a Japanese material.'"But in the middle of the widest panel a strange thing attracted my attention. A black object stood out against a square of red velvet. I went up to it; it was a hand, a human hand. Not the clean white hand of a skeleton, but a dried black hand, with yellow nails, the muscles exposed and traces of old blood on the bones, which were cut off as clean as though it had been chopped off with an axe, near the middle of the forearm."Around the wrist, an enormous iron chain, riveted and soldered to this unclean member, fastened it to the wall by a ring, strong enough to hold an elephant in leash."I asked:"'What is that?'"The Englishman answered quietly:"'That is my best enemy. It comes from America, too. The bones were severed by a sword and the skin cut off with a sharp stone and dried in the sun for a week.' "I touched these human remains, which must have belonged to a giant. The uncommonly long fingers were attached by enormous tendons which still had pieces of skin hanging to them in places. This hand was terrible to see; it made one think of some savage vengeance."I said:"'This man must have been very strong.'"The Englishman answered quietly:"'Yes, but I was stronger than he. I put on this chain to hold him.'"I thought that he was joking. I said:"'This chain is useless now, the hand won't run away.'"Sir John Rowell answered seriously:"'It always wants to go away. This chain is needed.'"I glanced at him quickly, questioning his face, and I asked myself:"'Is he an insane man or a practical joker?'"But his face remained inscrutable, calm and friendly. I turned to other subjects, and admired his rifles."However, I noticed that he kept three loaded revolvers in the room, as though constantly in fear of some attack."I paid him several calls. Then I did not go any more. People had become used to his presence; everybody had lost interest in him."A whole year rolled by. One morning, toward the end of November, my servant awoke me and announced that Sir John Rowell had been murdered during the night."Half an hour later I entered the Englishman's house, together with the police commissioner and the captain of the gendarmes. The servant, bewildered and in despair, was crying before the door. At first I suspected this man, but he was innocent."The guilty party could never be found."On entering Sir John's parlor, I noticed the body, stretched out on its back, in the middle of the room."His vest was torn, the sleeve of his jacket had been pulled off, everything pointed to, a violent struggle."The Englishman had been strangled! His face was black, swollen and frightful, and seemed to express a terrible fear. He held something between his teeth, and his neck, pierced by five or six holes which looked as though they had been made by some iron instrument, was covered with blood."A physician joined us. He examined the finger marks on the neck for a long time and then made this strange announcement:"'It looks as though he had been strangled by a skeleton.'"A cold chill seemed to run down my back, and I looked over to where I had formerly seen the terrible hand. It was no longer there. The chain was hanging down, broken."I bent over the dead man and, in his contracted mouth, I found one of the fingers of this vanished hand, cut--or rather sawed off by the teeth down to the second knuckle."Then the investigation began. Nothing could be discovered. No door, window or piece of furniture had been forced. The two watch dogs had not been aroused from their sleep."Here, in a few words, is the testimony of the servant:"For a month his master had seemed excited. He had received many letters, which he would immediately burn."Often, in a fit of passion which approached madness, he had taken a switch and struck wildly at this dried hand riveted to the wall, and which had disappeared, no one knows how, at the very hour of the crime."He would go to bed very late and carefully lock himself in. He always kept weapons within reach. Often at night he would talk loudly, as though he were quarrelling with some one."That night, somehow, he had made no noise, and it was only on going to open the windows that the servant had found Sir John murdered. He suspected no one."I communicated what I knew of the dead man to the judges and public officials. Throughout the whole island a minute investigation was carried on. Nothing could be found out."One night, about three months after the crime, I had a terrible nightmare. I seemed to see the horrible hand running over my curtains and walls like an immense scorpion or spider. Three times I awoke, three times I went to sleep again; three times I saw the hideous object galloping round my room and moving its fingers like legs."The following day the hand was brought me, found in the cemetery, on the grave of Sir John Rowell, who had been buried there because we had been unable to find his family. The first finger was missing."Ladies, there is my story. I know nothing more."The women, deeply stirred, were pale and trembling. One of them exclaimed: "But that is neither a climax nor an explanation! We will be unable to sleep unless you give us your opinion of what had occurred."The judge smiled severely:"Oh! Ladies, I shall certainly spoil your terrible dreams. I simply believe that the legitimate owner of the hand was not dead, that he came to get it with his remaining one. But I don't know how. It was a kind of vendetta."One of the women murmured:"No, it can't be that."And the judge, still smiling, said:"Didn't I tell you that my explanation would not satisfy you?"。
经典英文短篇小说 (50)
My Financial Careerby Stephen LeacockWhen I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me.The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must needs consult the manager.I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral."Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know why I said "alone.""Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him.The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket."Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it."Yes," he said."Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident.The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful secret to reveal."Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He turned the key in the lock."We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down."We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak."You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said.He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse."No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a rival agency. "To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank."The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould."A large account, I suppose," he said."Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly."The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant."Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning."I rose.A big iron door stood open at the side of the room."Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe."Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way.I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.My face was ghastly pale."Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us."He took the money and gave it to another clerk.He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes."Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice."It is," said the accountant."Then I want to draw a cheque."My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it."What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me.Reckless with misery, I made a plunge."Yes, the whole thing.""You withdraw your money from the bank?""Every cent of it.""Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished."Never."An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a wretchedattempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper.The clerk prepared to pay the money."How will you have it?" he said."What?""How will you have it?""Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think—"in fifties."He gave me a fifty-dollar bill."And the six?" he asked dryly."In sixes," I said.He gave it me and I rushed out.As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I keep my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a sock.。
经典英文短篇小说 (65)
The Laughing Hippopotamusby L. Frank BaumOn one of the upper branches of the Congo river lived an ancient and aristocratic family of hippopotamuses, which boasted a pedigree dating back beyond the days of Noah--beyond the existence of mankind--far into the dim ages when the world was new.They had always lived upon the banks of this same river, so that every curve and sweep of its waters, every pit and shallow of its bed, every rock and stump and wallow upon its bank was as familiar to them as their own mothers. And they are living there yet, I suppose.Not long ago the queen of this tribe of hippopotamuses had a child which she named Keo, because it was so fat and round. Still, that you may not be misled, I will say that in the hippopotamus language "Keo," properly translated, means "fat and lazy" instead of fat and round. However, no one called the queen's attention to this error, because her tusks were monstrous long and sharp, and she thought Keo the sweetest baby in the world.He was, indeed, all right for a hippopotamus. He rolled and played in the soft mud of the river bank, and waddled inland to nibble the leaves of the wild cabbage that grew there, and was happy and contented from morning till night. And he was the jolliest hippopotamus that ancient family had ever known. His little red eyes were forever twinkling with fun, and he laughed his merry laugh on all occasions, whether there was anything to laugh at or not.Therefore the black people who dwelt in that region called him "Ippi"--the jolly one, although they dared not come anigh him on account of his fierce mother, and his equally fierce uncles and aunts and cousins, who lived in a vast colony upon the river bank.And while these black people, who lived in little villages scattered among the trees, dared not openly attack the royal family of hippopotamuses, they were amazingly fond of eating hippopotamus meat whenever they could get it. This was no secret to the hippopotamuses. And, again, when the blacks managed to catch these animals alive, they had a trick of riding them through the jungles as if they were horses, thus reducing them to a condition of slavery.Therefore, having these things in mind, whenever the tribe of hippopotamuses smelled the oily odor of black people they were accustomed to charge upon them furiously, and if by chance they overtook one of the enemy they would rip him with their sharp tusks or stamp him into the earth with their huge feet.It was continual warfare between the hippopotamuses and the black people.Gouie lived in one of the little villages of the blacks. He was the son of the chief's brother and grandson of the village sorcerer, the latter being an aged man known as the "the boneless wonder," because he could twist himself into as many coils as a serpent and had no bones to hinder his bending his flesh into any position. This made him walk in a wabbly fashion, but the black people had great respect for him.Gouie's hut was made of branches of trees stuck together with mud, and his clothing consisted of a grass mat tied around his middle. But his relationship to the chief and the sorcerer gave him a certain dignity, and he was much addicted to solitary thought. Perhaps it was natural that these thoughts frequently turned upon his enemies, the hippopotamuses, and that he should consider many ways of capturing them.Finally he completed his plans, and set about digging a great pit in the ground, midway between two sharp curves of the river. When the pit was finished he covered it over with small branches of trees, and strewed earth upon them, smoothing the surface so artfully that no one would suspect there was a big hole underneath. Then Gouie laughed softly to himself and went home to supper.That evening the queen said to Keo, who was growing to be a fine child for his age:"I wish you'd run across the bend and ask your Uncle Nikki to come here. I have found a strange plant, and want him to tell me if it is good to eat."The jolly one laughed heartily as he started upon his errand, for he felt as important as a boy does when he is sent for the first time to the corner grocery to buy a yeast cake."Guk-uk-uk-uk! guk-uk-uk-uk!" was the way he laughed; and if you think a hippopotamus does not laugh this way you have but to listen to one and you will find I am right.He crawled out of the mud where he was wallowing and tramped away through the bushes, and the last his mother heard as she lay half in and half out of the water was his musical "guk-uk-uk-uk!" dying away in the distance.Keo was in such a happy mood that he scarcely noticed where he stepped, so he was much surprised when, in the middle of a laugh, the ground gave way beneath him, and he fell to the bottom of Gouie's deep pit. He was not badly hurt, but had bumped his nose severely as he went down; so he stopped laughing and began to think how he should get out again. Then he found the walls were higher than his head, and that he was a prisoner.So he laughed a little at his own misfortune, and the laughter soothed him to sleep, so that he snored all through the night until daylight came.When Gouie peered over the edge of the pit next morning he exclaimed:"Why, 'tis Ippi--the Jolly One!"Keo recognized the scent of a black man and tried to raise his head high enough to bite him. Seeing which Gouie spoke in the hippopotamus language, which he had learned from his grandfather, the sorcerer."Have peace, little one; you are my captive.""Yes; I will have a piece of your leg, if I can reach it," retorted Keo; and then he laughed at his own joke: "Guk-uk-uk-uk!"But Gouie, being a thoughtful black man, went away without further talk, and did not return until the following morning. When he again leaned over the pit Keo was so weak from hunger that he could hardly laugh at all."Do you give up?" asked Gouie, "or do you still wish to fight?""What will happen if I give up?" inquired Keo.The black man scratched his woolly head in perplexity."It is hard to say, Ippi. You are too young to work, and if I kill you for food I shall lose your tusks, which are not yet grown. Why, O Jolly One, did you fall into my hole? I wanted to catch your mother or one of your uncles.""Guk-uk-uk-uk!" laughed Keo. "You must let me go, after all, black man; for I am of no use to you!""That I will not do," declared Gouie; "unless," he added, as an afterthought, "you will make a bargain with me.""Let me hear about the bargain, black one, for I am hungry," said Keo."I will let your go if you swear by the tusks of your grandfather that you will return to me in a year and a day and become my prisoner again."The youthful hippopotamus paused to think, for he knew it was a solemn thing to swear by the tusks of his grandfather; but he was exceedingly hungry, and a year and a day seemed a long time off; so he said, with another careless laugh: "Very well; if you will now let me go I swear by the tusks of my grandfather to return to you in a year and a day and become your prisoner."Gouie was much pleased, for he knew that in a year and a day Keo would be almost full grown. So he began digging away one end of the pit and filling it up with the earth until he had made an incline which would allow the hippopotamus to climb out.Keo was so pleased when he found himself upon the surface of the earth again that he indulged in a merry fit of laughter, after which he said:"Good-by, Gouie; in a year and a day you will see me again."Then he waddled away toward the river to see his mother and get his breakfast, and Gouie returned to his village.During the months that followed, as the black man lay in his hut or hunted in the forest, he heard at times the faraway "Guk-uk-uk-uk!" of the laughinghippopotamus. But he only smiled to himself and thought: "A year and a day will soon pass away!"Now when Keo returned to his mother safe and well every member of his tribe was filled with joy, for the Jolly One was a general favorite. But when he told them that in a year and a day he must again become the slave of the black man, they began to wail and weep, and so many were their tears that the river rose several inches.Of course Keo only laughed at their sorrow; but a great meeting of the tribe was called and the matter discussed seriously."Having sworn by the tusks of his grandfather," said Uncle Nikki, "he must keep his promise. But it is our duty to try in some way to rescue him from death or a life of slavery."To this all agreed, but no one could think of any method of saving Keo from his fate. So months passed away, during which all the royal hippopotamuses were sad and gloomy except the Jolly One himself.Finally but a week of freedom remained to Keo, and his mother, the queen, became so nervous and worried that another meeting of the tribe was called. By this time the laughing hippopotamus had grown to enormous size, and measured nearly fifteen feet long and six feet high, while his sharp tusks were whiter and harder than those of an elephant."Unless something is done to save my child," said the mother, "I shall die of grief."Then some of her relations began to make foolish suggestions; but presently Uncle Nep, a wise and very big hippopotamus, said:"We must go to Glinkomok and implore his aid."Then all were silent, for it was a bold thing to face the mighty Glinkomok. But the mother's love was equal to any heroism."I will myself go to him, if Uncle Nep will accompany me," she said, quickly.Uncle Nep thoughtfully patted the soft mud with his fore foot and wagged his short tail leisurely from side to side."We have always been obedient to Glinkomok, and shown him great respect," said he. "Therefore I fear no danger in facing him. I will go with you."All the others snorted approval, being very glad they were not called upon to go themselves.So the queen and Uncle Nep, with Keo swimming between them, set out upon their journey. They swam up the river all that day and all the next, until they came at sundown to a high, rocky wall, beneath which was the cave where the might Glinkomok dwelt.This fearful creature was part beast, part man, part fowl and part fish. It hadlived since the world began. Through years of wisdom it had become part sorcerer, part wizard, part magician and part fairy. Mankind knew it not, but the ancient beasts knew and feared it.The three hippopotamuses paused before the cave, with their front feet upon the bank and their bodies in the water, and called in chorus a greeting to Glinkomok. Instantly thereafter the mouth of the cave darkened and the creature glided silently toward them.The hippopotamuses were afraid to look upon it, and bowed their heads between their legs."We come, O Glinkomok, to implore your mercy and friendly assistance!" began Uncle Nep; and then he told the story of Keo's capture, and how he had promised to return to the black man."He must keep his promise," said the creature, in a voice that sounded like a sigh.The mother hippopotamus groaned aloud."But I will prepare him to overcome the black man, and to regain his liberty," continued Glinkomok.Keo laughed."Lift your right paw," commanded Glinkomok. Keo obeyed, and the creature touched it with its long, hairy tongue. Then it held four skinny hands over Keo's bowed head and mumbled some words in a language unknown to man or beast or fowl or fish. After this it spoke again in hippopotamese:"Your skin has now become so tough that no man can hurt you. Your strength is greater than that of ten elephants. Your foot is so swift that you can distance the wind. Your wit is sharper than the bulthorn. Let the man fear, but drive fear from your own breast forever; for of all your race you are the mightiest!"Then the terrible Glinkomok leaned over, and Keo felt its fiery breath scorch him as it whispered some further instructions in his ear. The next moment it glided back into its cave, followed by the loud thanks of the three hippopotamuses, who slid into the water and immediately began their journey home.The mother's heart was full of joy; Uncle Nep shivered once or twice as he remembered a glimpse he had caught of Glinkomok; but Keo was as jolly as possible, and, not content to swim with his dignified elders, he dived under their bodies, raced all around them and laughed merrily every inch of the way home.Then all the tribe held high jinks and praised the mighty Glinkomok for befriending their queen's son. And when the day came for the Jolly One to give himself up to the black man they all kissed him good-by without a single fear for his safety.Keo went away in good spirits, and they could hear his laughing"guk-uk-uk-uk!" long after he was lost in sight in the jungle.Gouie had counted the days and knew when to expect Keo; but he was astonished at the monstrous size to which his captive had grown, and congratulated himself on the wise bargain he had made. And Keo was so fat that Gouie determined to eat him--that is, all of him he possibly could, and the remainder of the carcass he would trade off to his fellow villagers.So he took a knife and tried to stick it into the hippopotamus, but the skin was so tough the knife was blunted against it. Then he tried other means; but Keo remained unhurt.And now indeed the Jolly One laughed his most gleeful laugh, till all the forest echoed the "guk-uk-uk-uk-uk!" And Gouie decided not to kill him, since that was impossible, but to use him for a beast of burden. He mounted upon Keo's back and commanded him to march. So Keo trotted briskly through the village, his little eyes twinkling with merriment.The other blacks were delighted with Gouie's captive, and begged permission to ride upon the Jolly One's back. So Gouie bargained with them for bracelets and shell necklaces and little gold ornaments, until he had acquired quite a heap of trinkets. Then a dozen black men climbed upon Keo's back to enjoy a ride, and the one nearest his nose cried out:"Run, Mud-dog--run!"And Keo ran. Swift as the wind he strode, away from the village, through the forest and straight up the river bank. The black men howled with fear; the Jolly One roared with laughter; and on, on, on they rushed!Then before them, on the opposite side of the river, appeared the black mouth of Glinkomok's cave. Keo dashed into the water, dived to the bottom and left the black people struggling to swim out. But Glinkomok had heard the laughter of Keo and knew what to do. When the Jolly One rose to the surface and blew the water from his throat there was no black man to be seen.Keo returned alone to the village, and Gouie asked, with surprise:"Where are my brothers:""I do not know," answered Keo. "I took them far away, and they remained where I left them."Gouie would have asked more questions then, but another crowd of black men impatiently waited to ride on the back of the laughing hippopotamus. So they paid the price and climbed to their seats, after which the foremost said:"Run, mud-wallower--run!"And Keo ran as before and carried them to the mouth of Glinkomok's cave, and returned alone.But now Gouie became anxious to know the fate of his fellows, for he was theonly black man left in his village. So he mounted the hippopotamus and cried: "Run, river-hog--run!"Keo laughed his jolly "guk-uk-uk-uk!" and ran with the speed of the wind. But this time he made straight for the river bank where his own tribe lived, and when he reached it he waded into the river, dived to the bottom and left Gouie floating in the middle of the stream.The black man began swimming toward the right bank, but there he saw Uncle Nep and half the royal tribe waiting to stamp him into the soft mud. So he turned toward the left bank, and there stood the queen mother and Uncle Nikki, red-eyed and angry, waiting to tear him with their tusks.Then Gouie uttered loud screams of terror, and, spying the Jolly One, who swam near him, he cried:"Save me, Keo! Save me, and I will release you from slavery!""That is not enough," laughed Keo."I will serve you all my life!" screamed Gouie; "I will do everything you bid me!""Will you return to me in a year and a day and become my captive, if I allow you to escape?" asked Keo."I will! I will! I will!" cried Gouie."Swear it by the bones of your grandfather!" commanded Keo, remembering that black men have no tusks to swear by.And Gouie swore it by the bones of his grandfather.Then Keo swam to the black one, who clambered upon his back again. In this fashion they came to the bank, where Keo told his mother and all the tribe of the bargain he had made with Gouie, who was to return in a year and a day and become his slave.Therefore the black man was permitted to depart in peace, and once more the Jolly One lived with his own people and was happy.When a year and a day had passed Keo began watching for the return of Gouie; but he did not come, then or ever afterwards.For the black man had made a bundle of his bracelets and shell necklaces and little gold ornaments and had traveled many miles into another country, where the ancient and royal tribe of hippopotamuses was unknown. And he set up for a great chief, because of his riches, and people bowed down before him.By day he was proud and swaggering. But at night he tumbled and tossed upon his bed and could not sleep. His conscience troubled him.For he had sworn by the bones of his grandfather; and his grandfather had no bones.。
小王子英文阅读
小王子英文阅读"Reading 'The Little Prince'""The Little Prince" is a world - famous fairy - tale novel. Reading it in English can be a truly rewarding experience.When starting to read "The Little Prince" in English, we are immediately introduced to a unique and charming world. The language used in the book is not overly complicated, which makes it accessible for English learners. For example, the descriptions of the little prince's planet are vivid yet simple. His planet, B - 612, is so small that he can watch the sunset many times a day just by moving a few steps. This kind of description not only makes us visualize the planet easily but also shows the simplicity and purity of the little prince's world.As we continue reading, we meet various characters that the little prince encounters during his journey. The fox is one of the most memorable characters. Through his conversations with the little prince, we can learn some profound philosophical ideas. The fox says, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eyes." This sentence, in its simple English form, contains a deep truth about how we perceive the world. It tells us that we should not just rely on our eyes to judge things, but rather use our hearts to feel and understand the true essence of things.Reading "The Little Prince" in English also helps us improve our language skills. We can learn new vocabulary, such as "baobab" (the huge trees on the little prince's planet that symbolize bad things that can grow out of control if not dealt with in time). And we can also get familiar with different sentence structures. The narrative style of the book is smooth and engaging, which keeps the readers interested from start to finish.In conclusion, reading "The Little Prince" in English is like embarking on a wonderful journey. It allows us to enjoy a beautiful story, gain some valuable insights into life, and at the same time, enhance our English proficiency.中文翻译《阅读〈小王子〉》《小王子》是一部举世闻名的童话小说。
优秀英语短篇小说集 10 篇,不看后悔哦~
优秀英语短篇小说集 10 篇，不看后悔哦~以下是一份包含10篇优秀英语短篇小说的精选集。
每个故事都引人入胜，希望你会喜欢！1. "The Secret Room"故事简介：一个年轻的探险家发现了一间隐藏的密室，里面隐藏着惊人的秘密。
2. "The Unexpected Journey"故事简介：一位幸运的旅行者在一次意外中发现了一条通往神秘世界的道路。
3. "Lost in the Woods"故事简介：一群朋友在森林迷路了，他们必须齐心合力才能找到回家的路。
4. "The Haunted House"故事简介：一对夫妇决定住进一座传说中闹鬼的房子，他们面临着各种令人毛骨悚然的事件。
5. "The Magical Necklace"故事简介：一个普通女孩意外发现了一条神奇的项链，她从此踏上了一段令人难以置信的冒险之旅。
6. "The Mysterious Stranger"故事简介：一个神秘的陌生人来到小镇，他的出现改变了所有人的生活。
7. "The Forgotten Diary"故事简介：一个年轻女孩在祖母的旧日记中发现了一个关于家族秘密的惊人发现。
8. "The Lost Treasure"故事简介：一群年轻人决定寻找传说中失落的宝藏，他们将面对许多挑战与危险。
9. "The Enchanted Garden"故事简介：一位女孩探索了她祖母的神奇花园，她发现了一个隐藏的世界。
10. "The Mirror of Truth"故事简介：一面魔镜能够揭示出真相，一位英勇的年轻人利用它来拯救他的国家。
以上是《优秀英语短篇小说集》中的10篇故事简介。
希望你会对这些故事充满兴趣，尽情享受阅读的乐趣！。
英文小说阅读的八大技巧
我们都知道通过阅读英⽂⼩说可以提⾼英语⽔平。
但是怎么样阅读英语⼩说才是最有效的呢？⽅向标英语为⼤家编辑整理了⼋个⽅法！1、why to read original edition novel 要想真正提⾼外语⽔平,阅读原版⼩说是必经之路,正如不是每个⼈都能成为外语⾼⼿⼀样, 不是每个⼈都能够有毅⼒读完N本原版⼩说的.(我特佩服门卫,能够把⼀本都上N遍,如果我有这种毅⼒的话,早就成为⾼⼿了…) 2、fundamental conditions 语法:系统准确的掌握语法. 基本上,如果是E,⾼中毕业以后这⼀点都达到了词汇: 熟练词汇>2.5k, 认知词汇>5k ⼯具书:⼀本C-E, ⼀本E-E,或者⽤⽂曲星代替,但我偏好字典----词汇认知学指出,词汇的记忆效果与词汇的检索时间正相关(我现在读法⽂,由3本D, F-C,F-E,F-F) 3、选材,仁者见仁,就我个⼈⽽⾔, 我偏好当代中篇作品(我现在选了⼀本Marcel Pagnol 写于1957年的, 280pages) 4、前期⼯作:查找百科全书或相应的⼯具书,了解到作者的⽣平,作品,世⼈的评价. 5、阅读中的词汇学习:每天阅读6 pages(6X225=1350字),在阅读过程中碰到new words先做标记,读完后再查D, 把⽣词记载在本⼦上,并及时背诵(我现在最怕的就是这⼀点,会不会半途⽽废) 6、 how to read 我准备默读, 这是我的习惯,朗读太费尽了,泛读也没有意义,介于精泛之间 7、read what 我主要研究其词汇搭配.词汇的⽤法是语⾔中最难的,⽐如,法语中最简单的⼀个介词à,⽤法不计其数,在⼤型D上有好⼏页,为什么同样的词汇在名家⼿下就⽣龙活虎,到了我的⼿下就⼀潭死⽔呢?我认为这应该是读原版⼩说的最根本⽬的. 记得AS以前告诫我,要多学词法,少背词汇, 可惜⼀直没有好好的实⾏, 现在,我就以法语作为实验品吧…再次谢谢AS 我准备把注意⼒集中在届词,练词,动词上⾯,因为名词和形容词的⽤法太简单了,不知这样是否OK? 8、how to digest每读完⼀章写⼀篇读后感,相当于开卷考试,经常并及时背诵本⼦上的new words。
如何阅读英文小说
如何阅读英文小说英文小说是提高英语能力的一种有效途径。
但是，对于初学者来说，阅读英文小说可能会带来一些困难。
以下是一些阅读英文小说的技巧和建议：1.选择合适的书籍初学者应该选择适合自己英语水平的书籍。
可以选择一些记录简单故事的儿童读物，这些书籍的阅读难度较低，语言简单易懂，阅读起来较为轻松；也可以选择一些适合自己英语水平的英文小说，这需要根据自己的英语能力进行评估，选择适合自己的阅读材料。
2.准备工具和环境在阅读英文小说之前，需要准备好一些工具和环境，这样可以更好地帮助自己了解故事情节，理解它们的意思和感受。
可以准备一本英语词典，以及一个笔记本，用于记录新词汇和读后感。
此外，习惯性使用英语思考和交流是非常必要的。
3.读慢一些初学者不应该着急阅读，应该尽量放慢自己的阅读速度，仔细理解每个单词。
可以先阅读一段文本，根据上下文推测单词的意思，然后再查阅词典确认。
这样可以帮助自己更好地理解书中的句子、规律和结构。
4.重复阅读初学者可以重复阅读同一篇文本，这样可以更好地加深自己对句子的理解和记忆。
可以将阅读的文本记录在笔记本上，并逐个单词地进行分析和理解。
同时，还可以将自己的思考和感受写在下面，这样可以更好地锻炼自己的英语口语和写作能力。
5.结合其他学习方式阅读英文小说只是提高英语能力的一种途径，还有许多其他的学习方式可以帮助自己提高英语能力。
比如听英语广播、看英语电影等等。
这些方式可以帮助你更全面地学习英语，提高英语水平。
总的来说，阅读英文小说需要一定的时间和努力，但是，只要坚持不懈地努力，就一定会取得良好的成果。
通过阅读英文小说，不仅可以提高自己的英语水平，还可以增长自己的知识和文化素养，提高自己的逻辑思维和表达能力。
经典英文短篇小说-(50)
The Cop and the Anthem by O.HenryOn his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild geese honk high of nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap.That was Jack Frost's card.Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call.At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready.Soapy's mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour.And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest.In them there were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies drifting in the Vesuvian Bay.Three months on the Island was what his soul craved.Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable.For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters.Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island.And now the time was come.On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square.So the Island loomed big and timely in Soapy's mind.He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents.In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy.There was an endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life.But to one of Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered.If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy.As Caesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition.Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs.Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire.There were many easy ways of doing this.The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman.An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together.Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering cafe, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm.Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward.He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day.If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected success would be his.The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind.A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing--with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar.One dollar for the cigar would be enough.The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from the cafe management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and decadent shoes.Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.Soapy turned off Broadway.It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an epicurean one.Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass made a shop window conspicuous.Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the glass.People came running around the corner, a policeman in the lead.Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons."Where's the man that done that?" inquired the officer excitedly."Don't you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue.Men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law's minions.They take to their heels.The policeman saw a man half way down the block running to catch a car.With drawn club he joined in the pursuit.Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions.Itcatered to large appetites and modest purses.Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin.Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and telltale trousers without challenge.At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flapjacks, doughnuts and pie.And then to the waiter be betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers."Now, get busy and call a cop," said Soapy."And don't keep a gentleman waiting.""No cop for youse," said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry in a Manhattan cocktail."Hey, Con!"Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy.He arose, joint by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes.Arrest seemed but a rosy dream.The Island seemed very far away.A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street.Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again.This time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a "cinch." A young woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a large policeman of severe demeanour leaned against a water plug.It was Soapy's design to assume the role of the despicable and execrated "masher." The refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that would insure his winter quarters on the right little, tight little isle.Soapy straightened the lady missionary's readymade tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young woman.He made eyes at her, was taken with sudden coughs and "hems," smiled, smirked and went brazenly through the impudent and contemptible litany of the "masher." With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly.The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs.Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said:"Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?"The policeman was still looking.The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven.Already he imagined he could feel the cozy warmth of the station-house.The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve."Sure, Mike," she said joyfully, "if you'll blow me to a pail of suds.I'd havespoke to you sooner, but the cop was watching."With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom.He seemed doomed to liberty.At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran.He halted in the district where by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows and librettos.Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air.A sudden fear seized Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest.The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw of "disorderly conduct."On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice.He danced, howled, raved and otherwise disturbed the welkin.The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen."'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College.Noisy; but no harm.We've instructions to lave them be."Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket.Would never a policeman lay hands on him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia.He buttoned his thin coat against the chilling wind.In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light.His silk umbrella he had set by the door on entering.Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly.The man at the cigar light followed hastily."My umbrella," he said, sternly."Oh, is it?" sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny."Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it.Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner."The umbrella owner slowed his steps.Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck would again run against him.The policeman looked at the two curiously."Of course," said the umbrella man--"that is--well, you know how these mistakes occur--I--if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me--I picked it up this morning in a restaurant--If you recognise it as yours, why--I hope you'll--""Of course it's mine," said Soapy, viciously.The ex-umbrella man retreated.The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away.Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements.He hurled the umbrella wrathfully into an excavation.He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs.Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemedto regard him as a king who could do no wrong.At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but faint.He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even when the home is a park bench.But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill.Here was an old church, quaint and rambling and gabled.Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem.For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence.The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows twittered sleepily in the eaves--for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard.And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul.He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence.And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood.An instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate.He would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had taken possession of him.There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering.Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him.To-morrow he would go into the roaring downtown district and find work.A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver.He would find him to-morrow and ask for the position.He would be somebody in the world.He would-- Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm.He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman."What are you doin' here?" asked the officer."Nothin'," said Soapy."Then come along," said the policeman."Three months on the Island," said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.。
高中生经典英文小说阅读与欣赏系列 A resumed identity
A RESUMED IDENTITYby Ambrose Bierce1: The Review as a Form of WelcomeONE summer night a man stood on a low hill overlooking a wide expanse of forest and field. By the full moon hanging low in the west he knew what he might not have known otherwise: that it was near the hour of dawn. A light mist lay along the earth, partly veiling the lower features of the landscape, but above it the taller trees showed in well- defined masses against a clear sky. Two or three farmhouses were visible through the haze, but in none of them, naturally, was a light.Nowhere, in- deed, was any sign or suggestion of life except the barkingof a distant dog, which, repeated with mechanical iteration, servedrather to accentuate than dispel the loneliness of the scene.The man looked curiously about him on all sides, as one who amongfamiliar surroundings is unable to determine his exact place and part inthe scheme of things. It is so, perhaps, that we shall act when, risenfrom the dead, we await the call to judgment.A hundred yards away was a straight road, show- ing white in the moonlight. Endeavouring to orient himself, as a surveyor or navigatormight say, the man moved his eyes slowly along its visible length and ata distance of a quarter-mile to the south of his station saw, dim andgrey in the haze, a group of horsemen riding to the north. Behind themwere men afoot, marching in column, with dimly gleaming rifles aslantabove their shoulders. They moved slowly and in silence. Another groupof horsemen, another regiment of infantry, another and another --all in unceasing motion toward the man's point of view, past it, and beyond. Abattery of artillery followed, the cannoneers riding with folded arms onlimber and caisson. And still the interminable procession came out ofthe obscurity to south and passed into the obscurity to north, withnever a sound of voice, nor hoof, nor wheel.The man could not rightly understand: he thought himself deaf; saidso, and heard his own voice, al- though it had an unfamiliar qualitythat almost alarmed him; it disappointed his ear's expectancy in thematter of timbre and resonance. But he was not deaf, and that for themoment sufficed.Then he remembered that there are natural phe- nomena to which someone has given the name 'acoustic shadows.' If you stand in an acousticshadow there is one direction from which you will hear nothing. At the battle of Gaines's Mill, one of the fiercest conflicts of the Civil War,with a hundred guns in play, spectators a mile and a half away on the opposite side of the Chickahominy Valley heard nothing of what they clearly saw. The bombardment of Port Royal, heard and felt at St. Augustine, a hundred and fifty miles to the south, was inaudible twomiles to the north in a still atmosphere. A few days before thesurrender at Ap- pomattox a thunderous engagement between the commands of Sheridan and Pickett was unknown to the latter commander, a mile in the rear of his own line.These instances were not known to the man of whom we write, but less striking ones of the same character had not escaped his observation. He was profoundly disquieted, but for another reason than the uncanny silence of that moonlight march.'Good Lord! ' he said to himself--and again it was as if another had spoken his thought--'if those people are what I take them to be we havelost the battle and they are moving on Nashville!'Then came a thought of self--an apprehension --a strong sense of personal peril, such as in an- other we call fear. He stepped quicklyinto the shadow of a tree. And still the silent battalions moved slowly forward in the haze.The chill of a sudden breeze upon the back of his neck drew his attention to the quarter whence it came, and turning to the east he sawa faint grey light along the horizon--the first sign of return- ing day.This increased his apprehension.'I must get away from here,' he thought, 'or I shall be discoveredand taken.'He moved out of the shadow, walking rapidly toward the greying east. From the safer seclusion of a clump of cedars he looked back. The entire column had passed out of sight: the straight white road lay bare and desolate in the moonlight!Puzzled before, he was now inexpressibly astonished. So swift a passing of so slow an army!--he could not comprehend it. Minute after minute passed unnoted; he had lost his sense of time. He sought with a terrible earnestness a solution of the mystery, but sought in vain. Whenat last he roused himself from his abstraction the sun's rim was visi-ble above the hills, but in the new conditions he found no other lightthan that of day; his understanding was involved as darkly in doubt as before.On every side lay cultivated fields showing no sign of war and war's ravages. From the chimneys of the farmhouses thin ascensions of blue smoke signalled preparations for a day's peaceful toil. Having stilledits immemorial allocution to the moon, the watch-dog was assisting anegro who, prefixing a team of mules to the plough, was flatting and sharping contentedly at his task. The hero of this tale staredstupidly at the pastoral picture as if he had never seen such a thing inall his life; then he put his hand to his head, passed it through hishair and, withdrawing it, attentively considered the palm--a singularthing to do. Apparently reassured by the act, he walked confidentlytoward the road.2: When You have Lost Your Life Consult a PhysicianDr. Stilling Malson, of Murfreesboro, having visited a patient sixor seven miles away, on the Nash- ville road, had remained with him all night. At daybreak he set out for home on horseback, as was the customof doctors of the time and region. He had passed into the neighbourhoodof Stone's River battlefield when a man approached him from the road-side and saluted in the military fashion, with a movement of the righthand to the hat-brim. But the hat was not a military hat, the man wasnot in uniform and had not a martial bearing. The doctor noddedcivilly, half thinking that the stranger's uncommon greeting wasperhaps in deference to the historic surroundings. As the strangerevidently desired speech with him he courteously reined in his horseand waited.'Sir,' said the stranger, 'although a civilian, you are perhaps an enemy.''I am a physician,' was the non-committal reply.'Thank you,' said the other. 'I am a lieutenant, of the staff ofGeneral Hazen.' He paused a moment and looked sharply at the person whom he was addressing, then added, 'Of the Federal army.' The physicianmerely nodded.'Kindly tell me,' continued the other, 'what has happened here.Where are the armies? Which has won the battle?'The physician regarded his questioner curiously with half-shut eyes. After a professional scrutiny, prolonged to the limit of politeness,'Pardon me,' he said; 'one asking information should be willing toimpart it. Are you wounded?' he added, smiling.'Not seriously--it seems.'The man removed the unmilitary hat, put his hand to his head, passed it through his hair and, withdrawing it, attentively considered the palm.'I was struck by a bullet and have been unconscious. It must have been a light, glancing blow: I find no blood and feel no pain. I willnot trouble you for treatment, but will you kindly direct me to my command--to any part of the Federal army--if you know?'Again the doctor did not immediately reply: he was recalling much that is recorded in the books of his profession--something about lost identity and the effect of familiar scenes in restoring it. At length he looked the man in the face, smiled, and said:'Lieutenant, you are not wearing the uniform of your rank and service.'At this the man glanced down at his civilian attire, lifted hiseyes, and said with hesitation:'That is true. I--I don't quite understand.'Still regarding him sharply but not unsympathetically, the man of science bluntly inquired:'How old are you?''Twenty-three--if that has anything to do with it.''You don't look it; I should hardly have guessed you to be just that.'The man was growing impatient. 'We need not discuss that,' he said: 'I want to know about the army. Not two hours ago I saw a column of troops moving northward on this road. You must have met them. Be good enough to tell me the colour of their clothing, which I was unable to make out, and I'll trouble you no more.''You are quite sure that you saw them?''Sure? My God, sir, I could have counted them!''Why, really,' said the physician, with an amusing consciousness of his own resemblance to the loquacious barber of the Arabian Nights,'this is very in- teresting. I met no troops.'The man looked at him coldly, as if he had himself observed the likeness to the barber. 'It is plain,' he said, 'that you do not care toassist me. Sir, you may go to the devil!'He turned and strode away, very much at random, across the dewy fields, his half-penitent tormentor quietly watching him from hispoint of vantage in the saddle till he disappeared beyond an array of trees.3: The Danger of Looking into a Pool of WaterAfter leaving the road the man slackened his pace, and now went forward, rather deviously, with a distinct feeling of fatigue. Hecould not account for this, though truly the interminable loquacity of that country doctor offered itself in explanation. Seating himself upona rock, he laid one hand upon his knee, back upward, and casually looked at it. It was lean and withered. He lifted both hands to his face. Itwas seamed and furrowed; he could trace the lines with the tips of his fingers. How strange!--a mere bullet-stroke and a brief unconsciousness should not make one a physical wreck.'I must have been a long time in hospital,' he said aloud. 'Why,what a fool I am! The battle was in December, and it is now summer!' He laughed. 'No wonder that fellow thought me an escaped luna- tic. He was wrong: I am only an escaped patient.'At a little distance a small plot of ground enclosed by a stone wall caught his attention. With no very definite intent he rose and went toit. In the centre was a square, solid monument of hewn stone. It was brown with age, weather-worn at the angles, spotted with moss and lichen. Between the massive blocks were strips of grass the leverage of whose roots had pushed them apart. In answer to the challenge of this ambitious structure Time had laid his destroying hand upon it, and it would soon be 'one with Nineveh and Tyre.' In an inscription on one side his eye caught a familiar name. Shaking with excitement, he craned his body across the wall and read:HAZEN'S BRIGADEtoThe Memory of Its Soldierswho fell at Stone River, Dec. 31, 1862.The man fell back from the wall, faint and sick. Almost within an arm's length was a little depression in the earth; it had been filled bya recent rain--a pool of clear water. He crept to it to revive himself,lifted the upper part of his body on his trembling arms, thrust forward his head and saw the reflection of his face, as in a mirror. He uttereda terrible cry. His arms gave way; he fell, face downward, into the pool and yielded up the life that had spanned another life.。
英文小说推荐篇目
英语小说阅读推荐篇目：（女生）短篇或中篇《格林·盖布尔斯来的安妮》又称《绿山墙的安妮》——喜欢《鬼妈妈》——其实不恐怖，喜欢《爱丽丝漫游仙境》——我第一部看的英文版小说《绿野仙踪》《简爱》——必读，简单的可以去读牛津书虫版，要提高的选择其他更详细的吧《小王子》《小公子》《孤女努力记》——喜欢《阿拉丁和神灯》《长腿叔叔》——喜欢《麦琪的礼物》《警察与赞美诗》《欧也妮·葛朗台》长篇《小公主》——我小时候最喜欢的《傲慢与偏见》——女生都应该读的，个人认为女主与男主的结局在那个年代不太可能《童年·在人间·我的大学》《魔法灰姑娘》——挺有趣的《蓝色海豚岛》——讲的是印第安女生在岛上独自生活的故事，较喜欢，也不长，但没耐心看生活类故事的同学请放弃《鲁滨逊漂流记》——同上《小妇人》《悲惨世界》——我较喜欢的，个人觉得比《巴黎圣母院》好看（男生）《在月亮下面》《世界上最冷的地方》《彼得·潘》《水孩子》《麦琪的礼物》《警察与赞美诗》《童年·在人间·我的大学》《小王子》《基督山伯爵》——有必要的《哈利波特全集》《悲惨世界》——我较喜欢的，个人觉得比《巴黎圣母院》好看《蓝色海豚岛》——讲的是印第安女生在岛上独自生活的故事，较喜欢，也不长，但没耐心看生活类故事的同学请放弃《鲁滨逊漂流记》——同上/《指环王》《欧也妮·葛朗台》/《高老头》PS：男生的小说，我看的不多，（以上小说我看的大部分也只是中文版的）男女生间的阅读差别没有那么大，以上所列均可读。
英文版可先选择牛津书虫版的看（基本上都有，若没有也请选择自己能接受的、能读懂的英文版，否则很难坚持下去），读完后请写读后感一篇（英文）。
最后加一部老师推的《歌剧魅影》。
英语微型小说一篇(中英文对照版)
轻松的事儿——杰克.沃尔森（瑞典）告诉我一些轻松的事儿，她说，一些我会忘的东西。
于是我告诉她企鹅是很古老的物种，比恐龙还古老。
我告诉她鲫鱼没有寿命年限，所以理论上说它们可以一直活下去。
我告诉她一个八十年代的研究认为蓝眼睛的人容易让人产生信任感，他们的人际关系也维持得更久；而褐色眼睛的人让人心生尊敬和爱慕也让人感觉疏远。
我没有告诉她我遇到的每个爱蒙事的家伙都有双蓝眼睛；我也没告诉她我的那些有着褐色眼睛的朋友总被指责对他们的伴侣不够坦诚。
我告诉她我的眼睛是绿色的，它们有时看起来像是淡褐色；但我没告诉她其实我眼睛的颜色介于这二者之间。
我告诉她一个来自佐治亚州亚特兰大市的小伙子获得了一笔经费，用来研究人在水中和在麦片粥中游泳的差异。
我告诉她当每个人都知道获得一笔科研经费有多么容易的时候，贫困将不再是困扰我们的问题。
我问她是否听说过“清新梦”。
她摇摇头。
于是我告诉她“清醒梦”是指一个人能对自己梦到什么进行控制。
在白天反复问自己是醒着还是在做梦，训练自己认可怪诞的事情或梦的征兆，通过这些手段你就可以学会做“清醒梦”。
听起来挺无聊的，她说，就像提前知道每部电影怎样开始和收场。
跟我说点其他的，她说。
于是我告诉她四百年前人们看不到今天这样的日落。
造就今天这般壮观的日落和彩虹的主要原因是污染。
我告诉她这对年轻人是不幸中的幸事。
我告诉她科学家们已经研制出了通过遥控来胳肢人的机器人，但人永远也没办法胳肢自己。
我告诉她狮子是色盲。
一只橘黄色的斑马，但只要它身上有波浪般的条纹，就可以借助高高的野草隐蔽自己。
我告诉她喜剧是社会的润滑剂；一部情景喜剧或者一个喜剧演员可以定义一种文化并使一代人彼此认同。
如果这还不够轻松，我又告诉她大多数的电视节目是通过卫星播放的；我们每天通过太空传播的娱乐节目远远多于所有合法的与外星物种交流的尝试，等到外星物种真的发现我们的时候，沟通的方式将不是数字信息，而是俏皮话。
我告诉她基督教科学派信徒相信“恶灵”是被飞船带到地球上来的，在他们看来，这种飞船和道格拉斯DC8s 喷气客机没什么两样。
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Isaac Bashevis Singer
艾萨克·巴什维斯·辛格（Isaac Bashevis Singer，1904-1991）美国作家。
出生于沙俄统治下的波兰，祖父与父亲都是犹太教的长老。
他从小接受正统犹太教教育，学习希伯来文和意第绪文，熟悉犹太教的经典和宗教仪式以及犹太民族的风俗习惯等，这一切都铸就了他作品的重要特色。
由于受到作家和记者的哥哥的影响，他违背父命，走进了华沙犹太人文学界。
在哥哥的帮助下，1935年迁居美国纽约。
辛格15岁开始文学创作。
迄今为止已创作30余部作品，全都用意第绪文写成，大部分已译成英文。
长篇小说《莫斯卡特一家》（195o）、《庄园》（1967）和《农庄》（1969）等主要写在现代文明和排犹主义双重压力下，波兰犹太社会的解体过程，其中《庄园》是这类作品的代表作。
另一类小说主要写爱情与宗教问题，主要作品有《撒旦在戈雷》（1955）、《卢布林的魔术师》（196o）、《奴隶》（1962）、《仇敌；一个爱情故事）（1972）和《童爱）（1979）等。
其中最著名的是《卢布林的魔术师》，西方评论家说它是辛格最佳的长篇小说。
辛格的短篇小说创作也很突出，至今已发表I0余部短篇小说集，重要的有《傻瓜吉姆佩尔及其他故事》（1957）、《市场街的斯宾诺莎》（1961）、《羽毛的王冠》（1973）、《短篇小说集》（1982）、《意象集》（1985）、《梅休塞拉赫之死及其他故事》（1988）等。
此外还有2个剧本、3部回忆录。
11部儿童故事集。
1978年，由于“他的充满激情的叙事艺术，这种艺术既扎根于波兰犹太人的文化传统，又反映了人类的普遍处境”，辛格获诺贝尔文学奖。
辛格被称为当代最会讲故事的作家。
在创作上，他尊重传统，又吸收了意第绪文学中的营养，创造出自己的独特风格。
他的小说有不少以性爱为题材，他认为“在爱情和性爱中比在任何其他关系中，人的本性显露得更充分”。
但他不耽于色情描写，而重在探索和揭示激情对个人命运的影响。
他主张作家创作要起到娱乐读者的作用，让读者得到艺术享受。
所以他的故事叙述生动，文笔轻松幽默，作品中丰富的成语和活泼的句法受到评论界的高度赞扬，认为那是任何译文无法传达的。