综合英语二课文完整版

第一篇：综合英语二课文完整版

自考综合英语二课文

全国高等教育自学考试指定教材

综合英语二（上下）主编 徐克荣 外语教学与研究出版社

Lesson One Twelve Things l Wish They Taught at School

Carl Sagan

俗话说：“活到老，学到老。”人的一生就是不断学习、不断丰富和充实自己的过程。青少年阶段，尤其是中学阶段，无疑是学习的最佳时期。中学教育的重点应放在什么地方？美国著名科学家和科普作家萨根批评中学只抓各个学科具体内容的做法，他认为中学要注重对青少年的宏观教育，使他们建立起唯物的世界观和宇宙观，使他们能够正确对待自己，关心周围的世界——人类生存的环境和自己的地球同胞。I attended junior and senior high school, public institutions in New York and New Jersey, just after the Second World War.It seems a long time ago.The facilities and the skills of the teachers were probably well above average for the United States at that time.Since then, I've learned a great deal.One of the most important things I've learned is how much there is to learn, and how much I don't yet know.Sometimes I think how grateful I would be today if I had learned more back then about what really matters.In some respects that education was terribly narrow;the only thing I ever heard in school about Napoleon was that the United States made the Louisiana Purchase from him.(On a planet where some 95% of the inhabitants are not Americans, the only history that was thought worth teaching was American history.)In spelling, grammar, the fundamentals of math, and other vital subjects, my teachers did a pretty good job.But there's so much else I wish they'd taught us.2 Perhaps all the deficiencies have since been rectified.It seems to me there are many things(often more a matter of attitude and perception than the simple memorization of facts)that the schools should teach — things that truly would be useful in later life, useful in making a stronger country and a better world, but useful also in making people happier.Human beings enjoy learning.That's one of the few things that we do better than the other species on our planet.Every student should regularly experience the “Aha!” — when something you never understood, or something you never knew was a mystery, becomes clear.3 So here's my list:

Pick a difficult thing and learn it well.The Greek philosopher Socrates said this was one of the greatest of human joys,and it is.While you learn a little bit about many subjects, make sure you learn a great deal about one or two.It hardly matters what the subject is, as long as it deeply interests you, and you place it in its broader human context.After you teach yourself one subject, you become much more confident about your ability to teach yourself another.You gradually find you've acquired a key skill.The world is changing so rapidly that you must continue to teach yourself throughout your life.But don't get trapped by the first subject that interests you, or the first thing you find yourself good at.The world is full of wonders, and some of them we don't discover until we're all grown up.Most of them, sadly, we never discover.Don't be afraid to ask “stupid” questions.Many apparently naive inquiries like why grass is green, or why the Sun is round, or why we need 55,000 nuclear weapons in the world — are really deep questions.The answers can be a gateway to real insights.It's also important to know, as well as you can, what it is that you don't know, and asking questions is the way.To ask “stupid” questions requires courage on the part of the asker and knowledge and patience on the part of the answerer.And don't confine your learning to schoolwork.Discuss ideas in depth with friends.It's much braver to ask questions even when there's a prospect of

ridicule than to suppress your questions and become deadened to the world around you.Listen carefully.Many conversations are a kind of competition that rarely leads to discovery on either side.When people are talking, don't spend the time thinking about what you're going to say next.Instead, try to understand what they're saying, what experience is behind their remarks, what you can learn from or about them.Older people have grown up in a world very different from yours, one you may not know very well.They, and people from other parts of the country and from other nations, have important perspectives that can enrich your life.Everybody makes mistakes.Everybody's understanding is incomplete.Be open to correction, and learn to correct your own mistakes.The only embarrassment is in not learning from your mistakes.Know your planet.It's the only one we have.Learn how it works.We're changing the atmosphere, the surface, the waters of the Earth, often for some short-term advantage when the long-term implications are unknown.The citizens of any country should have at least something to say about the direction in which we're going.If we don't understand the issues, we abandon the future.Science and technology.You can't know your planet unless you know something about science and technology.School science courses, I remember, concentrated on the unimportant parts of science, leaving the major insights almost untouched.The great discoveries in modern science are also great discoveries of the human spirit.For example, Copernicus showed that — far from being the center of the universe, about which the Sun, the Moon, the planets, and the stars revolved in clockwise homage — the Earth is just one of many small worlds.This is a deflation of our pretensions, to be sure, but it is also the opening up to our view of a vast and awesome universe.Every high school graduate should have some idea of the insights of Copernicus, Newton, Darwin, Freud, and Einstein.(Einstein's special theory of relativity, far from being obscure and exceptionally difficult, can be understood in its basics with no more than first-year algebra, and the notion of a rowboat in a river going upstream and downstream.)

Don't spend your life watching TV.You know what I'm talking about.Culture.Gain some exposure to the great works of literature, art and music.If such a work is hundreds or thousands of years old and is still admired, there is probably something to it.Like all deep experiences, it may take a little work on your part to discover what all the fuss is about.But once you make the effort, your life has changed;you've acquired a source of enjoyment and excitement for the rest of your days.In a world as tightly connected as ours is, don't restrict your attention to American or Western culture.Learn how and what people elsewhere think.Learn something of their history, their religion, their viewpoints.Compassion.Many people believe that we live in an extraordinarily selfish time.But there is a hollowness, a loneliness that comes from living only for yourself.Humans are capable of great mutual compassion, love, and tenderness.These feelings, however, need encouragement to grow.Look at the delight a one-or two-year-old takes in learning, and you see how powerful is the human will to learn.Our passion to understand the universe and our compassion for others jointly provide the chief hope for the human race.Lesson Two

Icons

提起一位获得诺贝尔奖的华人物理学家的名字，今天的青少年恐怕很多人会感到陌生，无话可说，可是谈起当红歌星、球星，他们则是津津乐道。当今国内外的明星大腕被少男少女们一个个奉为偶像。君不见，追星族们为求得偶像的签名，可以在瓢泼大雨中等待半天，为一睹偶像的风采，可以大打出手破门而入。三四十年前青年人崇拜的科学家和英雄人物已被视为昨日黄花，中外都是如此。这种价值观的变化引起了社会学家和教育家的忧虑，他们指出星们、腕儿们只不过是媒体尤其是电视炒作的产物。Heroes and Cultural Icons Gary Gosggarian If you were asked to list ten American heroes and heroines, you would probably name some or all of the following: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Daniel Boone, Martin Luther King Jr., Amelia Earhart, Susan B.Anthony, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Helen Keller, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Rosa Parks.If next you were asked to list people who are generally admired by society, who somehow seem bigger than life, you might come up with an entirely different list.You might, in fact, name people who are celebrated for their wealth and glamour rather than their achievements and moral strength of character.And you would not be alone, because pollsters have found that people today do not choose political leaders who shape history for their “Most Admired” list, but rather movie and television celebrities, fashion models, professional athletes, and even comic book and cartoon characters.In short media icons.By definition, heroes and heroines are men and women distinguished by uncommon courage, achievements, and self-sacrifice made most often for the benefit of others — they are people against whom we measure others.They are men and women recognized for shaping our nation's consciousness and development as well as the lives of those who admire them.Yet, some people say that ours is an age where true heroes and heroines are hard to come by, where the very ideal of heroism is something beyond us — an artifact of the past.Some maintain that because the Cold War is over and because America is at peace our age is essentially an unheroic one.Furthermore, the overall crime rate is down, poverty has been eased by a strong and growing economy, and advances continue to be made in medical science.Consequently, bereft of cultural heroes, we have latched onto cultural icons — media superstars such as actors, actresses, sports celebrities, television personalities, and people who are simply famous for being famous.Cultural icons are harder to define, but we know them when we see them.They are people who manage to transcend celebrity, who are legendary, who somehow manage to become mythic.But what makes some figures icons and others mere celebrities? That's hard to answer.In part, their lives have the quality of a story.For instance, the beautiful young Diana Spencer who at 19 married a prince, bore a king, renounced marriage and the throne, and died at the moment she found true love.Good looks certainly help.So does a special indefinable charisma, with the help of the media.But nothing be comes an icon more than a tragic and early death — such as Martin Luther King Jr., John F.Kennedy, and Princess Diana.Being Somebody Donna Wool folk Cross One hundred years ago, people became famous for what they had achieved.Men like J.P.Morgan, E.H.Harriman and Jay Gould were all notable achievers.So were Thomas Edison, Mark Twain, and Susan B.Anthony.Their accomplishments are still evident in our own day.Today's celebrities, however, often do not become known for any enduring achievement.The people we most admire today are usually those who are most highly publicized by the media.In 1981, a Gallup poll revealed that Nancy Reagan was the nation's “most admired woman.” The year before, that distinction went to President Carter's wife, Rosalynn.In fact, the wife of the current president is always one of the nation's most admired women.Today's celebrities, as the writer Daniel Boorstin says, are “people well-known for their well-knownness.” To become such a celebrity, one needs luck, not accomplishment.As Boorstin says, “The hero was distinguished by his accomplishment;the celebrity by his image or trademark.The hero created himself;the celebrity is created by the media.The hero was a big man;the celebrity is a big name.” There is another distinction: heroes inspire respect;celebrities inspire envy.Few of us believe we could be another Jonas Salk or Eleanor Roosevelt, but we could be another TV star like Telly Savalas or Suzanne Somers.Except for the attention they get from the media, these people are exactly like us.The shift from hero-worship to celebrity-worship occurred around the turn of the century.It was closely tied to the rise of new forms of media— first photography, and later moving pictures, radio and television.For the first time, Americans could see and recognize their heroes.Previously, men like Gould and Harriman, whose names everyone knew, could easily have passed through a crowd without being recognized.The reproduction of photos in newspapers turned famous people into celebrities whose dress, appearance, and personal habits were widely commented upon.Slowly, the focus of public attention began to shift away from knowing what such people did to knowing what they looked like.The shift was accelerated by the arrival of moving pictures.Between 1901 and 1914, 74 percent of the magazine articles about famous people were about political leaders, inventors, professionals, and businessmen.After 1922, however, most articles were about movie stars.With the arrival of television, the faces of the stars became as familiar as those we saw across the breakfast table.We came to know more about the lives of the celebrities than we did about most of the people we know personally.Less than seventy years after the appearance of the first moving pictures, the shift from hero-worship to celebrity-worship was complete.Today an appearance on a television talk show is the ultimate proof of “making it” in America.Actually, the term “talk show” is misleading.Celebrities do not appear on such a program because of an actual desire — or ability — to talk, but simply to gain recognition, and prove, merely by showing up, that they are “somebody.” Being a guest on a talk show does not require qualities of wit, eloquence, brilliance, insight, or intelligence.A former talent coordinator for “the Tonight Show,” says that when he would ask a scheduled guest, “What would you like to talk to the host about?”the reply he got most often was, “Have him ask me anything.”This, he says, usually meant, “I am a typical Hollywood actor, so I have never had an original thought and I have nothing to say of any interest to anyone anywhere.” Most hosts are grateful just to get someone who will fill the room with sound.One talk show coordinator comments, “We look for the guest who is sure to talk no matter what.Ten seconds of silence appears very awkward on television;thirty seconds is disastrous.A guest who's got to stop to think about everything he says before he opens his mouth is a ratings nightmare.” This kind of attitude rewards smooth, insincere talk, and makes hesitancy look like stupidity.“We wouldn't have used George Washington on our show,” says one talent coordinator.“He might have been first in the hearts of his countrymen, but today he'd be dragging his bottom in the ratings.”

Lesson Three

Go-Go Americans Alison R.Lanier

如果矜持是英国人突出的特性，我们则可以用“风风火火”来概括美国人典型的特点。他们好像整天在忙忙碌碌，匆匆去上班，匆匆用午饭，匆匆返回工作；他们没有耐心，脾气急，爱发火，不耐烦排队；他们谈公事开门见山，没有客套话，直截了当切入话题；他们喜爱快餐，大量使用节省劳力的家用电器，钟情电子通讯设施；他们办事不拘形式，讲速度，重效率等等。这一切皆源于他们对生命之短促的紧迫感，视时间为生命的价值观。Americans believe no one stands still.If you are not moving ahead, you are falling behind.This attitude results in a nation of people committed to researching, experimenting and exploring.Time is one of the two elements that Americans save carefully, the other being labor.“We are slaves to nothing but the clock,” it has been said.Time is treated as if it were something almost tangible.We budget it, save it, waste it, steal it, kill it, cut it, account for it;we also charge for it.It is a precious commodity.Many people have a rather acute sense of the shortness of each lifetime.Once the sands have run out of a person's hourglass, they cannot be replaced.We want every minute to count.A foreigner's first impression of the U.S.is likely to be that everyone is in a rush — often under pressure.City people appear always to be hurrying to get where they are going, restlessly seeking attention in a store, elbowing others as they try to complete their errands.Racing through daytime meals is part of the pace of life in this country.Working time is considered precious.Others in public eating places are waiting for you to finish so they too can be served and get back to work within the time allowed.Each person hurries to make room for the next person.If you don't, waiters will hurry you.4 You also find drivers will be abrupt and that people will push past you.You will miss smiles, brief conversations, small courtesies with strangers.Don't take it personally.This is because people value time highly, and they resent someone else “wasting” it beyond a certain courtesy point.This view of time affects the importance we attach to patience.In the American system of values, patience is not a

high priority.Many of us have what might be called “a short fuse.” We begin to move restlessly about if we feel time is slipping away without some return — be this in terms of pleasure, work value, or rest.Those coming from lands where time is looked upon differently may find this matter of pace to be one of their most difficult adjustments in both business and daily life.Many newcomers to the States will miss the opening courtesies of a business call, for example.They will miss the ritual socializing that goes with a welcoming cup of tea or coffee that may be traditional in their own country.They may miss leisurely business chats in a cafe or coffee house.Normally, Americans do not assess their visitors in such relaxed surroundings over prolonged small talk;much less do they take them out for dinner, or around on the golf course while they develop a sense of trust and rapport.Rapport to most of us is less important than performance.We seek out evidence of past performance rather than evaluate a business colleague through social courtesies.Since we generally assess and probe professionally rather than socially, we start talking business very quickly.Most Americans live according to time segments laid out in engagement calendars.These calendars may be divided into intervals as short as fifteen minutes.We often give a person two or three(or more)segments of our calendar, but in the business world we almost always have other appointments following hard on the heels of whatever we are doing.Time is therefore always ticking in our inner ear.8 As a result we work hard at the task of saving time.We produce a steady flow of labor-saving devices;we communicate rapidly through telexes, phone calls or memos rather than through personal contacts, which though pleasant, take longer — especially given our traffic-filled streets.We therefore save most personal visiting for after work hours or for social weekend gatherings.To us the impersonality of electronic communication has little or no relation to the importance of the matter at hand.In some countries no major business is carried on without eye contact, requiring face-to-face conversation.In America, too, a final agreement will normally be signed in person.However, people are meeting increasingly on television screens, conducting “teleconferences” to settle problems not only in this country but also — by satellite — internationally.An increasingly high percentage of normal business is being done these days by voice or electronic device.Mail is slow and uncertain and is growing ever more expensive.The U.S.is definitely a telephone country.Almost everyone uses the telephone to conduct business, to chat with friends, to make or break social engagements, to say their “Thank you's,” to shop and to obtain all kinds of information.Telephones save your feet and endless amounts of time.This is due partly to the fact that the telephone service is good here, whereas the postal service is less efficient.Furthermore, the costs of secretarial labor, printing, and stamps are all soaring.The telephone is quick.We like it.We can do our business and get an answer in a matter of moments.Furthermore, several people can confer together without moving from their desks, even in widely scattered locations.In a big country that, too, is important.Some new arrivals will come from cultures where it is considered impolite to work too quickly.Unless a certain amount of time is allowed to elapse, it seems in their eyes as if the task being considered were insignificant, not worthy of proper respect.Assignments are thus felt to be given added weight by the passage of time.In the U.S., however, it is taken as a sign of competence to solve a problem, or fulfill a job successfully, with rapidity.Usually, the more important a task is, the more capital, energy, and attention will be poured into it in order to “get it moving.” Lesson Four

“Take Over, Bos'n!” Oscar Schisgall

一艘失事船只的10名幸存水手在救生艇上漂流了20天，水手们干渴难忍，三副因不许他们碰艇上最后一小壶淡水，成了众矢之的，尤其是副水手长，对他是更是恨之入骨。为了保住那壶水，3天来，他没有合眼，一直把枪口对准了其他水手，不许他们轻举妄动。他明白，那点水是10个人活下去的动力。他疲乏至极，就在他倒下之际，他低声说：“水手长，接过去!”后来„„

Hour after hour I kept the gun pointed at the other nine men.From the lifeboat's stern, where I'd sat most of the twenty days of our drifting, I could keep them all covered.If I had to shoot at such close quarters, I wouldn't miss.They

realized that.Nobody jumped at me.But in the way they all glared I could see how they'd come to hate my guts.Especially Barrett, who'd been bos'n's mate;Barrett said in his harsh, cracked voice, “You're a fool, Snyder.Y-you can't hold out forever!You're half asleep now!” I didn't answer.He was right.How long can a man stay awake? I hadn't dared to shut my eyes in maybe seventy-two hours.Very soon now I'd doze off, and the instant that happened they'd jump on the little water that was left.4 The last canteen lay under my legs.There wasn't much in it after twenty days.Maybe a pint.Enough to give each of them a few drops.Yet I could see in their bloodshot eyes that they'd gladly kill me for those few drops.As a man I didn't count any more.I was no longer third officer of the wrecked Montala.I was just a gun that kept them away from the water they craved.And with their tongue swollen and their cheeks sunken, they were half crazy.The way I judged it, we must be some two hundred miles east of Ascension.Now that the storms were over, the Atlantic swells were long and easy, and the morning sun was hot — so hot it scorched your skin.My own tongue was thick enough to stop my throat.I'd have given the rest of my life for a single gulp of water.But I was the man with the gun — the only authority in the boat — and I knew this: once the water was gone we'd have nothing to look forward to but death.As long as we could look forward to getting a drink later, there was something to live for.We had to make it last as long as possible.If I'd given in to the curses, we'd have emptied the last canteen days ago.By now we'd all be dead.The men weren't pulling on the oars.They'd stopped that long ago, too weak to go on.The nine of them facing me were a pack of bearded, ragged, half-naked animals, and I probably looked as bad as the rest.Some sprawled over the gunwales, dozing.The rest watched me as Barrett did, ready to spring the instant I relaxed.8 When they weren't looking at my face they looked at the canteen under my legs.Jeff Barrett was the nearest one.A constant threat.The bos'n's mate was a heavy man, bald, with a scarred and brutal face.He'd been in a hundred fights, and they'd left their marks on him.Barrett had been able to sleep — in fact, he'd slept through most of the night — and I envied him that.His eyes wouldn't close.They kept watching me, narrow and dangerous.Every now and then he jeered at me in that hoarse, broken voice: “Why don't you quit? You can't hold out!” “Tonight,” I said.“We'll ration the rest of the water tonight.” “By tonight some of us'll be dead!We want it now!” “Tonight,” I said.Couldn't he understand that if we waited until night the few drops wouldn't be sweated out of us so fast? But Barrett was beyond all reasoning.His mind had already cracked with thirst.I saw him begin to rise, a calculating look in his eyes.I aimed the gun at his chest — and he sat down again.I'd grabbed my gun on instinct, twenty days ago, just before running for the lifeboat.Nothing else would have kept Barrett and the rest away from the water.These fools — couldn't they see I wanted a drink as badly as any of them? But I was in command here — that was the difference.I was the man with the gun, the man who had to think.Each of the others could afford to think only of himself;I had to think of them all.Barrett's eyes kept watching me, waiting.I hated him.I hated him all the more because he'd slept.As the boat rose and fell on the long swells, I could feel sleep creeping over me like paralysis.I bent my head.It filled my brain like a cloud.I was going, going...Barrett stood over me, and I couldn't even lift the gun.In a vague way I could guess what would happen.He'd grab the water first and take his drop.By that time the others would be screaming and tearing at him, and he'd have to yield the canteen.Well, there was nothing more I could do about it.21 I whispered, “Take over, bos'n.” Then I fell face down in the bottom of the boat.I was asleep before I stopped moving...When a hand shook my shoulder, I could hardly raise my head.Jeff Barrett's hoarse voice said, “Here!Take your share o' the water!” Somehow I propped myself up on my arms, dizzy and weak.I looked at the men, and I thought my eyes were going.Their figures were dim, shadowy;but then I realized it wasn't because of my eyes.It was night.The sea was black;there were stars overhead.I'd slept the day away.So we were in our twenty-first night adrift — the night in which the tramp Croton finally picked us up — but now, as I turned my head to Barrett there was no sign of any ship.He knelt beside me, holding out the canteen, his other hand with the gun steady on the men.I stared at the canteen as if it were a mirage.Hadn't they finished that pint of water this morning? When I looked up at Barrett's ugly face, it was grim.He must have guessed my thoughts.“You said,‘Take over, bos'n, ' didn't you?” he growled.“I've been holding off these apes all day.” He lifted the gun in his hand.“When you're boss-man,” he added, “in command and responsible for the rest — you — you sure get to see things different, don't you?”

Lesson Five

Are you Giving Your Kids Too Much? benjamin Spock

天下的父母哪个不疼爱自己的孩子？天下的父母又有哪个不望子成龙、盼女成凤？一个普遍存在的错误观念是：给孩子的越多，越能体现对孩子的爱；相当多的家长对孩子的物质要求不愿说“不”。殊不知孩子最需要的是父母对他们的关心和爱护，无节制地满足孩子的物质愿望不利于他们的健康成长，也不是他们的愿望。有时孩子的哭闹仅仅是发出信号，请求家长规定界限。家长应该让孩子从小就学习如何面对回绝、挫折和失败。

 1 While traveling for various speaking engagements, I frequently stay overnight in the home of a family and am assigned to one of the children's bedrooms.In it, I often find so many playthings that there's almost no roomfor example, when parents send a child to an expensive summer camp that the parents can't really afford.Why parents give their children too much, or give things they can't afford? I believe there are several reasons.One fairly common reason is that parents overindulge their children out of a sense of guilt.Parents who both hold down full-time jobs may feel guilty about the amount of time they spend away from their children and may attempt to compensate by showering them with material possessions.Other parents overindulge because they want their children to have everything they had while growing up, along with those things the parents yearned for but didn't get.Still others are afraid to say no to their children's endless requests for toys for fear that their children will feel unloved or will be ridiculed if they don't have the same playthings their friends have.7 Overindulgence of a child also happens when parents are unable to stand up to their children's unreasonable demands.Such parents vacillate between saying no and giving inexcept perhaps as a birthday or holiday gifteven if it means saying no to a requestthe crisis stageat least they should do so.“ However, after he got to know Hughie better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his generous, careless nature, and had asked him to come to his studio whenever he liked.When Hughie came in he found Trevor putting the finishing touches to a wonderful life-size picture of a beggar-man.The beggar himself was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the room.He was a wizened old man with a wrinkled face and a sad expression.Over his shoulder was thrown a rough brown coat, all torn and full of holes;his thick boots were old and patched;and with one hand he leant on a rough stick, while with the other he held out his battered hat for money.6 ”What an amazing model!“ whispered Hughie, as he shook hands with his friend.”An amazing model?“ shouted Trevor at the top of his voice;”I should think so!Such beggars are not met with every day.Good heavens!What a picture Rembrandt would have made of him!“ ”Poor old fellow!“ said Hughie, ”How miserable he looks!But I suppose, to you painters, his face is valuable.“ ”Certainly,“ replied Trevor, ”you don't want a beggar to look happy, do you?“ ”How much does a model get for sitting?“ asked Hughie, as he found himself a comfortable seat.11 ”A shilling an hour.“ ”And how much do you get for your picture, Alan?“ ”Oh, for this I get two thousand.“ ”Pounds?“ ”Guineas.Painters, poets, and doctors always get guineas.“ ”Well, I think the model should have a percentage,“ cried Hughie, laughing;”they work quite as hard as you do.“

”Nonsense, nonsense!Why, look at the trouble of laying on the paint alone, and standing all day in front of the picture!It's easy, Hughie, for you to talk, but I tell you that there are moments when art almost reaches the importance of manual work.But you mustn't talk;I'm very busy.Smoke a cigarette, and keep quiet.“ After some time the servant came in, and told Trevor that the frame-maker wanted to speak to him.19 ”Don't run away, Hughie,“ he said, as he went out, ”I will be back in a moment.“ The old beggar-man took advantage of Trevor's absence to rest for a moment on a wooden seat that was behind him.He looked so miserable that Hughie pitied him, and felt in his pockets to see what money he had.All he could find was a pound and some pennies.”Poor old fellow,“ he thought to himself, ”he wants it more than I do, but I shan't have much money myself for a week or two“;and he walked across the studio and slipped the pound into the beggar's hand.The old man startled, and a faint smile passed across his lips.”Thank you, sir,“ he said, ”thank you.“ Then Trevor arrived, and Hughie left, blushing a little at what he had done.He spent the day with Laura, was charmingly blamed for giving away a pound, and had to walk home.Lesson Eight

The Model Millionaire(II) Oscar Wilde

当休吉得知那老乞丐原来是欧洲少有的巨富，十分懊丧；听说朋友把自己为婚事发愁的隐私也告诉了那老头，性格随和的他也动怒了。次日，富翁派人来访，休吉断定他是代表主人来向他讨个歉意；没想到老头解决了他的燃眉之急„„That night Hughie went to a club about eleven o'clock, and found Trevor sitting by himself in the smoking room drinking.”Well, Alan, did you finish the picture all right?“ he said, as he lit his cigarette.”Finished and framed, my boy!“ answered Trevor;”and, by the way, that old model you saw has become very fond of you.I had to tell him all about youdo you think he would care for any of them? Why, his rags were falling to bits.“ ”But he looks splendid in them,“ said Trevor.”I should never want to paint him in a frock coat for anything.What you call rags I call romance.What seems poverty to you is charm to me.However, I'll tell him of your offer.“"Alan,” said Hughie seriously, “you painters are a heartless lot.” “An artist's heart is his head,” replied Trevor;“and besides, our business is to show the world as we see it, not to make it better.And now tell me how Laura is.The old model was quite interested in her.”

“You don't mean to say you talked to him about her?” said Hughie.“Certainly I did.He knows all about the cruel father, the lovely Laura, and the ten thousand pounds.” “You told the old beggar all about my private affairs.?” cried Hughie, looking very red and angry.“My dear boy,” said Trevor, smiling, “that old beggar, as you call him, is one of the richest men in Europe.He could buy all London tomorrow.He has a house in every capital, has his dinner off gold plate, and can prevent Russia going to war when he wishes.” “What on earth do you mean?” cried Hughie.“What I say,” said Trevor.“the old man you saw today in the studio was Baron Hausberg.He is a great friend of mine, buys all my pictures and that sort of thing, and gave me a commission a month ago to paint him as a beggar.What do you expect? It is the whim of a millionaire.You know these rich men.And I must say he looked fine in his rags, or perhaps I should say in my rags;they are an old suit I got in Spain.” “Baron Hausberg！” cried Hughie.“Good heavens!I gave him a pound!” and he sank into an arm-chair the picture of dismay.“Gave him a pound!” shouted Trevor and he burst into a roar of laughter.“My dear boy, you'll never see it again.His business is with other men's money.” “I think you ought to have told me, Alan,” said Hughie in a bad temper, “and not have let me make such a fool of myself.” “Well, to begin with, Hughie,” said Trevor, “It never entered my mind that you went about giving money away in that careless manner.I can understand your kissing a pretty model, but your giving money to an ugly one-, no!Besides, when you came in I didn't know whether Hausberg would like his name mentioned.You know he wasn't in full dress!”

“How stupid he must think me!” said Hughie.“Not at all.He was in the highest spirits after you left;kept laughing to himself and rubbing his old wrinkled hands together.I couldn't understand why he was so interested to know all about you;but I see it all now.He'll invest your pound for you, Hughie, pay you the interest every six months, and have a wonderful story to tell after dinner.” “I'm an unlucky devil,” said Hughie.“The best thing I can do is to go to bed;and, my dear Alan, you mustn't tell anyone.I shouldn't dare to show my face if people knew.” “Nonsense!It shows your kindness of spirit, Hughie.And don't run away.Have another cigarette, and you can talk about Laura as much as you like.” However, Hughie wouldn't stay, but walked home, feeling very unhappy, and leaving Alan Trevor helpless with laughter.The next morning, as he was at breakfast, the servant brought him a card on which was written, “Monsieur Gustave Naudin, for M.le Baron Hausberg.” “I suppose he has come for an apology,”said Hughie to himself;and he told the servant to bring the visitor in.An old gentleman with gold glasses and grey hair came into the room and said, in a slight French accent, “Have I the honour of speaking to Monsieur Erskine?” Hughie bowed.“I have come from Baron Hausberg,” he continued.“The Baron-” he continued.“The Baron-” “I beg, sir, that you will offer him my sincerest apologies,”stammered Hughie.“The Baron,” said the old gentleman with a smile, “has commissioned me to bring you this letter”;and he held out a sealed envelope.On the outside was written, “A wedding present to Hugh Erskine and Laura Merton, from an old beggar,” and inside was a cheque for ten thousand pounds.When they were married Alan Trevor was the best man, and the Baron made a speech at the wedding breakfast.31 “Millionaire models,” remarked Alan, “are rare enough;but model millionaires are rarer still!” Lesson Nine

Only Three More Days William L.Shirer

第二次世界大战结束已经五十多年，但是这场人类有史以来最大的灾难，至今仍然给人们留下许多值得反思的问题，仍然是影视、文学、艺术作品热衷于挖掘的题材。经受了这场战争的人不会忘记那个年代，也希望今天的年轻人牢记这场战争给人们的教训，不让历史重演。从这个意义上来说，60年代出版并风靡世界的《第三帝国的兴亡》的作者如何在纳粹分子鼻子底下携带大量珍贵资料大模大样登上德国航空公司的班机逃离柏林的故事，仍然具有现实意义。My Berlin diary for December 2 was limited to four words.“Only three more days!” Next day, December 3: “...The Foreign Office still holding up my passport and exit visa, which worries me.Did my

last broadcast from Berlin tonight.” “Berlin, December 4: Got my passport and official permission to leave tomorrow.Nothing to do now but pack.” There was one other thing to do.For weeks I had thought over how to get my diaries safely out of Berlin.At some moments I had thought I ought to destroy them before leaving.There was enough in them to get me hangedby the Gestapo.“ I felt grateful that there were at least a half-dozen seals.The two officials talked in whispers for a moment.”Where were those bags sealed?“ one of them snapped.”At Gestapo Headquarters,“ I said.This information impressed them.But still they seemed suspicious.”Just a minute,“ one said.His colleague picked up the phone at a table behind them.Obviously he was checking.The man hung up, walked over to me, and without a word chalked the two suitcases.I was free at last to get to the ticket counter to check my luggage.”Where to?“ a Lufthansa man asked.”Lisbon,“ I said.31 The thought of the German airline delivering my diaries to me safely in Portugal, beyond the reach of the last German official who could seize them, extremely pleased me.32 The airport tower kept postponing the departure of our plane.I went to the restaurant and had a second breakfast.I really was not hungry.But I had to do something to relieve the tension.I started to glance at the morning papers I had bought automatically on arriving at the airport.33 ”I don't have to read any of this trash anymore!“ I thought.34 Before the end of this day, when we would arrive in Barcelona, I wouldn't have to put up with anything anymore in the great Third Reich.The sense of relief I felt was tremendous.I had only to hold out this one more day, and the whole nightmare for me would be over, though it would go on and on for millions of others.35 We had survived the Nazi horror and its mindless suppression of the human spirit.But many others, I felt sadly, had not survived-the Jews above all, but also the Czechs and now the Poles.Even for the great mass of Germans who supported Hitler, I felt a sort of sorrow.They did not seem to realize what the poison of Nazism was doing to them.Lesson Ten

The Washwoman I.B.Singer

一个年近八旬、瘦小的老妇人，不愿增加儿子和社会的负担，一不乞讨，二不进孤老院，顽强地靠为他人洗衣维持生活。经她洗熨过的衣物又干净又平整；一旦收了活儿，即使是大病一场她也要完成自己的职责，冒着大雪严寒也要让洗熨好的衣物尽快物归原主。这个尽职的洗衣妇体现了人类的优秀的品质，她那衰弱的身躯体现了人类坚韧不拔的意志，她那粗糙的双手创造出了光辉灿烂的人类文明。有谁比她更平凡？但有谁比她更崇高？Our home had little contact with Gentiles.But there were the Gentile washwomen who came to the house to fetch our laundry.My story is about one of these.She was a small woman, old and wrinkled.When she started washing for us, she was already past seventy.Most Jewish women of her age were sickly, weak, broken in body.But this washwoman, small and thin as she was, possessed a strength that came from generations of peasant ancestors.Mother would count out to her a bag of laundry that had accumulated over several weeks.She would lift the heavy bag, load it on her narrow shoulders, and carry it the long way home.It must have been a walk of an hour and a half.She would bring the laundry back about two weeks later.My mother had never been so pleased with any washwoman.Every piece of laundry was as clean as polished silver.Every piece was neatly ironed.Yet she charged no more than the others.She was a real find.Mother always had her money ready, because it was too far for the old woman to come a second time.Washing clothes was not easy in those days.The old woman had no tap where she lived, but had to bring in the water from a pump.For the clothes and bedclothes to come out so clean, they had to be scrubbed thoroughly in a washtub, rinsed with washing soda, soaked, boiled in an enormous pot, starched, then ironed.Every piece was handled ten times or more.And the drying!It had to be hung in the attic.She could have begged at the church door or entered a home for the poor and aged.But there was in her a certain pride and love of labor with which many Gentiles have been blessed.The old woman did not want to become a burden, and so bore her burden.The woman had a son who was rich.I no longer remember what sort of business he had.He was ashamed of his mother, the washwoman, and never came to see her.Nor did he ever give her any money.The old woman told this without bitterness.One day the son was married.It seemed that he had made a good match.The wedding took place in a church.The son had not invited the old mother to his wedding, but she went to the church and waited at the steps to see her son lead the ”young lady“ to the altar...The story of the faithless son left a deep impression on my mother.She talked about it for weeks and months.It was an insult not only to the old woman but to all mothers.Mother would argue,”Does it pay to make sacrifices for children? The mother uses up her last strength, and he does not even know the meaning of loyalty.“ That winter was a harsh one.The streets were icy.No matter how much we heated our stove, the windows were covered with frost.The newspapers reported that people were dying of the cold.Coal became dear.The winter had become so severe that parents stopped sending children to school.On one such day the washwoman, now nearly eighty years old, came to our house.A good deal of laundry had accumulated during the past weeks.Mother gave her a pot of tea to warm herself, as well as some bread.The old woman sat on a kitchen chair trembling and shaking, and warmed her hands against the teapot.Her fingers were rough from work, and perhaps from arthritis, too.Her fingernails were strangely white.These hands spoke of stubbornness of mankind, of the will to work not only as one's strength permits but beyond the limits of one's power.The bag was big, bigger than usual.When the woman placed it on her shoulders, it covered her completely.At first she stayed, as though she were about to fall under the load.But an inner stubbornness seemed to call out: No, you may not fall.A donkey may permit himself to fall under his burden, but not a human being, the best of creation.11 She disappeared, and mother sighed and prayed for her.12 More than two months passed.The frost had gone, and then a new frost had come, a new wave of cold.One evening, while Mother was sitting near the oil lamp mending a shirt, the door opened and a small puff of steam, followed by a gigantic bag, entered the room.I ran toward the old woman and helped her unload her bag.She was even thinner now, more bent.Her head shook from side to side as though she were saying no.She could not utter a clear word, but mumbled something with her sunken mouth and pale lips.After the old woman had recovered somewhat, she told us that she had been ill.Just what her illness was, I cannot remember.She had been so sick that someone called a doctor, and the doctor had sent for a priest.Someone had informed the son, and he had contributed money for a coffin and for the funeral.But God had not yet wanted to take this soul full of pain to Himself.She began to feel better, she became well, and as soon as she was able to stand on her feet once more, she began her washing.Not just ours, hut the wash of several other families, too.”I could not rest easy in my bed because of the wash,“ the old woman explained.”The wash would not let me die.“ ”With the help of God you will live to be a hundred and twenty,“said my mother, as a blessing.”God forbid!What good would such a long life be? The work becomes harder and harder...my strength is leaving me...I do not want to be a burden on anyone!“ The old woman crossed herself, and raised her eyes toward heaven.17 Fortunately there was some money in the house and Mother counted out what she owed.Then she left, promising to return in a few weeks for a new load.But she never came back.The wash she had returned was her last effort on this earth.She had been driven by an indomitable will to return the property to its rightful owners, to fulfill the task she had undertaken.And now at last her body, which had long been supported only by the force of honesty and duty, had fallen.Her soul passed into those spheres where all holy souls meet, regardless of the roles they played on this earth, in whatever tongue, of whatever religion.I cannot imagine paradise without this Gentile washwoman.I cannot even imagine a world where there is no reward for such effort.Lesson Eleven

How I Served My Apprenticeship  Andrew Carnegie

人类进入新的千年之际，越来越多的青少年享受着父辈们创造的物质文明的成果，从小生活在“刻罐”里，不知道什么叫“匮乏”，不晓得何谓“贫困”，更不了解从小就要干活、帮助父母养家糊口的艰辛。与此同时，人类尚

未消灭贫困，世界上还有穷人，在穷困生活中挣扎的青少年还大有人在。一个青少年时期经历一段艰苦的生活未必是件坏事。俗话说穷则思变，穷能使人发奋图强。一位少年时期有过一段贫困生活经历的大富翁如是说„„ It is a great pleasure to tell how I served my apprenticeship as a businessman.But there seems to be a question preceding this: Why did I become a businessman? I am sure that I should never have selected a business career if I had been permitted to choose.The eldest son of parents who were themselves poor, I had, fortunately, to begin to perform some useful work in the world while still very young in order to earn an living and therefore came to understand even in early boyhood that my duty was to assist my parents and become, as soon as possible, a breadwinner in the family.What I could get to do, not what I desired, was the question.When I was born my father was a well-to-do master weaver in Scotland.This was the days before the steam engines.He owned no fewer than four handlooms and employed apprentices.He wove cloth for a merchant who supplied the material.When the steam engine came, handloom weaving naturally declined.The first serious lesson of my life came to me one day when I was just about ten years old.My father took the last of his work to the merchant, and returned home greatly distressed because there was no more work for him to do.I resolved then that the wolf of poverty should be driven from our door some day.The question of starting for the United States was discussed from day to day in the family council.It was finally resolved that we would join relatives already in Pittsburgh.I well remember that both father and mother thought the decision was a great sacrifice for them, but that ”it would be better for the two boys.“ On arriving, my father entered a cotton factory.I soon followed, and served as a ”bobbin-boy,“ and that was how I began my preparation for subsequent apprenticeship as a businessman.I cannot tell you how proud I was when I received my first week's earnings — one dollar and twenty cents.It was given to me because I had been of some use in the world!And I became a contributing member of my family!I think this makes a man out of a boy sooner than almost anything else.It is everything to feel that you are useful.I have had to deal with great sums.Many millions of dollars have since passed through my hands.But the genuine satisfaction I had from that one dollar and twenty cents outweighs any subsequent pleasure in money making.It was the direct reward of honest, manual labor;it represented a week of very hard work — so hard that it might have been described as slavery if it hadn't been for its aim and end.It was a terrible task for a lad of twelve to rise every morning, except Sunday, go to the factory while it was still dark, and not be released until after darkness came again in the evening, forty minutes' break only being allowed at noon.But I was young and had my dreams, and something within always told me that this would not, could not, should not lastwithout interference by one of the drops in that stream-man.”

Silent Springthe sea.However, because she was a true scientist and an aware human being, she knew that everything on this planet is connected to everything else.Thus, she became increasingly alarmed by the development and use of DDT and other pesticides of its type.These chemicals, she knew, do not break down in the soil.Instead, they tend to be endlessly recycled in the food chains on which birds and animals and man himself are completely dependent.The Poisonous Cycle.One might guess that at this time Carson the reader might have reminded Carson the scientist of some passages in Shakespeare's most famous play.Prince Hamlet used revoltingly grisly images in vicious baiting of his hated uncle when he told him that in nature's food chain, the worm is king.We fatten other creatures so that they can feed us, and we fatten ourselves to ultimately feed maggots.The worms eat the king and the beggar alike;they are simply two dishes but the same meal for the worm.The worm that has eaten the king may be used by a man(who could be a beggar)for fishing, and he, in turn, eats the fish that ate the worm.In this way, a king can pass through the guts of a beggar.Rachel Carson knew of this poisonous cycle.And she knew now, as her own observations were confirmed by fellow scientists all over the country, that this “worm” now carried a heavy concentration of poison.It could be passed on to fish, to other animals, to their food supply, and to men and women and children throughout the earth.In spite of fierce opposition from the chemical industry, from powerful government agencies, and from farmer organizations, she persisted in her research and writing.Then in 1962 she published Silent Spring.The book exploded into the public consciousness.It received great praise from some, great criticism from others.The little girl from the Pennsylvania woods, now approaching middle age, had fired a major salvo in the battle for the environment.Lesson Thirteen

Who Shall Dwell? H.C.Neal

这是一个虚构的故事，因为除了美国于1945年8月在日本广岛和长崎投下了两枚原子弹之外，还没有任何核大国使用过这种大规模的杀伤武器。

但是故事提出的问题却具有现实意义，尤其是在冷战时期，两个超级大国的核军备竞赛使西方不少作家、文人探索人类如何面对可能会发生的核攻击，使自己所创造的物质和精神财富得以继承。

故事也提出了一个与核战无关但更为现实的问题：在危难之际，生的机会应该给谁?故事中这对夫妇的最后决定，令人看到了普通劳动人民的美德和人类的希望。It came on a Sunday afternoon.They had prayed that it would never come, ever, but suddenly here it was.The father was resting on a couch and half-listening to some music on the radio.Mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner and the younger boy and girl were in the bedroom drawing pictures.The older boy was working in the shed out back.3 Suddenly the music was cut off.Then, the announcer almost shouted: “Bomb alert!Attention!A number of missiles have just been launched across the sea, heading this way.They are expected to strike within the next sixteen minutes.This is a verified alert!Take cover!Keep your radios tuned for further instructions.” “My God!” the father gasped.His face was ashen, puzzled, as though he knew that this was real — but still could not quite believe it.“Get the children,” his wife blurted, then dashed to the door to call the older boy.He stared at her a brief moment, seeing the fear in her face, but also a loathing for all men involved in the making and dispatch of nuclear weapons.The father jumped to his feet, and ran to the bedroom.“Let's go,” he snapped, “shelter drill!” Although they had had many rehearsals, his voice and bearing sent the youngsters dashing for the door without a word.He hustled them through the kitchen to the rear door and sent them to the shelter.As he returned to the bedroom, the older boy came running in.“This is the hot one, son,” said his father tersely, “the real one.” He and the boy stared at each other a long moment, both knowing what must be done and each knowing the other would more than do his share, yet wondering still at the frightening fact that it must be done at all.10 “How much time have we got, dad?” “Not long,” the father replied, glancing at his watch, “twelve, maybe fourteen minutes.” The boy left.The father stepped to the closet, slid the door open and picked up the metal box containing their important papers.He then picked up the big family Bible from the headboard on the bed.Everything else they would need had been stored in the shelter the past several months.He heard his wife approaching and turned as she entered the room.13 “Ready, dear?” she asked.“Yes,” he replied, “are the kids gone in?” “They're all down,” she answered, “I still can't believe it's real.” “We've got to believe it,” he said, looking at her steadily in the eye, “ we can't afford not to.” Outside, the day was crisp and clear, typical of early fall.He looked at his watch again.Four minutes had elapsed since the first alarm.Twelve minutes, more or less, remained.Inside the shelter, he latched the door, and looked around to see that his family was squared away.Now it began.The waiting.The man and his wife knew that others would come soon, begging and crying to be taken in now that the time was here.They had argued about this when the shelter was being built.It was in her mind to share their refuge.“We can't call ourselves Christians and then deny safety to our friends when the showdown comes,” she contended, “that isn't what God teaches.” “That's nothing but religious pap,” he retorted with a degree of anger.“God created the family as the basic unit of society,” he reasoned.“That should make it plain that a man's primary Christian duty is to protect his family.” “But don't you see?” she protested, “We must prepare to purify ourselves...to rise above this ‘ mine' thinking and be as God's own son, who said, ‘love thy neighbor.'” “No,” he replied, “I can't buy that.” Then, after a moment's thought, “It is my family I must save, no one more.You.These kids.Our friends are like the people of Noah's time: he warned them of the coming flood when he built the ark on God's command.He was ridiculed and scoffed at, just as we have been ridiculed.No,”and here his voice took on a new sad sureness, “it is meant that if they don't prepare, they die.I see no need for further argument.”

With seven minutes left, the first knock rang the shelter door.“Let us in!For God's sake.” He recognized the voice.It was his first neighbor toward town.“No!” shouted the father, “There is only room for us.Go!” Again came the pounding.Louder.More urgent.“You let us in or we'll break down this door!” He wondered if they were actually getting a ram of some sort to batter at the door.He was reasonably certain it would hold.The seconds ticked relentlessly away.Four minutes left.His wife stared at the door and moaned slightly.“Steady, girl,”he said, evenly.The children looked at him, frightened, puzzled.He glared at his watch, ran his hands through his hair, and said nothing.31 Three minutes left.32 At that moment, a woman cried from the outside, “If you won't let me in, please take my baby, my little girl.”

He was stunned by her plea.What must I do? He asked himself in sheer agony.What man on earth could deny a child the chance to live?

At that point, his wife rose, and stepped to the door.Before he could move to stop her, she let down the latch and dashed outside.Instantly a three-year-old girl was thrust into the shelter.He hastily fought the door latch on again, then stared at the frightened little newcomer in anger, hating her for simply being there in his wife's place and knowing he could not turn her out.35 He sat down heavily, trying desperately to think.The voices outside grew louder.He glanced at his watch, looked at the faces of his own children a long moment, then rose to his feet.There were two minutes left, and he made his decision.He marveled now that he had even considered any other choice.36 “Son,” he said to the older boy, “you take care of them.” It was as simple as that.37 Unlatching the door, he thrust it open and stepped out.The crowd surged toward him.Blocking the door with his body, he snatched up the two children nearest him, and shoved them into the shelter.“Bar that door,” he shouted to his son, “and don't open it for at least a week!”

Hearing the latch drop into place, he turned and glanced around at the faces in the crowd.Some of them were still babbling incoherently, utterly panic-stricken.Others were quiet now, no longer afraid.39 Stepping to his wife's side, he took her hand and spoke in a warm, low tone.“They will be all right, the boy will lead them.”He grinned reassuringly and added, “We should be together, you and Ⅰ．”

She smiled wordlessly through her tears and squeezed his hand, exchanging with him in the one brief gesture a lifetime and more of devotion.41 Then struck the first bomb, blinding them, burning them, blasting them into eternity.Lesson Fourteen

Cipher in the Snow Jean E.Mizer

一个母亲再嫁，与继父一起生活，没有家庭温暖的少年，在学校里成绩不好，沉默寡言，默默无闻，极少参加学校活动。在一个寒冷的早晨，上学的路上，他突然倒了下去，死于“心力衰竭”。一位老师进行了家访，阅读了他的全部档案之后，发出了愤怒的呼声：“是学校的‘教育’扼杀了他的信心，‘教育’对他的早逝有不可推卸的责任。这是为什么 ? ”

It started on a biting cold February morning.I was driving behind the Milford Corners bus as I did most snowy mornings on my way to school.It stopped short at a hotel, and I was annoyed, as I had to come to an unexpected stop.A boy staggered out of the bus, stumbled, and collapsed on the snowbank at the curb.The bus driver and I reached him at the same moment.His thin, hollow face was white even against the snow.2 “ He's dead, ” the driver whispered.3 I glanced quickly at the scared young faces staring down at us from the school bus.“ A doctor!Quick!”

“ No use.I tell you he's dead.” The driver looked down at the boy's still body.“ He never even said he felt bad, ” he muttered, “ just tapped me on the shoulder and said, quietly, I'm sorry.I have to get off at the hotel.' That's all.Polite and apologizing.”

At school, the giggling morning noise quieted as the news went down the halls.I passed a group of girls.“ Who was it? Who dropped dead on the way to school? ” I heard one of them half-whisper.“ Don't know his name;some kid from Milford Corners ” was the reply.7 It was like that in the faculty room and the principal's office.“ I'd appreciate your going out to tell the parents, ” the principal told me.“ They haven't a phone and, anyway, somebody from school should go there in person.I'll cover your classes.”

“ Why me? ” I asked.“ Wouldn't it be better if you did it? ”

“ I didn't know the boy, ” the principal admitted.“ And in last year's sophomore personalities column I note that you were listed as his favorite teacher.”

I drove through the snow and cold down the bad road to the Evans place and thought about the boy, Cliff Evans.His favorite teacher!I could see him in my mind's eye all right, sitting back there in the last seat in my afternoon literature class.He came in the room by himself and left by himself.“ Cliff Evans, ” I muttered to myself, “ a boy who never talked, a boy who never smiled.”

The big ranch kitchen was clean and warm.I blurted out the news somehow.Mrs.Evans reached blindly toward a chair.“ He never said anything about being ill.”

His stepfather said impatiently, “ He has said nothing about anything since I moved in here.”

Mrs.Evans pushed a pan to the back of the stove and began to untie her apron.“ Now hold on, ” her husband said angrily.“ I've got to have breakfast before I go to town.Nothing we can do now anyway.If Cliff hadn't been so dumb, he'd have told us he didn't feel well.”

After school I sat in the office and stared at the records spread out before me.I was to close the file and write the obituary for the school paper.The almost bare sheets in the file mocked the effort.Cliff Evans, white, never legally adopted by stepfather, five young half brothers and sisters.These bits of information and the list of D grades were all the records had to offer.15 Cliff Evans had silently come in the school door in the mornings and gone out the school door in the evenings, and that was all.He had never belonged to a club.He had never played on a team.He had never held an office.As far as I could tell, he had never done one happy, noisy kid thing.He had never been anybody at all.16 How do you go about making a boy into a zero? The grade school records showed me.The first and second grade teachers' notes read “ sweet, shy child ”;“ timid but eager.” Then the third grade note had opened the attack.Some teacher had written in a good, firm hand, “ Cliff won't talk.Uncooperative.Slow learner.” The other academic sheep had followed with “ dull ”;“ slow-witted ”;“ low I.Q.” They became correct.The boy's I.Q.score in the ninth grade was listed at 83.But his I.Q.in the third grade had been 106.The score didn't go under 100 until the seventh grade.Even shy, timid, sweet children have resilience.It takes time to break them.17 I went angrily to the typewriter and wrote a savage report pointing out what education had done to Cliff Evans.I slapped a copy on the principal's desk and another in the sad file.I banged the typewriter and slammed the file and crashed the door shut, but didn't feel much better.A little boy kept walking after me, a little boy with a thin, pale face;a skinny body in faded jeans;and big eyes that had looked and searched for a long time and then had become veiled.18 I could guess how many times he'd been chosen last to play sides in a game, how many whispered child conversations had excluded him, how many times he hadn't been asked.I could see and hear the faces and voices that said over and over, “ You're dumb.You're nothing, Cliff Evans.”

A child is a believing creature.Cliff undoubtedly believed them.Suddenly it seemed clear to me: When finally there was nothing left at all for Cliff Evans, he collapsed on a snowbank and went away.The doctor might list “ heart failure ” as the cause of death, but that wouldn't change my mind.20 We couldn't find ten students in the school who had known Cliff well enough to attend the funeral as his friends.So the student-body officers and a committee from the junior class went as a group to the church, being politely sad.I attended the service with them and sat through it with a lump of cold lead in my chest and a big resolution growing through me.21 I've never forgotten Cliff Evans nor that resolution.22 He has been my challenge year after year, class after class.I look up and down the rows carefully each September at the new faces.I look for veiled eyes or bodies scrounged into a seat in an unfamiliar world.“ Look, kids, ” I say silently, “ I may not do anything else for you this year, but not one of you is going to come out of here a nobody.I'll work or fight to the bitter end doing battle with society and the school board, but I won't have one of you coming out of here thinking himself into a zero.”

Most of the time — not always, but most of the time — I've succeeded.Lesson Fifteen

Bribery — An lnevitable Evil? David Cotton

随着各国经济的全球化，随着跨国性投资的迅速增加以及经济的自由化，世界性的贪污受贿现象也更加普遍

和严重，经济犯罪成了世界瘟疫。世界各国都在打击贪污和受贿，但似乎是“道高一尺，魔高一丈”，“上有政策，下有对策”。本文作者列举了许多事例说明行贿和索贿以各种各样的手段和形式腐蚀着上上下下的政府机关；虽然各国人民和政府都严厉谴责，但行贿和受贿大有势不可挡、有增无减之势。对于如何铲除这个毒瘤，作者认为目前尚无行之有效的办法。Students taking business courses are sometimes a little surprised to find that lectures on business ethics have been included in their syllabuses of study.They often do not realize that, later in their careers, they may be tempted to bend their principles to get what they want;perhaps also they are not fully aware that bribery in various forms is on the increase in many countries and, in some, this type of corruption has been a way of life for centuries.In dealing with the topic of business ethics, some lecturers ask students how they would act in the following situation: Suppose you were head of a major soft-drinks company and you want to break into a certain overseas market where the growth potential for your company is likely to be very great indeed.During negotiations with government officials of this country, the Minister of Trade makes it clear to you that if you offer him a substantial bribe, you will find it much easier to get an import licence for your goods, and you are also likely to avoid “ bureaucratic delays ” , as he puts it.Now, the question is: do you pay up or stand by your principles? It is easy to talk about having high moral standards but, in practice, what would one really do in such a situation? Some time ago the British car manufacturer, British Leyland, was accused of operating a “ slush fund ” , and of other questionable practices such as paying agents and purchasers with padded commission, offering additional discounts and making payments to numbered bank accounts in Switzerland.The company rejected these allegations and they were later withdrawn.Nevertheless, at this time, there were people in the motor industry in Britain who were prepared to say in private: “ Look, we're in a wheeling-dealing business.Every year we're selling more than a ￡ 1,000 million worth of cars abroad.If we spend a few million greasing the palms of some of the buyers, who's hurt? If we didn't do it, someone else would.” It is difficult to resist the impression that bribery and other questionable payments are on the increase.Indeed, they seem to have become a fact of commercial life.To take just one example, the Chrysler Corporation, third largest of the U.S.motor manufacturers, disclosed that it made questionable payments of more than $ 2.5 million between 1971 and 1976.By making this revelation, it joined more than 300 U.S.companies that had admitted to the U.S.Securities and Exchange Commission that they had made dubious payments of one kind or another — bribes, facilitating payments, extra discounts, etc.— in recent years.For discussion purposes, we can divide these payments into three broad categories.The first category consists of substantial payments made for political purposes or to secure major contracts.For example, the U.S.conglomerate ITT(International Telephone and Telegraph Corporation)offered a large sum of money in support of a U.S.presidential candidate at a time when it was under investigation for possible violations of the U.S.anti-trust law.This same company, it was revealed, was ready to finance efforts to overthrow the Marxist government of Chile whose President was Salvadore Allende.In this category, we may also include large payments made to ruling families or their close advisers in order to secure arms sales or major petrochemical and construction contracts.In a court case involving an arms deal with Iran, a witness claimed that ￡ 1 million had been paid by a British company to a “ go-between ” who helped clinch a deal for supply of tanks to that country.Other countries have also been known to put pressure on foreign companies to make donations to party funds.The second category covers payments made to obtain quicker official approval of some project, to speed up the wheels of bureaucracy.An interesting example of this kind of payment is provided by the story of a sales manager who had been trying for some months to sell road machinery to the Minister of Works of a Caribbean country.Finally, he hit upon the answer.Discovering that the minister was a bibliophile, he bought a rare edition of a book, slipped $ 20,000 within its pages, then presented it to the minister.This man examined its contents, then said: “ I understand there is a two-volume edition of this work.” The sales manager, who was quick-witted, replied: “ My company cannot afford a two-volume edition, sir, but we could offer you a copy with an appendix!” A short time later, the deal was approved.The third category involves payments made in countries where it is traditional to pay people to facilitate the passage

of a business deal.Some Middle East countries would be included on this list, as well as certain Far Eastern countries.The payment may be made by a foreign company to ensure that a tender is put on a selective contract list or the company may pay so that an import licence for essential equipment is approved.Sometimes an expensive gift may be necessary to soften up a government official.A common type in this category is the “ facilitating payment ” — usually a smaller sum of money — made to certain customs officials to clear cargoes.One businessman has told the story of a delivery of 10,000 bottles of sterile penicillin at the airport of a Far Eastern country.It was apparently customary to pay customs officials about $ 250 upon arrival of each shipment to “ get them out of the sun ”.In this case, the company was not prepared to make such a payment, so no money changed hands.The Minister of Health of that nation then ordered that each phial be opened for inspection, thereby destroying the whole shipment.Is it possible to formulate a code of rules for companies which would outlaw bribery in all its forms? The International Chambers of Commerce(ICC)favours a code of conduct which would ban the giving and seeking of bribes.This code would try to distinguish between commissions paid for real services and padded fees.A council has been proposed to administer the code.Unfortunately, opinions differ among members of the ICC concerning how to enforce the code.The British members, led by Lord Shawcross, would like the system to have enough legal teeth to make companies behave themselves.“ It's no use having a dog without teeth, ” they argue.However, the French delegates think it is the business of governments to make and impose law;the job of a business community like the ICC is to say what is right and wrong, but not to impose anything.In a well-known British newspaper, a writer argued recently that “ industry is caught in a web of bribery ” and that everyone is “ on the take ”.This is probably an exaggeration.However, today's businessman, selling in overseas markets, will frequently meet situations where it is difficult to square his business interests with his moral conscience.Lesson Sixteen

A Social Event William Inge

闻名世界的好莱坞大明星去世，美国总统、英国女王送来鲜花，引起各方人士的瞩目。能够在他的葬礼露面，对于名气不大的电影演员，是提高知名度的极好的契机。一对年轻的演员夫妇，在举行葬礼当天的早晨尚未接到邀请，急得像热锅上的蚂蚁，两口子绞尽脑汁，多方联系，设法出席这个重要的社交场面。最后给他们解决难题的却是他们的女佣„„剧作家对虚荣者的讽刺手法真是叫人佩服得五体投地。

CHARACTERS Randy Brooks

Carole Mason

Muriel

The scene is the bedroom in the home of a young Hollywood couple, Randy Brooks and Carole Mason, who have been married only a short time and whose careers are still in the promising stage.There is abundant luxury in the room but a minimum of taste.It is late morning and both Randy and Carole are asleep, but Randy soon comes awake, reaches for a cigarette, lights it, and rubs his forehead worriedly.Something profound is troubling him.He gets out of bed, slips a robe on and paces the floor worriedly.Finally, he presses the buzzer on the house phone and speaks to the cook.RANDY.(Into house phone.)Muriel? We're getting up now.Bring up the usual breakfast.(He hangs up and goes into the bathroom to wash.Now Carole wakes up.She too lights a cigarette and looks troubled.Then she calls to Randy.)

CAROLE.I hardly slept a wink all night, just thinking about it.RANDY.(From bathroom.)There's nothing to do but face the fact that we're not invited.CAROLE.Oh, there's got to be a way.There's got to be.RANDY.After all, honey, there is no reason to feel slighted.We're both pretty new in pictures.It's not as though we were old-timers who had worked with Scotty.CAROLE.Sandra and Don never worked with Scotty, either.Neither did Debby and Chris, or Anne and Mark.RANDY.I know, honey.We've been through all this before.CAROLE.And I may never have worked with Scotty, but I did meet him once, and he danced with me at a party.He was very nice to me, too, and said some very complimentary things.I met his wife, too.(An afterthought.)I didn't much like her.RANDY.Maybe I'd better call Mike again.(He picks up the telephone and dials.)

CAROLE.What good can an agent do? We're not looking for jobs.RANDY.He may have found some way of getting us invited.CAROLE.I bet.RANDY.(Into the telephone.)Mike? Randy.Look, Mike, Carole and I still haven't been invited, and I can't help wondering if there's been an oversight of some kind.After all, Carole was a great friend of Scotty's and she feels pretty hurt that she's been overlooked...I never knew him but everyone knows how much I've always admired him.In an interview just last week, I said, “Scotty Woodrow is still the greatest.” Now, I didn't have to say that...if you ask me, it showed a lot of humility on my part to say a thing like that when, after all, I've got a career of my own to consider...well look, try to do something, Mike.Carole and I both should be seen there...O.K., Mike, call us as soon as you find out.(He hangs up.)

CAROLE.He couldn't get us an invitation to Disneyland.RANCY.He said just Scotty's closest friends are being invited.CAROLE.Oh yes!Half the people going, I bet, have never met him.RANDY.Well!What are we going to do?

CAROLE.Sandra had an entire new outfit made.Perfectly stunning.And she had the dress made so that she can have the sleeves taken out later and wear it to cocktails and supper parties.After all, black is a very smart color now.RANDY.Did you tell Sandra and Don we weren't invited?

CAROLE.Of course not.I lied and said we were going.Now, if we don't get an invitation, I'll have to lie again and say we came down with food poisoning, or something.RANDY.How did Anne and Mark get invited?

CAROLE.Mark played Scotty's son in a picture once.RANDY.When? I don't remember.CAROLE.A long time ago, before either of us came on the scene.RANDY.(Thinks a moment.)That means Mark's a little older than he admits.CAROLE.I don't know.The part was very young, practically an infant.RANDY.Just the same, I'll bet Mark's thirty.CAROLE.Damn, what am I going to tell Sandra? She invited us to come to her house afterwards and I accepted.RANDY.(A little shocked.)She's not giving a party!

CAROLE.No.She just invited some friends to come in afterwards to have a few drinks and talk about what a great guy Scotty was, and everything.She said she thought we'd all feel terribly depressed.After all, Scotty Woodrow was practically a landmark, or something.Think of it.He's been a star for forty years.RANDY.Yes.He was really great.It makes me very humble to think of a guy like Scotty.CAROLE.They say flowers came from the President, and from Queen Elizabeth, and...RANDY.The guest list is going to be published in every paper in the country.CAROLE.You know we could crash.RANDY.No, honey.CAROLE.Who'd know the difference?

RANDY.How would we feel afterwards, when we had to shake hands with Mrs.Woodrow?

CAROLE.She's probably forgotten whether she invited us or not.RANDY.Honey, I'm not going to crash.That's all.I'm not.CAROLE.Everyone would just take it for granted we'd been invited.I mean, we're both just as prominent as Sandra and Don, or any of the others.If you ask me, it'd be a lot better to crash than not to be seen at...well, you can't call it a social affair exactly, but it's a social event.Anyway, everyone will be there.Everyone.RANDY.It could be some of the others who are lying about their invitations, too.You realize that, don't you?

CAROLE.(Considers this.)I wonder...well, anyway, they're all going.I think they got invitations.RANDY.I don't know why the studio couldn't have managed it for us with a little pull.They should realize it's in the best interests of my career to be seen there, and my career means as much to them as it does to me.CAROLE.Same here.Oh, I just don't know how I can face Sandra and Anne and all the others, and make them believe that we really did have food poisoning.RANDY.You know, we could give ourselves food poisoning.Just a light case.A little rotten meat would do it.Then we'd call the doctor and...CAROLE.(Horrified.)No!I'm not going to make myself sick.RANDY.Just a slight case so you could tell them with a straight face...(A soft tap comes at the door.)Come in.(Muriel, the maid, enters with a tray.)Hi Muriel!

MURIEL.Good morning!

CAROLE.Hi, Muriel.Put it here on the coffee table.(Muriel does as she is told.)

MURIEL.Miss Carole, I hope you remember I told you I'd be gone this morning.CAROLE.Oh, yes, I'd forgotten.What time will you be back, Muriel?

MURIEL.Oh, I'll be back in time to fix dinner.RANDY.Is this your day off, Muriel?

MURIEL.No, Mr.Randy.I'm going to Mr.Woodrow's funeral.(There is a slight air of superiority about her now.Randy and Carole look at her with sudden surprise.)

RANDY.Oh...is that right?

MURIEL.And after the funeral, Mrs.Woodrow has asked me to join the family at their home.CAROLE.Muriel, you didn't tell me!

RANDY.Uh...were you a friend of Scotty, Muriel?

MURIEL.My mother worked for him when he was starting out in the business.I was born in Mr.Woodrow's beach house, before he bought that big house up in the canyon.(She has thus established herself as near-royalty to Randy and Carole.)

RANDY.(Amazed.)Really?

MURIEL.Oh, yes.Mr.Woodrow was very good to me when I was a child.Mama worked for him until she died.I could have stayed on, but after Mr.Woodrow got married the last time, she hired a lot of French servants I didn't get on with, at all.But they went right on sending me Christmas cards every year.RANDY.Uh...Muriel, do you have a ride to the funeral?

MURIEL.No, Mr.Brooks.Mrs.Woodrow's secretary said I could bring my family, but now that Vincent has left me and taken the car, I'll have to take a taxi.RANDY.Gee...that's too bad.CAROLE.(Thinking.)Yes.Isn't it?

MURIEL.(Starts for the door.)Well, I have to be getting ready now.I got a new black dress to wear.All the big names in Hollywood will be there.I want to look my best.RANDY.(Holding her.)Uh...Muriel, you don't want to go to the services all alone!

MURIEL.Oh, I don't mind.CAROLE.Look, Muriel, why don't we all go together? I mean...well, of course, Randy and I are invited, too, but we'd be glad to go along with you...as your family, you know.Well, after all, you're one of us, Muriel.MURIEL.(Appears to examine the idea.)All of us go together, huh?

CAROLE.Of course.RANDY.I'll drive us all there in the Cadillac.MURIEL.(This idea appeals to her.)Oh...that'd be nice.CAROLE.And then after the funeral, we'll take you to the house.MURIEL.(Without sarcasm.)I see.RANDY.And you won't have to worry about coming back to fix dinner.CAROLE.Of course not.MURIEL.Well, it suits me.I didn't want to have to call a taxi.If you folks want to come along, fine and dandy.You'll have to pardon me now.I have to get into my new black dress.RANDY.We'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes, Muriel.(Muriel exits.Carole and Randy both jump into action, getting their clothes out of their respective closets.)

CAROLE.I told you we'd find a way.RANDY.Yah.(Taking a suit from closet.)Say, this suit could stand a pressing.Do I have to wear black?

CAROLE.Of course, honey.After all, it's a very solemn occasion.RANDY.Well, O.K.CAROLE.I'll have to call Sandra.(She picks up the telephone and dials.)

RANDY.It's going to look all right, isn't it? I mean, our going with Muriel.CAROLE.Of course.You don't worry about things like that at a funeral.(Into the telephone.)Sandra? Carole.Darling, I'm awfully sorry but Randy and I won't be able to come to your house after the funeral...well, you see, we have a duty to Muriel, our cook.She's the daughter of Scotty's old housekeeper...yes, Scotty practically raised her.And we feel that we should take her with us, and then, of course, we'll have to go to the home afterwards.Just family and a few of his very closest friends.We can't get out of it...you'll forgive us, won't you, darling? Oh, it's all going to be terribly sad.RANDY.(To himself, while dressing.)I guess it'll look all right.After all, funerals are very democratic affairs.下册

Lesson One Courtesy: Key to a Happier World Dr.Norman Vincent Peale

人生活在群体之中，为了解决自己的衣食住行，处处都要与他人打交道。即使是在英国人称之为“自己的城堡”的家里，人们也必须和睦相处，才能相安无事。风烟四起，舌战连绵，轻者使团体和家庭面和心不和，重者会导致团体瓦解，家庭破裂。处理好人际关系的秘诀是什么？本文作者在多年心理咨询工作中得出结论：以礼待人。他认为，不可小看如何对待他人一事，礼貌不仅仅是个人举止问题，而且也反映一个人的人生观。他还提出了一些化解矛盾和冲突的具体建议，你不妨试试。Many years ago trying to help people with every kind of trouble left me with one sure conviction: in case after case the difficulty could have been overcome — or might never have arisen — if the people involved had just treated one another with common courtesy.Courtesy, politeness, good manners — call it what you will, the supply never seems to equal the demand.“ It's not so much what my husband says, ” a tearful wife confides, “ as the way he says it.Why does he have to yell at me? I hate my boss, ” a grim-faced office worker mutters.“ He never shows appreciation for anything.” “ All we get from our teenagers, ” a worried parent says, “ is a moody sullenness.” Such complaints are not limited to people who sit in my study.Human beings everywhere hunger for courtesy.“Good manners,”said Ralph Waldo Emerson, “are the happy way of doing things.” And the reverse is equally true.Bad manners can ruin a day — or wreck a friendship.What are the basic ingredients of good manners? Certainly a strong sense of justice is one;courtesy is often nothing more than a highly developed sense of fair play.A friend once told me of driving along a one-lane, unpaved mountain road.Ahead was another car that produced clouds of choking dust, and it was a long way to the nearest paved highway.Suddenly, at a wider place, the car ahead pulled off the road.Thinking that its owner might have engine trouble, my friend stopped and asked if anything was wrong.“ No, ” said the other driver.“ But you've endured my dust this far;I'll put up with yours the rest of the way.” There was a man with manners, and an innate sense of fair play.Another ingredient of courtesy is empathy, a quality that enables a person to see into the mind or heart of someone

else, to understand the pain or unhappiness there and to do something to minimize it.Recently in a book about a famous restaurant chain I came across such an episode.A man dining alone was trying to unscrew the cap of a bottle of catsup but his fingers were so badly crippled by arthritis that he couldn't do it.He asked a young busboy to help him.The boy took the bottle, turned his back momentarily and loosened the cap without difficulty.Then he tightened it again.Turning back to the man, he feigned a great effort to open the bottle without success.Finally he took it into the kitchen and returned shortly, saying that he had managed to loosen it — but only with a pair of pliers.What impelled the boy to take so much trouble to spare the feelings of a stranger? Courtesy, compassionate courtesy.Yet another component of politeness is the capacity to treat all people alike, regardless of all status or importance.Even when you have doubts about some people, act as if they are worthy of your best manners.You may also be astonished to find out that they really are.I truly believe that anyone can improve his or her manners by doing three things.First, by practicing courtesy.All skills require constant repetition to become second nature;good manners are no exception.9 One simple way is to concentrate on your performance in a specific area for about a week.Telephone manner, for example.How often do you talk too long, speak abruptly, fail to identify yourself, keep people waiting, display impatience with the operator or fail to return a call? Or driving a car, why not watch yourself sternly for aggressive driving, unnecessary horn-blowing, following too closely, failing to yield the right-of-the-way? One difficult but essential thing to remember is to refuse to let other people's bad manners goad you into retaliating in kind.I recall a story told by a young man who was in a car with his father one night when a driver in an oncoming vehicle failed to dim his lights.“Give him the brights, Dad!” the young man urged in exasperation.“Son,” replied the father, “that driver is certainly discourteous and probably stupid.But if I give him the brights he'll be discourteous, stupid and blind — and that's a combination I don't want to tangle with!” The second requirement for improving your manners is to think in a courteous way.In the long run, the kind of person you are is the result of what you've been thinking over the past twenty or thirty years.If your thoughts are predominantly self-directed, a discourteous person is what you will be.If on the other hand you train yourself to be considerate of others, if you can acquire the habit of identifying with their problems and hopes and fears, good manners will follow almost automatically.Nowhere is thinking courtesy more important than in marriage.In the intimacy of the home it is easy to displace disappointment or frustration or anger onto the nearest person, and that person is often a husband or wife.“When you feel your anger getting out of control,” I have often said to married couples, “force yourself for the next ten minutes to treat your married partner as if he or she were a guest in your home.” I knew that if they could impose just ten minutes of good manners on themselves, the worst of the storm would blow over.Finally, to have good manners you must be able to accept courtesy, receive it gladly, rejoice when it comes your way.Strangely, some people are suspicious of gracious treatment.They suspect the other person of having some ulterior motive.But some of the most precious gifts in life come with no strings attached.You can't achieve a beautiful day through any effort on your part.You can't buy a sunset or even the scent of a rose.Those are the world's courtesies to us, offered with love and without thought of reward or return.Good manners are, or should be, like that.In the end, it all comes down to how you regard people — not just people in general, but individuals.Life is full of minor irritations and trials and injustices.The only constant, daily, effective solution is politeness — which is the golden rule in action.I think that if I were allowed to add one small beatitude as a footnote to the other it might be: Blessed are the courteous.(1,084 words)

Lesson Two

The Man Who Could Work Miracles(I)H.G.Wells

一个青年本来不相信有违反自然规律的所谓奇迹，却偶然发现自己能以意志力来创造奇迹。开始他对此困惑不解，甚至有些害怕。反复的试验证实他确实有这种本领，愉悦的情绪油然而生。这一特异功能实在太有用了，既能为他的早餐增加一个新鲜的鹅蛋，又能使他在10分钟之内完成全天的工作，还能把自己讨厌的人一下子贬到阴曹

地府。不过这种非凡的天赋对自己、对他人究竟是福还是祸，此刻下结论还为时过早，要等到第3课才能见分晓。Until he was thirty years old, Fotheringay did not believe in miracles.It was while he was asserting the impossibility of miracles that he discovered his extraordinary powers.He was having a drink in a bar.Toddy Beamish opposed everything he said by a monotonous but effective “So you say,” and drove him to the limit of his patience.Angry with Mr.Beamish, Mr.Fotheringay determined to make an unusual effort.“Look here, Mr.Beamish,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Let us clearly understand what a miracle is.It's something contrary to the course of nature done by power of Will.” “So you say,” said Mr.Beamish.“For instance,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Here would be a miracle.That lamp, in the natural course of nature, couldn't burn like that upside down, could it, Beamish?” “You say it couldn't,” said Beamish.“And you?” said Fotheringay.“You don't mean to say...?” “No,” said Beamish reluctantly.“No, it couldn't.” “Very well,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Then here comes someone, perhaps myself, and stands here, and says to that lamp, as I might do, collecting all my will — 'Turn upside down without breaking, and go on burning steady, ' and — Hullo!” It was enough to make anyone say “Hullo!” The incredible was visible to them all.The lamp hung upside down in the air, burning quietly with its flame pointing down.Mr.Fotheringay stood with a forefinger stretched out and the troubled face of one expecting a terrible crash.A cyclist, who was sitting next to the lamp, ducked and jumped across the bar.For nearly three seconds the lamp remained still.A faint cry of mental distress came from Mr.Fotheringay;“I can't keep it up,” he said, “any longer.” He staggered back, and the lamp suddenly fell.It was lucky it had a metal container, or the whole place would have been on fire.Mr.Cox, the landlord, was the first to speak, and his remark was to the effect that Fotheringay was a fool.Fotheringay himself was astonished beyond measure at the thing that had occurred.The subsequent conversation threw no light on the matter, and everyone accused Fotheringay of a silly trick.He himself was terribly puzzled, and he rather agreed with them.12 He went home red-faced and hot.It was only when he found himself alone in his little bedroom that he was able to think clearly and ask, “What on earth happened?” He had removed his coat and boots, and was sitting on the bed with his hands in his pocket.He was repeating for the seventeenth time, “I didn't want the thing to turn over,” when it occurred to him that at the precise moment he said the commanding words he had willed the thing that he said.And when he saw the lamp in the air he had felt that it depended on him to maintain it there without being clear how this was to be done.He decided on another experiment.He pointed to his candle and collected his mind, though he felt he did a foolish thing.“Be raised up,” he said.The candle was raised, hung in the air for a moment, and then fell with a crash on his table, leaving him in darkness.For a time Mr.Fotheringay sat perfectly still, “It did happen, after all,” he said.“And how I'm going to explain it, I don't know.” He signed heavily, and began feeling in his pockets for a match.He could find none, and he groped about the table.“I wish I had a match,” he said.He tried his coat, and there were none there, and then it dawned upon him that miracles were possible even with matches.He stretched out a hand.“Let there be a match in that hand,” he said.He felt some light object fall across his palm, and his fingers closed upon a match.After several futile attempts to light this, he threw it down, and then it occurred to him that he might have willed it to be lit.He did so, and saw it burning on the table.He caught it up hastily, and it went out.His perception of possibilities enlarged, and he felt for and replaced the candle in its candlestick.“Here!You be lit,” said Mr.Fotheringay, and at once the candle was burning.For a time he stared at it, and then looked up and met his own gaze in the looking glass.“What about miracles now?” said Mr.Fotheringay, addressing his own reflection.The subsequent thoughts of Mr.Fotheringay were confused.So far as he could see, he had only to will the thing.After his first experiences, he wished to make only very cautious experiments.But he lifted a sheet of paper, and turned a

glass of water pink, and then green, and got himself a toothbrush.In the early hours of the morning he had reached the fact that his will power must be unusual and strong.The fears of his first discovery were now mixed with pride and ideas of advantage.He heard the church clock striking one, and decided to get into bed without further delay.As he struggled to get his shirt over his head, he was struck with a brilliant idea.“Let me be in bed,” he said, and found himself so.“Undressed,” he added;and, finding the sheets cold, he said hastily, “and in my nightshirt — no, in a nice soft woollen nightshirt.Ah!” he said with immense enjoyment.“And now let me be comfortably asleep...” He awoke at his usual hour and was thoughtful all through breakfast-time.He wondered whether his experience might not be a dream.At last his mind turned again to cautious experiments.For instance, he had three eggs for breakfast;two were supplied by his landlady, good, but from the shop, and one was a delicious fresh goose-egg, laid, cooked, and served by his extraordinary will.He hurried to work in a state of profound but carefully concealed excitement.All day he could do no work because of his astonishing knowledge, but this caused him no inconvenience, because he made up for it miraculously in his last ten minutes.As the day passed, his state of mind passed from wonder to delight.He intended, among other things, to increase his personal property by acts of creation, and called into existence a number of nice things.But he could see that the gift required caution and watchfulness.After supper one night, he went out to try a few miracles in private by the gasworks.He stuck his walking stick into the ground and commanded the dry wood to blossom.The air was immediately full of the scent of roses.He struck a match and saw that this beautiful miracle was indeed accomplished.His satisfaction was ended by advancing footsteps.Afraid that someone would discover his powers, he said to the stick hastily, “Go back.” What he meant was “Change back”;but the stick moved backwards at a considerable speed, and there came a cry of anger from the approaching person.“Who are you throwing rosebushes at, you fool?” cried a voice.“I'm sorry,” said Mr.Fotheringay.He saw Winch, a policeman, advancing.“What do you mean by it?” asked Winch.“Hullo!It's you, is it? The man who broke the lamp at that bar!What did you do it for?Do you know that stick hurt?” For the moment Fotheringay could not utter a word.His silence seemed to irritate Mr.Winch.“You've been assaulting the police, young man, this time.” “Look here, Mr.Winch,” said Fotheringay, annoyed and confused.“I'm very sorry.The fact is...” “Well?” He could think of no answer but the truth.“I was working a miracle.” He tried to speak as casually as he could.“Working a...!Look!Don't talk rot.Working a miracle, indeed!Well, that's really funny!You're the man who doesn't believe in miracles...The fact is, this is another of your silly tricks.Now I tell you...” But Mr.Fotheringay never heard what Mr.Winch was going to tell him.He realized that he had given himself away.He became violently irritated.He turned on the policeman swiftly and fiercely.“Listen,” he said.“I've had enough of this.I'll show you a silly trick, Go to Hades!”

He was alone!

Mr.Fotheringay performed no more miracles that night, nor did he trouble to see what had become of his flowering stick.He went back, scared and very quiet.“Good Heavens!” he said, “It's an extremely powerful gift.I didn't mean as much as that.Not really...I wonder what Hades is like.”

He sat on the bed taking off his shoes.Struck by a happy thought he transferred the policeman to San Francisco, and then went to bed.33 The next day Fotheringay heard two interesting pieces of news.Someone had planted a most beautiful climbing rose near the gasworks, and everyone was looking for Constable Winch.Lesson Three

The Man Who Could Work Miracles(II)H.G.Wells

小说的主人公正如他自己所说的那样，是个极普通的人，对自己奇妙的力量虽颇为自得，可心里总不踏实，尤其是对那位警察的下场感到内疚。礼拜天牧师的布道内容恰好是关于违法的事情，于是他去找牧师咨询。不料咨询的结果最后却迫使他不得不主动放弃他的特异功能。On Sunday evening Mr.Fotheringay went to church, and Mr.Maydig preached about “things that are not lawful”.Mr.Fotheringay suddenly decided to consult Mr.Maydig, who took him to his study.“You don't believe, I suppose,” said Mr.Fotheringay, “that some common sort of person — like myself, for instance, — is able to do things by his will.” “Something of the sort, perhaps, is possible,” said Mr.Maydig.“I think I can show you by a sort of experiment,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Now, take that tobacco jar on the table, for instance.What I want to know is whether what I am going to do with it is a miracle or not.”

He pointed to the tobacco jar, and said: “Be a bowl of violets.” The tobacco jar did as it was ordered.Mr.Maydig stared at the change, and presently he ventured to lean over the table and smell the violets.Mr.Fotheringay said, “Just told it — and there you are.Is that a miracle? What do you think is the matter with me?” “It's a most extraordinary thing.” “And this day last week I knew no more that I could do things like that than you did.It came quite suddenly.It's something odd about my will, I suppose.”

“Is that — the only thing? Could you do other things besides that?” “Oh, yes,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Just anything.” He thought a little.“Here!Change into a glass bowl full of water with goldfish swimming in it.You see that, Mr.Maydig?”

“It's incredible.” “I could change it into just anything,” Said Mr.Fotheringay.“Here!Be a pigeon, will you?” In another moment a blue pigeon was fluttering round the room.“Stop there, will you?” said Mr.Fotheringay, and the pigeon hung motionless in the air.“I could change it back to a bowl of flowers,” he said, and after placing the pigeon on the table he worked that miracle.Then he restored the tobacco jar.Mr.Maydig had followed all these changes with small cries.“Well,” he said.17 Mr.Fotheringay told Mr.Maydig all about his strange experiences;the latter listened intently.“Amazing,” he said, “The power to work miracles is a gift, and a very rare gift.Go on.Go on.” Mr.Fotheringay mentioned Winch.“That's what troubled me most,” he sad, “and what I'm in need of advice for most is about Winch;of course he's in San Francisco.You see, I'm in very great difficulties...” Mr.Maydig looked serious.“Yes, it's a difficult position,” he said.“But we'll leave Winch for a little and discuss the larger question.I don't think this is criminal at all.No, it's just miracles, miracles of the very highest class.”He began to walk about, while Mr.Fotheringay sat at the table, looking worried.“I don't see what I can do about Winch,” he said.“If you can work miracles,” said Mr.Maydig, “you can find a way about Winch.My dear sir, you are a most important man — a man of the most astonishing possibilities.The things you may do...” “Yes, I've thought of a thing or two,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“But I thought it better to ask someone.”“Quite right,” said Mr.Maydig.“It's practically an unlimited gift.Let us test your powers.” And so, urged on by Mr.Maydig, Mr.Fotheringay began to work miracles.At first the miracles he worked were little things with cups and such things.But after they had worked a dozen of these, their sense of power grew, their imagination increased, and their ambition enlarged.“And about Mr.Winch...” said Mr.Fotheringay.Mr.Maydig waved the Winch difficulty away, and made a series of wonderful proposals.The small hours found Mr.Maydig and Mr.Fotheringay outside under the moon.Mr.Fotheringay was no longer afraid of his greatness.They had reformed every drunkard in the area;they had changed all the beer and alcohol to water;they had improved the railway communication of the place, drained a swamp, and improved the soil.29 “The place,” gasped Mr.Maydig, “won't be the same place tomorrow.” And just at that moment the church clock struck three.“I say,” said Mr.Fotheringay, “I must be getting back.I've got to be at business by eight.”

“We're only beginning,” said Mr.Maydig, full of the sweetness of unlimited power.“Think of all the good we're doing.”

“But...” said Mr.Fotheringay.33 Mr.Maydig gripped his arm suddenly.His eyes were bright and wild.“My dear chap,” he said, “there's no hurry.Look!” He pointed to the moon.“Stop it!”

“That's a bit tall,” he said after a pause.35 “Why not?” said Mr.Maydig.“Of course it doesn't stop.You stop the rotation of the earth, you know.Time stops.It isn't as if we were doing harm.”

“Well,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“I'll try.”

He spoke to the turning earth.“Just stop rotating, will you?”

Immediately he was flying head over heels through the air at the rate of dozens of miles a minute.He was turning round and round.He thought in a second, and willed.“Let me down safe and sound.”

He willed it only just in time, for his clothes, heated by his rapid flight through the air, were already beginning to burn.He came down with a forcible bump on what appeared to be some fresh turned earth.A flying cow hit the ground and smashed like an egg.There was a crash that made all the most violent crashes of his past life seem like the sound of falling dust.A vast wind roared throughout earth and heaven, so that he could scarcely lift his head to look.For a while he was too breathless and astonished even to see where he was or what had happened.40 “Good heavens!” he gasped.“I was nearly killed!What has gone wrong? And only a minute ago, a fine night.What a wind!Where's Maydig?”

He looked around him.“The sky's all right,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“There's the moon overhead.Just as it was.But the rest? Where's the village? Where's anything? And what started this wind? I didn't order the wind.”

Mr.Fotheringay struggled to get to his feet in vain and remained on all fours, holding on.43 Far and wide nothing was visible through the dust that flew in the wind except masses of earth and heaps of ruins.No trees, no houses, no familiar shapes, only a wilderness of disorder and a rising storm.44 When Mr.Fotheringay stopped the rotation of the solid globe, he said nothing about the movables upon its surface.And the earth spins so fast that the surface at its equator is travelling at more than a thousand miles an hour.So that the village, and everything and everybody had been thrown violently forward at about nine miles per second — much more violently than if they had been fired out of a cannon.And every human being, every living creature, every house, and every tree had been so jerked and smashed and utterly destroyed.That was all.45 These things Mr.Fotheringay did not fully appreciate.But he perceived that his miracle had miscarried, and with that a great disgust of miracles came upon him.A great roaring of wind and waters filled the earth and sky, and he saw a wall of water pouring towards him.46 “Stop!” cried Mr.Fotheringay to the advancing water.47 “Stop just a moment while I collect my thoughts...” said Mr.Fotheringay to the storm and the thunder.“And now what shall I do? Oh, I wish Maydig was about.”

He remained on all fours leaning against the wind, intent to have everything right.49 “I know,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Let nothing that I'm going to order happen until I say 'Off!'.”

He lifted his voice against the whirlwind, shouting louder and louder in a vain desire to hear himself speak.“Now!Remember what I said just now.In the first place, when all I've got to say is done, let me lose my miraculous power;let all these dangerous miracles be stopped.And second, let me be back just before the miracles began;let everything be just as it was before that lamp turned upside down.It's a big job, but it's the last.Have you got it? That's it!Yes.”

He dug his fingers into the earth, closed his eyes, and said “Off!”

Everything became perfectly still.53 “So you say,” said a voice.54 He opened his eyes and found himself in the bar, arguing about miracles with Toddy Beamish.He had a vague sense of some great thing forgotten, which passed immediately.Except for the loss of his miraculous powers, everything was back as it had been.And among other things, of course, he did not believe in miracles.55 “I tell you that miracles can't possibly happen,” he said, “and I'm prepared to prove it.”

“That's what you think,” said Toddy Beamish.57 “Look here, Mr.Beamish,” said Mr.Fotheringay.“Let us clearly understand what a miracle is...” Lesson Four

Zero Hour: Forty-Three Seconds over Hiroshima Peter Goldman

1945年8月 6日，一架 B-29 轰炸机在日本广岛投下了一颗原子弹，两天之后又在长崎投下了第二颗。8月15日，日军宣布无条件投降。美国的这两颗原子弹对结束第二次世界大战的作用，历史学家至今仍是见仁见智，众说纷纭，但有一点他们是没有争议的：日本人民对此付出了沉重的代价，肉体上和精神上均遭受了极大的痛苦，日本军国主义分子应对此负责。任何企图否定这一侵略战争事实的做法，都是全世界人民，包括日本人民在内，所不能允许的。本文作者在广岛事件40周年之际，通过一位当时核辐射受害者——一个18岁的青春少女的经历提醒人们记住广岛，防止悲剧重演。On a brilliant summer's morning in 1945, Kaz Tanaka looked up into the sky over Hiroshima and saw the beginning of the end of her world.She was 18 then, and her mind was filled with teenage things.She had wakened with a slight fever, just bothersome enough to keep her home from her job in a war plant.But she felt well enough to be up and about;her father had asked her to water a tree in front of their house.She ran across the courtyard and let herself out the front gate.A girlfriend was standing across the street.Kaz waved, and the two were gossiping happily when they heard the drone of a B-29 bomber six miles up.It was a minute or so before 8 ∶ 15.2 The plane did not frighten Kaz.For one thing, Hiroshima had gone almost untouched by the air war.For another, Kaz had been born in California, and although her father had returned to Japan while she was still in diapers, she liked to tell people she was the American in the family.She even felt a kind of distant kinship with the B-29s that flew regularly overhead, bound north for Tokyo and other targets.She waved at the plane.“Hi, angel!” she called.A white spot appeared in the sky, as small and innocent-looking as a scrap of paper.It was falling away from the plane, drifting down toward them.The journey took 43 seconds.The air exploded in blinding light and color, the rays shooting outward as in a child's drawing of the sun, and Kaz was flung to the ground so violently that her two front teeth broke off;she had sunk into unconsciousness.Kaz's father had been out back tending the vegetables, in his under shorts.When he came staggering out of the garden, blood was running from his nose and mouth.By the next day the exposed parts of his body would turn a chocolate brown.What had been the finest house in the neighborhood came crashing down.Kaz had herself been hit in the back by the flying timber.She felt nothing.People were only shapes in dense, gray fog of dust and ash.A mushroom cloud towered seven miles over the remains of the city, the signature of a terrifying new age.Kaz never saw it.She was inside it.Kaz Tanaka had wakened in a frightening new world — a world whose dominant sound was a silence broken only by the cries of the dying.The very air seemed hostile, so thick with dust and ash that she could barely see.She found her girlfriend next to her.“What happened?” they both blurted at once.There were no answers;no one knew.8 “Are you hurt?” Kaz asked.“No, I can get up,” her girlfriend answered.“Thank heaven!” Kaz said.She struggled to her own feet then, and took her first steps onto the ruin of her life.11 The life had been a comfortable one, wanting in nothing — not, at least, until the war.Kaz's father had been born to a family of some wealth and social position in Hiroshima, and had migrated to America in the early 1920s in the spirit of adventure, not of need or flight;he never intended to stay.He moved back to Hiroshima at 40;it was expected of him as the sole male heir to their name.But he brought his American baby girl with him, and a life-style flavored with American ways.The house he built was a spacious one.There was a courtyard in front of the place and two gardens in back, one to provide vegetables, one to delight the eye in the formal Japanese fashion.One of the two living-rooms was American, with

easy chairs instead of tatami, and so were the kitchen and bathroom fittings.Dinner was Japanese, the family sitting on the floor in the traditional way.Breakfast was American, pancakes or bacon and eggs, taken at the kitchen table.When the news came that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, Kaz's father retired to his garden and stayed all day, shaking his head and refusing to speak to anyone.But he could not shut the war out of the sheltered world he had built for himself and his family.His children went to the factories part time.Food was short;his vegetable garden became less a hobby than a necessity, helping feed not only his own household but his neighbors as well.What remained of the life he had made was blown to bits though his home was more than a mile from the hypocenter.He was working on the side facing zero, and had the front of his body burnt.His flesh, when Kaz touched him, had the soft feel of a boiled tomato.Kaz was anxiously waiting for the return of another member of her family when a tall figure appeared where the gate had been.“He's back!” she shouted;her brother, at six feet, towered over most Japanese men, and she knew at a glimpse that it was he.But when she drew closer, she could barely recognize him through his wounds.His school had fallen down around him.He had struggled to a first-aid station.They had splashed some medicine on the wounds, tied them with a bandage and sent him on his way.For a moment, he stood swaying at the ruins of the gate.Kaz stared at him.Later, when night fell, Kaz and her brother made for the mountains;a friend from Kaz's factory lived in a village on a hill behind the city and had offered to take them in.It was midnight by the time they found her place.Kaz looked back.The city was on fire.She was seized with fear, not for herself, but for her parents.She left her brother behind, and was running down the hillside toward the flames.The streets were filled with the dead and the barely living.She kept on running, knowing only that she had to be home.Kaz's family had been luckier than most.Her father had to lie outdoors on a tatami with his burns, and her brother's wounds refused to close.But they had at least survived, and they began, painfully, to rebuild their lives.They had two wells for water and an uncle who lived on an island off the coast brought them a great sack of food every week.Kaz's father found a carpenter willing to raise anew house out of the wreckage of the old in exchange for what ever wood was left over.The house more nearly resembled a hovel.Kaz could see the first snowflakes of winter through cracks between the boards on the roof.By the standards of Hiroshima after the bomb, it was a mansion.In time the visible wounds healed.The bums on Kaz's father's chest left sears which looked like maps of Japan and America, side by side the way they ought to be, and when the subject of the bomb came up, he resisted blaming anyone.“The war,” he would say, “is finished.” But as the others were recovering, Kaz had fallen ill with all the symptoms of radiation sickness.The disease was one of the frightening aftershocks of the bomb;the scientists in Los Alamos were surprised by its extent — they thought the blast would do most of the killing.Kaz felt as if she was dying.She ran a fever.She felt sick and dizzy, almost drunk.Her gums and her bowels were bleeding.She looked like a ghost.“I'm next,” she thought matter-of-factly;she was an 18-year-old girl waiting her turn to die.On the first day of 1946, Kaz's mother was determined that Kaz would spend at least a bit of it on her feet.It was an old superstition among the Japanese that a person would spend the entire year as he or she spent New Year's Day.A neighbor helped.They got her outside, and propped her upright for a few minutes.The medicine worked better than anything in the doctor's bag, since the only known treatment for radiation sickness was rest.As winter gave way to spring and spring to summer, Kaz began to mend.The illness had not really left her;it had gone into hiding, instead, and the physical and mental after effects of August 6,1945 would trouble Kaz all the rest of her life.(1,435 words)Lesson Five

First Principles Frances Gray Patton

本课情节简单。韦德一家如何在丈夫失业，亲戚告急求助这样困难的情况下，愉快地度过了圣诞节。故事也给了我们一些启发，当一个家庭突然遇到一些不幸的事件时，家庭的成员应该如何面对这些。学习这课文时，还要注意作者的叙事方法。作者打破传统小说情节发展的时间顺序，用意识流的方式来组织故事。

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1.No family had ever had a nicer Christmas, Emily Wade thought happily as she drove the children to school for the first time after the holidays, and, of course, it had been largely Laura's doing.She glanced at Laura, a slim, dark-haired girl of fourteen, sitting beside her, and felt warm with that most comfortable of parental emotions, gratitude to one's own child.The air was soft with the vapors of melting snow, and almost fragrant, as if some delicate flowers were blooming near at hand.“It's like spring, isn't it?” she said to Laura.“And tomorrow we'll probably have a raging sleet storm.”

2.“King Claudius weather,” said Laura, looking prettily shy as she made the literary allusion.“It can smile and smile and still be a villain.”

3.“Exactly,” Emily agreed.She wasn't sure for a moment who King Claudius was, and then she saw a copy of “Hamlet” among Laura's books.She thought her heart would burst with pride(imagine a child saying that!), and thought how wise she and Henry had been when they'd decided to make every possible sacrifice for the sake of Laura's education.4.Laura, who was in first-year high, had gone to the same public school that her brothers now attended, but this year she was a pupil at Green Valley Academy, a small country day school on the outskirts of the city.It was a very good school and a very expensive one, and most of the Wades' friends thought they were being rather fancy in sending Laura there.They knew Laura was smart, of course, but some of the other Baltimore private schools for girls were excellent and had lower tuition, and even the public high schools were all right.Lots of nice kids, whose fathers had twice as big an income as Henry Wade, went to them.Besides, you weren't doing a girl a favor when you encouraged her to develop tastes she couldn't afford to gratify.You either spoiled her or made her bitter.These arguments were cogent, Emily Wade admitted, but they simply didn't apply to Laura's case.Nothing was too good for that child.Moreover, it was Emily's theory that children learned love as well as discipline by family example;if you did all you could for them, keeping their best interests in mind, they wouldn't let you down in a crisis.And events had certainly proved her theory.5.How true that had been, thought Emily, driving slowly because she had a quarter hour to spare and she might as well give Laura time to study.Her mind went back to that black moment, a month before, when she'd met Henry for lunch in a restaurant and he'd told her that he was out of a job.The branch sales office he'd been managing had been absorbed by a larger firm, and its whole staff was out in the cold without so much as a month's salary to tide them over.He was pretty sure he could get another and a better position;there was a firm that had been making overtures to him, and only a sense of loyalty to his old firm had made him ignore them up to this point.But the man he'd have to see was out of town and wouldn't be back until the first of the year.Then, too, he'd just had a letter from his brother in Ohio;it seemed that the whole family out there was shot to hell.His brother, who was a schoolteacher, was broke, his stomach ulcers were troubling him, one of his children had to have a serious operation, and his wife was about to have twins.He needed five hundred dollars.6.“I should think he would!” Emily had said.“We'll have to send it to him.”

7.“I guess if we let him have it, we can still eat,” Henry had said, brooding gloomily.“But it knocks Christmas into a cocked hat.I hate to borrow on my insurance.”

8.“Oh, no!” Emily had exclaimed.“We'll manage.We can cut our list to the bone and concentrate on the kids.You know how they are — all they want is the illusion of abundance and cheerful confusion.”

9.“That goes for the young ones,” Henry had said, “but what does Laura want?”

10.“The only thing she's mentioned is a ballerina dress.It's priced at $ 125.She's been invited to some parties by her friends at school.”

11.“Well...Couldn't you charge that?” Henry had asked.12.“No,” she'd said.“I'm charged to the hilt already, and I don't want to risk being refused.As a matter of fact, I'd planned to pay my bill today.” She had sat silent for a moment, looking at Henry's discouraged face.“The only thing to do, dear,” she'd said at last,“is to return to first principles.”

13.“What do you mean by that?”

14.“Christmas has been commercialized out of its real meaning.The gifts people give have become a sort of advertising display.What we ought to do is give to people we love — give memorable things according to our ability.If you could give your child a horse, say, that would be fine.But if you can't, give her a little locket or a book of verse.”

15.Henry had looked hopeful but skeptical.34

16.“I'll tell you what we'll do,” she had continued.“We'll go to the farm for the holidays.We'll have a good time there.We won't have to do any entertaining — the liquor bills alone are always staggering at Christmas.We'll have our turkey and our tree and take long walks and sing carols and forget the world.”

17.“Did you ever have a Christmas like that?” Henry had asked.18.“Lord, no!” she'd answered.19.“Well, you're the captain.But try to break it gently to Laura.”

20.“Laura'll be all right,” Emily had said with a smile.21.“Poor Daddy!” the girl had cried when Emily explained the situation to her.And then, being reassured as to his future prospects, she had clasped her hands.“But how marvelous to go to the farm, Mother!It'll be just like a picture on a Christmas card.I adore it there, and I don't care a thing about presents or parties!” She had raised herself on the tips of her toes, as if she were about to dance.22.Several days before Christmas, they'd gone down to their little farm.It was just a half-dozen acres that Henry had bought and had hung on to.It made him feel good to own a piece of land.They'd all had a wonderful time, really.They had cut a tree in their own woods.They had eaten and slept, and read by the light of oil lamps.The children had been more than satisfied with their presents;there had been balls, erector sets, a number of story books, and a lot of junk from the five-and-ten for the boys, and for Laura, a picture Emily had found cheap in a second-hand art shop and a small brooch that had belonged to Henry's mother.It was Laura's obvious pleasure that had brightened everything.Whether she was chopping wood, or romping with her brothers, or basting the turkey, or talking politics very sensibly with her father, she'd seemed to radiate happiness.On New Year's Eve, they had given her a weak highball, the first she'd ever had, and she had gone to sleep sitting on the floor with her rosy cheek against Henry's knee.“By God, I believe she's the best girl in the world,” he had said softly.23.“She probably is,” Emily had said.24.“If I don't hand her the earth some day, on a silver platter,”Henry had declared, “may I be damned from here to eternity!”

25.Emily slowed the car to a full stop near the gates of the Academy.“Here we are,” she said.“I'm going to miss you today.”

26.“I'll miss you, too,” she said.“It's been a beautiful holiday.I love the picture and the pin!”

27.“Of course you do, Laura,” said Emily.“Now run!”

28.She watched Laura hurry up the path.She drove about aimlessly for a while.Then she went to a market and bought some groceries and a big bunch of flowers.The cool blossoms perfumed the car all the way home.They made her think of the ballerina dress, and of all the pure, proud, filmy beauty of the world that belonged, by right, to Laura.Lesson Six

The Beauty of Britain J.B.Priestley

学习英语的人一定希望有朝一日能到英语的发源地英伦三岛走走。实现这个愿望之前，你不妨先从语言大师的文字图画里领略一下那里的风光。与文化渊源相同的美国相比，英国幅员远非辽阔。但它的景物也是气象万千，山川、平原、河流、湖泊样样俱全，令人流连忘返；此外你还可以欣赏众多文学名著所描绘的田园景色；更可贵的是，你会发现在工业高度发达的英国，自然与人工之间达到了巧妙的平衡。与此同时，你也会对作者文字的优美赞叹不已。

1.The beauty of our country — or at least all of its south of North Scotland — is as hard to define as it is easy to enjoy.Remembering other and larger countries, we see at once that one of its charms is that it is immensely varied within a small range.We have here no vast mountain ranges, no boundless plains, no miles of forest, and are deprived of the grandeur that may accompany these things.But we have superb variety.A great deal of everything is packed into little space.I suspect that we are always faintly conscious of the fact that this is a smallish island, with the sea always round the comer.We know that everything has to be neatly packed into a small space.Nature, we feel, has carefully adjusted things — mountains, plains, rivers, lakes — to the scale of the island itself.A mountain 12,000 feet high would be a horrible monster

here, as wrong as a plain 400 miles long, a river as broad as the Mississippi.In America the whole scale is too big, except for aviators.There is always too much of everything.There you find yourself in a region that is all mountains, then in another region that is merely part of one immense plain.You can spend a long, hard day in the Rockies simply travelling up or down one valley.You can wander across prairie country that has the desolating immensity of the ocean.Everything is too big;there is too much of it.2.Though the geographical features of this island are comparatively small, and there is astonishing variety almost everywhere, that does not mean that our mountains are not mountains, our plains not plains.Consider that piece of luck of ours, the Lake District.You can climb with ease — as I have done many a time — several of its mountains in one day.Nevertheless, you feel that they are mountains and not mere hills — as a correspondent pointed out in The Times recently.This same correspondent told a story that proves my point.A party of climbers imported a Swiss guide into the Lake District, and on the first morning, surveying the misty peaks before him, he pointed to a ledge about two thirds of the way up one of them and suggested that the party should spend the night there.He did not know that that ledge was only an hour or two's climb away and that before the light went they would probably have conquered two or three of these peaks.He had not realised the scale of the country.He did not know that he was looking at mountains in miniature.What he did know was that he was certainly looking at mountains, and he was right, for these peaks, some of them less than 3,000 feet high, have all the air of great mountains.3.With variety goes surprise.Ours is the country of happy surprises.You have never to travel long without being pleasantly astonished.It would not be difficult to compile a list of such surprises that would fill the next fifty pages, but I will content myself with suggesting the first few that occur to me.If you go down into the West Country, among rounded hills and soft pastures, you suddenly arrive at the bleak tablelands as if the North had left a piece of itself down there.But before you have reached them you have already been surprised by the queer bit of marshland, as if a former inhabitant had been sent to Cambridge and had brought his favourite marshland walk back from college with him into the West.4.The Weald is another of them.East Anglia has a kind of rough heath country of its own that I for one never expect to find there and am always delighted to see.Then, after the easy rolling Midlands, the dramatic Peak District, with its genuine steep slopes, never fails to astonish me, for I feel that it has no business to be there.A car will take you all round the Peak District in a morning.It is nothing but a crumpled green pocket handkerchief.Again, there has always been something surprising to me about those cone-shaped hills that suddenly pop up in Shropshire and along the Welsh border I have never explored this region properly, and so it remains to me a country of mystery, with a delightful fairy-tale quality about its cone-shaped hills.Nevertheless, we hear of search parties going out there to find lost travellers.I could go on with this list of surprises, but perhaps you had better make your own.5.Another characteristic of our landscape is its exquisite moderation.It looks like the result of one of those happy compromises that make our social and political plans so irrational and yet so successful.It has been born of a compromise between wildness and tameness, between Nature and Man.In many countries you pass straight from regions where men have left their mark in every inch of ground to other regions that are desolate wilderness.Abroad, we have all noticed how abruptly most of the cities seem to begin;here, no city;there, the city.With us the cities pretend they are not really there until we are well inside them.They almost insinuate themselves into the countryside.This comes from another compromise of ours, the suburb.There is a great deal to be said for the suburb.To people of moderate means, compelled to live fairly near their work in a city, the suburb offers the most civilised way of life.Nearly all Englishmen are at heart country gentlemen.The suburban villa enables the salesman or the clerk, out of hours, to be a country gentleman.(Let us admit that it offers his wife and children more solid advantages.)A man in a newish suburb feels that he has one foot in the city and one in the country.As this is the kind of compromise he likes, he is happy.6.We must return, however, to the landscape, which I suggest is the result of a compromise between wilderness and cultivation, Nature and Man.One reason for this is that it contains that exquisite balance between Nature and Man.We see a cornfield and a cottage, both solid evidences of man's presence.But notice how these things, in the middle of the scene, are surrounded by witnesses to that ancient England that was nearly all forest and heath.The fence and the gate are man-made, but are not severely regular and trim — as they would be in some other countries.The trees and hedges, the grass and wild flowers in the foreground, all suggest that Nature has not been forced into obedience.Even the cottage, which has an

irregularity and colouring that make it fit snugly into the landscape(as all good cottages should do), looks nearly as much a piece of natural history as the trees: you feel it might have grown there.In some countries, that cottage would have been an uncompromising cube of brick, which would have declared, “No nonsense now.Man, the drainer, the tiller, the builder, has settled here.” In this English scene there is no such direct opposition.Men and trees and flowers, we feel, have all settled down comfortably together.The motto is, “Live and let live.” This exquisite harmony between Nature and Man explains in part the enchantment of the older Britain, in which whole towns fitted snugly into the landscape, as if they were no more than bits of woodland;and roads went winding the easiest way as naturally as rivers;and it was impossible to say where cultivation ended and wild life began.It was a country rich in.trees, birds, and wild flowers, as we can see to this day.Lesson Seven

Some Meanings of Authentic Love Gerald Correy & Marianne Schneider Correy

爱是文艺作品永恒的主题，是人们永远关心的话题。爱是何物 ? 它为什么受到古今中外文人雅士的歌颂，男女老少锲而不舍的追求，哲学家潜心的探索 ? 为什么人人都渴望真爱，却又都抱怨说真爱难觅 ? 追求爱的人们未必懂得真爱的含义。爱究竟包含那些内容 ? 这里两位作者提出的见解可能会帮助我们澄清一些模糊的对爱的概念。So far, we've discussed mostly what we think love is not.Now we'd like to share some of the positive meanings love has for us.Love means that I know the person I love.I'm aware of the many sides of the other person — not just the beautiful side but also the limitations, inconsistencies and flaws.I have an awareness of the other's feelings and thoughts, and I experience something of the core of that person.I can penetrate social masks and roles and see the other person on a deeper level.3 Love means that I care about the welfare of the person I love.To the extent that it is genuine, my caring is not a smothering of the person or a possessive clinging.On the contrary, my caring liberates both of us.If I care about you, I'm concerned about your growth, and I hope you will become all that you can become.Consequently, I don't put up roadblocks to what you do that enhances you as a person, even though it may result in my discomfort at times.4 Love means having respect for the dignity of the person I love.If I love you, I can see you as a separate person, with your own values and thoughts and feelings, and I do not insist that you surrender your identity and conform to an image of what I expect you to be for me.I can allow and encourage you to stand alone and to be who you are, and I avoid treating you as an object or using you primarily to gratify my own needs.5 Love means having a responsibility toward the person I love.If I love you, I'm responsive to most of your major needs as a person.This responsibility does not entail my doing for you what you are capable of doing for yourself;nor does it mean that I run your life for you.It does imply acknowledging that what I am and what I do affects you, so that I am directly involved in your happiness and your misery.A lover does have the capacity to hurt or neglect the loved one, and in this sense I see that love entails an acceptance of some responsibility for the impact my way of being has on you.6 Love means growth for both myself and the person I love.If I love you, I am growing as a result of my love.You are a stimulant for me to become more fully what I might become, and my loving enhances your being as well.We each grow as a result of caring and being cared for;we each share in an enriching experience that does not detract from our being.Love means making a commitment to the person I love.This commitment does not entail surrendering our total selves to each other;nor does it imply that the relationship is necessarily permanent.It does entail a willingness to stay with each other in times of pain, uncertainty, struggle, and despair, as well as in times of calm and enjoyment.Love means trusting the person I love.If I love you, I trust that you will accept my caring and my love and that you won't deliberately hurt me.I trust that you will find me lovable and that you won't abandon me;I trust the reciprocal nature of our love.If we trust each other, we are willing to be open to each other and can shed masks and pretenses and reveal our true selves.9 Love can tolerate imperfection.In a love relationship there are times of boredom, there are times when I may feel like giving up, times of real strain, and times I experience an impasse.Authentic love does not imply enduring happiness.I

can stay during rough times, however, because I can remember what we had together in the past, and I can picture what we will have together in our future if we care enough to face our problems and work them through.We agree with Reverend Maier when he writes that love is a spirit that changes life.Love is a way of life that is creative and that transforms.However, Maier does not view love as being reserved for a perfect world.“ Love is meant for our imperfect world where things go wrong.Love is meant to be a spirit that works in painful situations.Love is meant to bring meaning into life where nonsense appears to reign.” In other words, love comes into an imperfect world to make it livable.Love is freeing.Love is freely given, not doled out on demand.At the same time, my love for you is not dependent on whether you fulfill my expectations of you.Authentic love does not imply “ I'll love you when you become perfect or when you become what I expect you to become.” Authentic love is not given with strings attached.There is an unconditional quality about love.Love is expansive.If I love you, I encourage you to reach out and develop other relationships.Although our love for each other and our commitment to each other might bar certain actions on our parts, we are not totally and exclusively wedded to each other.It is a pseudolove that cements one person to another in such a way that he or she is not given room to grow.Casey and Vanceburg put this notion well: The honest evidence of our love is our commitment to encouraging another's full development.We are interdependent personalities who need one another's presence in order to fulfill our destiny.And yet, we are also separate individuals.We must come to terms with our struggles alone.Love means having a want for the person I love without having a need for that person in order to be complete.If I am nothing without you, then I'm not really free to love you.I love you and you leave, I'll experience a loss and be sad and lonely, but I'll still be able to survive.If I am overly dependent on you for my meaning and my survival, then I am not free to challenge our relationship;nor am I free to challenge and confront you.Because of my fear of losing you, I'll settle for less than I want, and this settling will surely lead to feelings of resentment.Love means identifying with the person I love.If I love you, I can empathize with you and see the world through your eyes.I can identify with you because I'm able to see myself in you and you in me.This closeness does not imply a continual “ togetherness, ” for distance and separation are sometimes essential in a loving relationship.Distance can intensify a loving bond, and it can help us rediscover ourselves, so that we are able to meet each other in a new way.Love is selfish.I can only love you if I genuinely love, value, appreciate, and respect myself.If I am empty, then all I can give you is my emptiness.If I feel that I'm complete and worthwhile in myself, then I'm able to give to you out of my fullness.One of the best ways for me to give you love is by fully enjoying myself with you.Love involves seeing the potential within the person we love.In my love for another, I view her or him as the person she or he can become, while still accepting who and what the person is now.Goethe's observation is relevant here: by taking people as they are, we make them worse, but by treating them as if they already were what they ought to be, we help make them better.17 We conclude this discussion of the meanings that authentic love has for us by sharing a thought from Fromm's The Art of Loving(1956).His description of mature love sums up the essential characteristics of authentic love quite well: Mature love is union under the condition of preserving one's integrity, one's individuality.In love this paradox occurs that two beings become one and yet remain two.Lesson Eight How l Designed an A-Bomb in My Junior Year at Princeton John A.Phillips and David Michaelis

一般人认为要设计出一颗可使用的原子弹，设计者需要有天才，需要有专门知识，还必须获得绝密资料。事实并非如此。普林斯顿大学有这样一位学生，第一学期成绩极差，校方对他提出警告，如果他再有一门功课不及格，就要勒令他退学。第二学期开始，他决心取得优秀成绩。他没有窃取国家绝密资料，凭着原子弹的原理和已经解密的材料，经过几个月的奋战，终于设计出了他的原子弹。此项设计一举两得：为他赢得了一个最高分，并证实了制造一颗原子弹并不一定要窃取国家机密。

The first semester of my junior year at Princeton University is a disaster, and my grades show it.D's and F's

predominate, and a note from the dean puts me on academic probation.Flunk one more course, and I'm out.2 Fortunately, as the new semester gets under way, my courses begin to interest me.Three hours a week, I attend one called Nuclear Weapons Strategy and Arms Control.One morning, Freeman Dyson, an eminent physicist assisting Hal Feiveson in the course, opens a discussion on the atomic bomb: “Let me describe what occurs when a 20-kiloton bomb is exploded, similar to the two dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.First, the sky becomes illuminated by a brilliant white light.Temperatures are so high around the point of explosion that the atmosphere is actually made incandescent.To an observer standing six miles away the ball of fire appears brighter than a hundred suns.”As the fireball begins to spread up and out into a mush room shaped cloud, temperatures spontaneously ignite all flammable materials for miles around.Wood-frame houses catch fire.Clothing bursts into flame, and people suffer intense third-degree lash burns over their exposed flesh.The very high temperatures also produce a shock wave and a variety of nuclear radiation capable of penetrating 20 inches of concrete...“ Silence falls over the room as the titanic proportions of the destruction begin to sink in.”It takes only 15 pounds of plutonium to fabricate a crude atomic bomb, “ adds Hal Feiveson.”If breeder reactors come into widespread use, there will be sufficient plutonium shipped around the country each year to fashion thousands of bombs.Much of it could be vulnerable to theft or hijacking.“ The class discusses the possibility of terrorists' using a homemade atomic bomb to push their extravagant political demands.”That's impossible, “ a student objects.”Terrorists don't have the know-how to build a bomb.Besides, they don't have access to the knowledge.“ Impossible? Or is it? The question begins to haunt me.I turn to reference books and find, according to a famous nuclear physicist, that a terrorist group could easily steal plutonium or uranium from a nuclear reactor and then design a workable atomic bomb with information available to the general public, and that all the ingredients — except plutonium — are legally available at hardware stores and chemical-supply houses.9 Suddenly, an idea comes to mind.Suppose an average — or below-average in my case — physics student could design a workable atomic bomb on paper? If I could design a bomb, almost any intelligent person could.But I would have to do it in less than three months to turn it in as my junior independent project.I decide to ask Freeman Dyson to be ry adviser.”You understand, “ said Dyson, ”my government security clearance will prevent me from giving you any more information than that which can be found in physics libraries.And that the law of 'no comment' governing scientists who have clearance to atomic research requires that, if asked a question about the design of a bomb, I can answer neither yes nor no? “ ”Yes, sir, “ I reply.”I understand.“ ”Okay, then.I'll give you a list of textbooks outlining the general principles — and I wish you luck.“ A few days later, Dyson hands me a short list of books on nuclear-reactor technology, general nuclear physics and current atomic theory.”That's all? “ I ask incredulously, having expected a bit more direction.14 At subsequent meetings Dyson explains only the basic principles of nuclear physics.If I ask about a particular design or figure, he will glance over what I've done and change the subject.At first, I think this is his way of telling me I am correct.To make sure, I hand him an incorrect figure.He reads it and changes the subject.Over spring vacation, I go to Washington, D.C., to search for records of the Los Alamos Project that were declassified between 1954 and 1964.I discover a copy of the literature given to scientists who joined the project in the spring of 1943.This text carefully outlines all the details of atomic fissioning known to the world's most advanced scientists in the early '40s.A whole batch of copies costs me about $ 25.I gather them together and go over to the bureaucrat at the front desk.She looks at the titles and then looks up at me.”Oh, you want to build a bomb, too? “ she asks matter-of factly.I can't believe it.Do people go in there for bomb-building information every day? When I show the documents to Dyson, he is visibly shaken.His reaction indicates to me that I actually stand a chance of coming up with a workable design.The material necessary to explode my bomb is plutonium-239.Visualize an atomic bomb as a marble inside a

grapefruit inside a basketball inside a beach ball.At the center of the bomb is the initiator, a marble-size piece of metal.Around the initiator is a grapefruit-size ball of plutonium-239.Wrapped around the plutonium is a three-inch reflector shield made of beryllium.High explosives are placed symmetrically around the beryllium shield.When these detonate, an imploding shock wave is set off, compressing the grapefruit-size ball of plutonium to the size of a plum.At this moment, the process of atoms fissioning — or splitting apart begins.There are many subtleties involved in the explosion of an atomic bomb.Most of them center on the actual detonation of the explosives surrounding the beryllium shield.The grouping of these explosives is one of the most highly classified aspects of the atomic bomb, and it poses the biggest problems for me as I begin to design my bomb.As the next three weeks go by, I stop going to classes altogether and work day and night.I develop a terrible case of bloodshot eyes.Sleep comes rarely.I approach every problem from a terrorist's point of view.The bomb must be inexpensive to construct, simple in design, and small enough to sit unnoticed in the trunk of a car.As the days and nights flow by, I scan government documents for gaps indicating an area of knowledge that is still classified.Essentially, I am putting together a huge jigsaw puzzle.The edge pieces are in place and various areas are getting filled in, but pieces are missing.Whenever the outline of one shows up, I sit down to devise the solution that will fill the gap.23 With only two weeks left, the puzzle is nearly complete, but two pieces are still missing: which explosives to use, and how to arrange them around the plutonium.Seven days before the design is due, I'm still deadlocked.I realize something drastic must be done, and I start all over at the beginning.Occasionally I find errors in my old calculations, and I correct them.I lose sense of time.With less than 24 hours to go, I run through a series of new calculations, mathematically figuring the arrangement of the explosives around the plutonium.If my equations are correct, my bomb might be just as effective as the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs.But I can't be sure until I know the exact nature of the explosives I will use.Next morning, with my paper due at 5 p.m., I call the Du Pont Company from a pay phone and ask for the head of the chemical explosives division, a man I'll call Mr.Graves.”Hello, Mr.Graves.My name is John Phillips, a student doing work on a physics project.I'd like to get some advice, if that's possible.“ ”What can I do for you? “ ”Well, “ I stammer, ”I'm doing research on the shaping of explosive products that create a very high density in a spherically shaped metal.Can you suggest a Du Pont product that would fit in this category? “ ”Of course, “ he says, in a helpful manner.”We sell [the names of the product] to do the job in similar density-problem situations to the one you're talking about.“

Mr.Graves has given me just the information I need.Now, if my calculations are correct with respect to the new information, all I have to do is complete my paper by five.32 Five minutes to five, I race over to the physics building and bound up the stairs.Inside the office, everybody stops talking and stares at me.I haven't shaved in over a week.33 ”I came to hand in my project, “ I explain.34 A week later, I return to the office to pick up my project.My paper is not there.35 ”Aren't you the boy who designed the atomic bomb? “ the secretary looks up, then freezes.36 ”Yes, “ I reply.37 She takes a deep breath.”The question has been raised by the department whether your paper should be classified by the U.S.government.“

”What!Classified? “

She takes my limp hand, shaking it vigorously.”Congratulations, “ she says, all smiles.”You've got one of the only A's in the department.“

40.For a second I don't say anything.Here I have put on paper the plan for a device capable of killing thousands of people, and all I was worrying about was flunking out.40

Lesson Nine

Forty Years On Norah Lofts

人有时像马一样，须要从后面戳一下才肯动起来，才能不断前进。戳的方式可以多种多样，课文所描述的是其中之一。两个未曾谋面、年龄相仿的远亲，从孩提时期到成年一直想像对方从长相到智力都远远胜过自己。双方家长也不断用对方的成绩激励自己的儿子上进。当两人已过花甲之年，都已小有名气终于见面时，才恍然大悟：原来双方家长玩的是同样的把戏，他们不禁开怀大笑。之后，他们举杯怀念这把戏的导演、他们已故的嘉丽阿姨。不论故事是真是假，难道你不认为一个人的精神面貌对事业成功与否十分重要吗? John Bullyer and I met for the first time in 1956 when we were both in our early sixties, but it is true to say that he did more to shape my life than any other person.John Bullyer came into my life through my Aunt Carrie.She was also aunt to John Bullyer, whom she referred to as ” Little-John-my-other-nephew “ all in one word, and she referred to him too often.From Aunt Carrie's point of view it was fortunate, from mine, disastrous, that John Bullyer and I were the same age.Probably hundreds of comparisons were made before I became aware of them.The first that I remember was made soon after I began school where I had lain on the floor and wailed that I wanted to go home.Shortly after that my mother reported that Little-John-Aunt-Carrie's-other nephew had started school on the same day and taken to it like a duck to water.4 And so it went on.Incredible boy, he knew his nine-times table, while I was still hopelessly bogged in the fours;I began to dread Aunt Carrie's formerly most welcome visits.She was certain to produce chocolate or sixpence from her purse;but as soon as she had gone, Mother was sure to say the dread words: ” Aunt Carrie was telling me that John Bullyer...“ The comparisons were, without exception, to my disadvantage.The wretched boy never set foot upon a football field without scoring a goal;I became conscious of my inferiority, for I was hopeless at games.To me it seemed sinister that Mother always passed on any small achievement of mine.Once, at my prep.school, I had a story in the magazine and Mother was beside herself.” I must have another copy of that, “ she said, ” so that Aunt Carrie can send it to John Bullyer's mother.“ What a boomerang that proved!By return of post came the news that John had won a scholarship.9 It will seem strange that we boys never met, but in those days Gloucestershire was as far removed, in travelling time, from Suffolk, as New York is today.Aunt Carrie kept saying, ” Really, you boys should know one another, I'm sure you'd be such friends, “ and once or twice she tried to arrange that John should stay with her in the holidays.Mercifully for me something always prevented him from doing so.I did have, however, one horribly narrow escape.An elderly couple, distant relatives of my father's, were celebrating their golden wedding.They lived in London, and they issued such a sentimentally-worded invitation that Father was bound to accept.As soon as he had done so Aunt Carrie came over in a state of excitement.Wasn't the world a small place, the Bullyer family and Father's relatives had once been near neighbours, and all three Bullyers had been invited to the feast.When Aunt Carrie had gone Mother said to me: ” You sit there huddled over a book until your back is bent like a bow.Go out and get some air.You look so much better with a little tan.“ I realised that she and I visualised John Bullyer in the same way, tall and straight, big for his age, with a handsome brown face.I stood up, obediently.Walking made no noticeable difference to my back and the sun remained hidden, so Mother tried another tack:

” You'll need a new suit at Easter anyway, you might as well have it now.“ On the evening before we were to make our early morning start for London, Mother came into my room and made me try on the new suit.I could see, by the expression on her face, that it worked no miracle.But Mother did not take defeat easily;looks weren't everything, my manners, at least, should pass muster!So she gave me a few final instructions.I kept saying, ” Yes, Mother “ and ” No,Mother “ , and ” I'll remember, Mother “.Finally she said:

” Well, hurry into bed and get a good night's sleep.“ I did not sleep well;I had the worst night I had ever known.My jaws ached.The pain spread up into my head, back into my ears, down into my throat.In addition to my physical woes I had mental agonies;I prayed that something might occur to prevent this meeting.I saw the dawn that morning and heard the first bird chorus.After several centuries had dragged by I heard the alarm go off in my parents' room and thankfully rose from my bed.I washed more thoroughly than usual;then I dressed, and in honour of the occasion, went to the looking glass to arrange my tie.For a moment, I thought that nervousness had affected my eyesight;the face that looked back at me was only just recognisable.My ears were hidden by the bulge of my jaws and I seemed to have no neck.Horrified I reeled into my parents' room.” Do you think I look funny this morning? “ They both turned.Mother screamed.Father said, ” I wouldn't say funny.You look damned peculiar.“

It was mumps.It left me open-minded about prayer.Time went on;so did the comparisons.By word of mouth during the holidays, by phrases in letters during term time, I was kept up to date with John's cleverness and progress.Thus goaded I began at last to look round for something that I could do, something at which I could excel.When I found it I worked savagely, minding nothing else;let this be mine, John Bullyer could have all the rest.I was still a Grub Street hack, counting it a good week in which I made five pounds, when John attained some glittering appointment in India.That ability to master the nine-times table had proved no momentary success.He had developed into some kind of financial wizard.There was a paragraph in the daily papers about this appointment.Aunt Carrie took the cutting to show to my mother.That was her last report.She was dead before her other nephew reached his destination.Three or four times during the next forty years I saw mention of John Bullyer in the press.Those paragraphs recorded a steady success which eventually led to a knighthood when he retired in 1956.On that occasion there was half a newspaper column about him.When asked, in an interview, what he intended to do with his leisure, Sir John replied, ” I hope to take up golf;I have never had time to take it seriously.“ I pictured him again, lean and tanned, with a head of well-kept grey hair.I was sorry that there was no photograph;I could have looked at it almost without fear, I thought.I was, by that time, not unsuccessful in my own line.26 Late that year, in November, I was in my club, sipping a glass of sherry before dinner.A cough at my elbow made me look round.I saw a short stout man, glitteringly bald, with a little snub nose that looked too small to support the framework of his heavy glasses.Diffidently, he spoke my name and I admitted my identity.Since I attained a little fame I have on occasion been addressed by strangers and no matter how flatteringly they speak I am always horribly embarrassed.27 ” My name's John B-Bullyer, “ stammered the little man.” We once sh-shared an aunt.“ I leaped up and shook hands, expressing my pleasure at meeting him at last, and then we settled down to drink sherry together.His stammer, like my shyness, soon wore off.” I used to hear so much about you, “ he said with a grin.” Then I learned that you were a member here and I could not resist asking someone to point you out to me.Though, if you'd looked the least bit as I always imagined I don't think I'd have d-dared to approach you.You see...I grew up with the idea that you were at least eight feet tall, tremendously handsome and more talented than da Vinci.“ His grin broadened — and I knew why!” Really, “ he said, ” the letters Aunt Carrie used to write about you and the way my mother used to read them out.You were the b-bugbear of my life.“ ” They were nothing, “ I said, ” to the letters your mother used to write about you.I was told every time you got a sum right.I always thought of you as nine feet high, better looking than Robert Taylor and more versatile than Churchill.So they played the game both ways, did they? “

We laughed.32 We looked at one another.Then it probably dawned on us both that the place in which we sat is not the haunt of men who have been failures in life, and that, boys being what they are, an occasional prod in the rear is no such bad thing.Together we lifted our glasses, and though neither of us spoke, I know that we drank to the memory of Aunt Carrie.Lesson Ten

On Friendship

Margaret Mead and Rhoda Metranx

自古以来，人们对友情的渴望不亚于对爱情的追求。俗话说“一个好汉三个帮”，人需要朋友!然而对不同的文化，不同的民族，不同的国家来说，“朋友”二字的含义不尽相同。了解这些差异，有助于理解别的民族的价值观，有助于避免和消除跨文化交往中的误会。在与其他国家的人交友时，千万不可按自己民族对朋友的期待值去要求他们。Few Americans stay put for a lifetime.We move from town to city to suburb, from high school to college in a different state, from a job in one region to a better job elsewhere, from the home where we raise our children to the home where we plan to live in retirement.With each move we are forever making new friends, who become part of our new life at that time.2 For many of us the summer is a special time for forming new friendships.Today millions of Americans vacation abroad, and they go not only to see new sights but also — in those places where they do not feel too strange — with the hope of meeting new people.No one really expects a vacation trip to produce a close friend.But surely the beginning of a friendship is possible? Surely in every country people value friendship?

They do.The difficulty when strangers from two countries meet is not a lack of appreciation of friendship, but different expectations about what constitutes friendship and how it comes into being.In those European countries that Americans are most likely to visit, friendship is quite sharply distinguished from other, more casual relations, and is differently related to family life.For a Frenchman, a German or an Englishman friendship is usually more special and carries a heavier burden of commitment.But as we use the word, ”friend“ can be applied to a wide range of relationships to someone one has known for a few weeks in a new place, to a close business associate, to a childhood playmate, to a man or woman, to a trusted confidant.There are real differences among these relations for Americans — a friendship may be superficial, casual, situational or deep and enduring.But to a European, who sees only our surface behavior, the differences are not clear.As they see it, people known and accepted temporarily, casually, flow in and out of Americans' homes with little ceremony and often with little personal commitment.They may be parents of the children's friends, house guests of neighbors, members of a committee, business associates from another town or even another country.Coming as a guest into an American home, the European visitor finds no visible landmarks.The atmosphere is relaxed.Most people, old and young, are called by first names.6 Who then is a friend? Even simple translation from one language to another is difficult.”You see,“ a Frenchman explains, ”if I were to say to you in France, 'This is my good friend,' that person would not be as close to me as someone about whom I said only, 'This is my friend.'Anyone about whom I have to say more is really less.“ In France, as in many European countries, friends generally are of the same sex, and friendship is seen as basically a relationship between men.Frenchwomen laugh at the idea that ”women can't be friends,“ but they also admit sometimes that for women ”it's a different thing.“ And many French people doubt the possibility of a friendship between a man and a woman.There is also the kind of relationship within a group — men and women who have worked together for a long time, who may be very close, sharing great loyalty and warmth of feeling.They may call one another — copains — a word that in English becomes ”friends“ but has more the feeling of ”pals“ or ”buddies“.In French eyes this is not friendship, although two members of such a group may well be friends.For the French, friendship is a one-to-one relationship that demands a keen awareness of the other person's intellect, temperament and particular interests.A friend is someone who draws out your own best qualities, with whom you sparkle and become more of whatever the friendship draws upon.Your political philosophy assumes more depth, appreciation of a play becomes sharper, taste in food or wine is enhanced, enjoyment of a sport is intensified.And French friendships are divided into categories.A man may play chess with a friend for thirty years without

knowing his political opinion, or he may talk politics with him for as long a time without knowing about his personal life.Different friends fill different niches in each person's life.These friendships are not made part of family life.A friend is not expected to spend evenings being nice to children or courteous to a deaf grandmother.These duties, also serious and required, are primarily for relatives.Men who are friends may meet in a cafe.Intellectual friends may meet in larger groups for evenings of conversation.Working people may meet at the little bistro where they drink and talk, far from the family.Marriage does not affect such friendships;wives do not have to be taken into account.In the past in France, friendships of this kind seldom were open to any but intellectual women.Since most women's lives centered on their homes, their warmest relations with other women often went back to their girlhood.The special relationship of friendship is based on what the French value most — on the mind, on having the same of outlook, on vivid awareness of some chosen area of life.In Germany, in contrast with France, friendship is much more clearly a matter of feeling.Adolescents, boys and girls, form deeply sentimental attachments, walk and talk together — not so much to polish their wits as to share their hopes and fears and dreams to form a common front against the world of school and family and to join in a kind of mutual discovery of each other's and their own inner life.Within the family, the closest relationship over a lifetime is between brothers and sisters.Outside the family, men and women find in their closest friends of the same sex the devotion of a sister, the loyalty of a brother.Appropriately, in Germany friends usually are brought into the family.Children call their father's and their mother's friends ”uncle“ and ”aunt“.Between French friends, who have chosen each other for the similarity of their point of view, lively disagreement and sharpness of argument are the breath of life.But for Germans, whose friendships are based on common feelings, deep disagreement on any subject that matters to both is regarded as a tragedy.Like ties of kinship, ties of friendship are meant to be absolutely binding.Young Germans who come to the United States have great difficulty in establishing such friendships with Americans.We view friendship more tentatively, subject to changes in intensity as people move, change their jobs, marry, or discover new interests.English friendships follow still a different pattern.Their basis is shared activity.Activities at different stages of life may be of very different kinds — discovering a common interest in school, serving together in the armed forces, taking part in a foreign mission, staying in the same country house during a crisis.In the midst of the activity, whatever it may be, people fall into step — sometimes two men or two women, sometimes two couples, sometimes three people — and find that they walk or play a game or tell stories or serve on a committee with the same easy anticipation of what each will do day by day or in some critical situation.Americans who have made English friends comment that, even years later, ”you can take up just where you left off.“ Meeting after a long interval, friends are like a couple who begin to dance again when the orchestra strikes up after a pause.English friendships are formed outside the family circle, but they are not, as in Germany, committed to the family nor are they, as in France, separated from the family.And a break in an English friendship comes not necessarily as a result of some difference of viewpoint or feeling but instead as a result of misjudgment, where one friend seriously misjudges how the other will think or feel or act, so that suddenly they are out of step.What, then, is friendship? Looking at these different styles, including our own, each of which is related to a whole way of life, are there common elements? There is the recognition that friendships are formed, in contrast with kinship, through freedom of choice.A friend is someone who chooses and is chosen.Related to this is the sense each friend gives the other of being a special individual, on whatever grounds this recognition is based.And between friends there is inevitably a kind of equality of give and take.These similarities make the bridge between societies possible, and the American's characteristic openness to different styles of relationship makes it possible for him to find new friends abroad with whom he feels at home.Lesson Eleven

Selling the Post(I)Russell Baker

三十年代初，时值美国经济大萧条时期，一个小男孩的父亲去世，母亲带着他和妹妹在舅舅家生活。小男孩成了一名获奖作家之后，以轻松、幽默的文笔和略带自嘲的口吻描述了他8岁到12岁之间，在母亲的安排下，推销杂志的尝试。他记述了他母亲如何激发他奋发图强，甚至带有强迫性地将喜爱躲在屋里看书的他推向了外面充满竞争的世界。本文生动地刻画了母子俩和兄妹俩截然不同的性格。

I began working in journalism when I was eight years old.It was my mother's idea.She wanted me to make something of myself and, after a leve-lheaded appraisal of my strengths, decided I had better start young if I was to have any chance of keeping up with the competition.2 The flaw in my character which she had already spotted was lack of gumption.My idea of a perfect afternoon was lying in front of the radio rereading my favorite Big Little Book, Dick Tracy Meets Stooge Viller.My mother despised inactivity.Seeing me having a good time in repose, she was powerless to hide her disgust.”You've got no more gumption than a bump on a log, “ she said.”Get out in the kitchen and help Doris do those dirty dishes.“ My sister Doris, though two years younger than I, had enough gumption for a dozen people.She positively enjoyed washing dishes, making beds, and cleaning the house.When she was only seven she could carry a piece of shortweighted cheese back to the A & P, threaten the manager with legal action, and come back triumphantly with the full quarter-pound we'd paid for and a few ounces extra thrown in for forgiveness.Doris could have made something of herself if she hadn't been a girl.Because of this defect, however, the best she could hope for was a career as a nurse or schoolteacher, the only work that capable females were considered up to in those days.4 This must have saddened my mother, this twist of fate that had allocated all the gumption to the daughter and left her with a son who was content with Dick Tracy and Stooge Viller.If disappointed, though, she wasted no energy on self-pity.She would make me make something of myself whether I wanted to or not.”The Lord helps those who help themselves, “ she said.That was the way her mind worked.She was realistic about the difficulty.Having sized up the material the Lord had given her to mold, she didn't overestimate what she could do with it.She didn't insist that I grow up to be President of the United States.Fifty years ago parents still asked boys if they wanted to grow up to be president, and asked it not jokingly but seriously.Many parents who were hardly more than paupers still believed their sons could do it.Abraham Lincoln had done it.We were only sixty-five years from Lincoln.Many a grandfather who walked among us could remember Lincoln's time.Men of grandfatherly age were the worst for asking if you wanted to grow up to be president.A surprising number of little boys said yes and meant it.I was asked many times myself.No, I would say, I didn't want to grow up to be president.My mother was present during one of these interrogations.An elderly uncle, having posed the usual question and exposed my lack of interest in the presidency, asked, ”Well, what do you want to be when you grow up? “ I loved to pick through trash piles and collect empty bottles, tin cans with pretty labels, and discarded magazines.The most desirable job on earth sprang instantly to mind.”I want to be a garbage man, “ I said.My uncle smiled, but my mother had seen the first distressing evidence of a bump budding on a log.”Have a little gumption, Russell, “ she said.Her calling me Russell was a signal of unhappiness.When she approved of me I was always ”Buddy.“

When I turned eight years old she decided that the job of starting me on the road toward making something of myself could no longer be safely delayed.”Buddy, “ she said one day, ”I want you to come home right after school this afternoon.Somebody's coming and I want you to meet him.“When I burst in that afternoon she was in conference in the parlor with an executive of the Curtis Publishing Company.She introduced me.He bent low from the waist and shook my hand.Was it true as my mother had told him, he asked, that I longed for the opportunity to conquer the world of business? My mother replied that I was blessed with a rare determination to make something of myself.13 ”That's right, “ I whispered.”But have you got the grit, the character, the never-say-quit spirit it takes to succeed in business? “My mother said I certainly did.16 ”That's right, “ I said.He eyed me silently for a long pause, as though weighing whether I could be trusted to keep his confidence, then spoke man to-man.Before taking a crucial step, he said, he wanted to tell me that working for the Curtis Publishing

Company placed enormous responsibility on a young man.It was one of the great companies of America.Perhaps the greatest publishing house in the world.I had heard, no doubt, of the Saturday Evening Post ? Heard of it? My mother said that everyone in our house had heard of the Saturday Evening Post and that I, in fact, read it with religious devotion.Then doubtless, he said, we were also familiar with those two monthly pillars of the magazine world, the Ladies Home Journal and the Country Gentleman.Indeed we were familiar with them, said my mother.Representing the Saturday Evening Post was one of the weightiest honors that could be bestowed in the world of business, he said.He was personally proud of being a part of that great corporation.My mother said he had every right to be.Again he studied me as though debating whether I was worthy of a knighthood.Finally: ”Are you trustworthy? “

My mother said I was the soul of honesty.25 ”That's right, “ I said.The caller smiled for the first time.He told me I was a lucky young man.He admired my spunk.Too many young men thought life was all play.Those young men would not go far in this world.Only a young man willing to work and save and keep his face washed and his hair neatly combed could hope to come out on top in a world such as ours.Did I truly and sincerely believe that I was such a young man? ”He certainly does, “ said my mother.28 ”That's right, “ I said.He said he had been so impressed by what he has seen of me that he was going to make me a representative of the Curtis Publishing Company.On the following Tuesday, he said, thirty freshly printed copies of the Saturday Evening Post would be delivered at our door.I would place these magazines, still damp with the ink of presses, in a handsome canvas bag, sling it over my shoulder, and set forth through the streets to bring the best in journalism, fiction, and cartoons to the American public.He had brought the canvas bag with him.He presented it with reverence fit for a religious object.He showed me how to drape the sling over my left shoulder and across the chest so that the pouch lay easily accessible to my right hand, allowing the best in journalism, fiction, and cartoons to be swiftly extracted and sold to a citizenry whose happiness and security depended upon us soldiers of the free press.31 The following Tuesday I raced home from school, put the bag over my shoulder, dumped the magazines in, and, tilting to the left to balance their weight on my right hip, embarked on the highway of journalism.Lesson Twelve

Selling the Post(II)Russell Baker

小男孩第一天的推销失败了，母亲面授技巧也无济于事。妹妹却颇具乃母风范，推销极为成功。三年过去了，母亲终于认识到此子无缘跻身于商界，开始为他寻找其他成功之路。一天她终于发现了他的写作天赋。

We lived in Belleville, New Jersey, a commuter town at the northern fringe of Newark.It was 1932, the bleakest year of the Depression.My father had died two years before, leaving us with a few pieces of Sears, Roebuck furniture and not much else, and my mother had taken my sister, Doris, and me to live with one of her younger brothers.This was my Uncle Allen.Uncle Allen had made something of himself by 1932.As salesman for a soft-drink bottler, he had an income of $ 30 a week;wore pearl-gray spats, detachable collars, and a three-piece suit;was happily married;and took in threadbare relatives.2 With my load of magazines I headed toward Belleville Avenue.That's where the people were.There were two filling stations at the intersection with Union Avenue, as well as an A & P, a street fruit stall, a bakery, a barber shop, a drugstore, and a diner shaped like a railroad car.For several hours I made myself highly visible, shifting position now and then from

corner to corner, from shop window to shop window, to make sure everyone could see the heavy black lettering on the bag that said the Saturday Evening Post.When the angle of the light indicated it was suppertime, I walked back to the house.3 ”How many did you sell, Buddy?“ my mother asked.”None.“ ”Where did you go?“ ”The corner of Belleville and Union Avenues.“ ”What did you do?“ ”Stood on the corner waiting for somebody to buy a Saturday Evening Post.“ ”You just stood there?“ ”Didn't sell a single one.“ ”For God's sake, Russell!“ Uncle Allen intervened.”I've been thinking about it for some time,“ he said, ”and I've about decided to take the Post regularly.Put me down as a regular customer.“ I handed him a magazine and he paid me a nickel.It was the first nickel I earned.Afterwards my mother instructed me in salesmanship.I would have to ring doorbells, address adults with charming self-confidence, and break down resistance with a sales talk pointing out that no one, no matter how poor, could afford to be without the Saturday Evening Post in the home.I told my mother I'd changed my mind about wanting to succeed in the magazine business.”If you think I'm going to raise a good-for-nothing,“ she replied, ”you've got another think coming.“ She told me to hit the streets with the canvas bag and start ringing doorbells the instant school was out the next day.When I objected that I didn't feel any aptitude for salesmanship, she asked how I'd like to lend her my leather belt so she could whack some sense into me.I bowed to superior will and entered journalism with a heavy heart.My mother and I had fought this battle almost as long as I could remember.It probably started even before memory began, when I was a country child in northern Virginia and my mother, dissatisfied with my father's plain workman's life, determined that I would not grow up like him and his people, with calluses on their hands, overalls on their backs, and fourth-grade educations in their heads.She had fancier ideas of life's possibilities.Introducing me to the Saturday Evening Post, she was trying to wean me as early as possible from my father's world where men left with their lunch pails at sunup, worked with their hands all their lives, and died with a few sticks of mail-order furniture as their legacy.In my mother's vision of the better life there were desks and white collars, well-pressed suits, evenings of reading and lively talk, and perhaps — if a man were very, very lucky and hit the jackpot, really made something important of himself — perhaps there might be a fantastic salary of $5,000 a year to support a big house and a Buick with a rumble seat and vacation in Atlantic City.And so I set forth with my sack of magazines.I was afraid of the dogs that snarled behind the doors of potential buyers.I was timid about ringing the doorbells of strangers, relieved when no one came to the door, and scared when someone did.Despite my mother's instructions, I could not deliver an engaging sales pitch.When a door opened I simply asked, ”Want to buy a Saturday Evening Post?“ In Belleville few persons did.It was a town of 30,000 people, and most weeks I rang a fair majority of its doorbells.But I rarely sold my thirty copies.Some weeks I canvassed the entire town for six days and still had four or five unsold magazines on Monday evening;then I dreaded the coming of Tuesday morning, when a batch of thirty fresh Saturday Evening Post was due at the front door.18 One rainy night when car windows were sealed against me I came back soaked and with not a single sale to report.My mother beckoned to Doris.”Go back with Buddy and show him how to sell these magazines,“ she said.Brimming with zest, Doris, then seven years old, returned with me to the corner.She took a magazine from the bag, and when the light turned red she strode to the nearest car and banged her small fist against the closed window.The driver, probably startled to see such a little girl assaulting his car, lowered the window to stare, and Doris thrust a Saturday Evening Post at him.”You need this magazine,“ she piped, ”and it only costs a nickel.“

Her salesmanship was irresistible.Before the light changed half a dozen times she disposed of the entire batch.I didn't feel humiliated.I was so happy I decided to give her a treat.Leading her to the vegetable store on Belleville Avenue, I bought three apples, which cost a nickel, and gave her one.23 ”You shouldn't waste money,“ she said.”Eat your apple.“ I bit into mine.”You shouldn't eat before supper,“ she said.”It'll spoil your appetite.“ Back at the house that evening, she dutifully reported me for wasting a nickel.Instead of a scolding, I was rewarded with a pat on the back for having the good sense to buy fruit instead of candy.My mother reached into her bottomless supply of maxims and told Doris,”An apple a day keeps the doctor away.“

By the time I was ten I had learned all my mother's maxims by heart.Asking to stay up past normal bedtime, I knew that a refusal would be explained with ”Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.“ If I whimpered about having to get up early in the morning, I could depend on her to say, ”The early bird gets the worm.“ The one I most despised was, ”If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.“ This was the battle cry with which she constantly sent me back into the hopeless struggle whenever I moaned that I had rung every doorbell in town and knew there wasn't a single potential buyer left in Belleville that week.After listening to my explanation, she handed me the canvas bag and said, ”If at first you don't succeed...“ Three years in that job, which I would gladly have quit after the first day except for her insistence, produced at least one valuable result.My mother finally concluded that I would never make something of myself by pursuing a life in business and started considering careers that demanded less competitive zeal.One evening when I was eleven I brought home a short ”composition“ on my summer vacation which the teacher had graded with an A.Reading it with her own schoolteacher's eye, my mother agreed that it was top-drawer seventh grade prose and complimented me.Nothing more was said about it immediately, but a new idea had taken life in her mind.Halfway through supper she suddenly interrupted the conversation.31 ”Buddy,“ she said, ”maybe you could be a writer."

I clasped the idea to my heart.I had never met a writer, and shown no previous urge to write, and hadn't a notion how to become a writer, but I loved stories and thought that making up stories must surely be almost as much fun as reading them.Best of all, though, and what really gladdened my heart, was the ease of the writer's life.Writers did not have to trudge through the town peddling from canvas bags, defending themselves against angry dogs, being rejected by surly strangers.Writers did not have to ring doorbells.So far as I could make out, what writers did couldn't even be classified as work.33 I was enchanted.Writers didn't have to have any gumption at all.I did not dare tell anybody for fear of being laughed at in the schoolyard, but secretly I decided that what I'd like to be when I grew up was a writer.(1477 words)Lesson Thirteen

How to Grow Old Bertrand Russell

20世纪科学技术的长足进步大大提高了人的寿命，不少发达国家已经进入老年社会。老年人的生活和需要已经引起社会的广泛关注，因而联合国把1999年定为国际老人年。

老年人需要社会和子女的关怀，但更重要的是自己要正确面对迟早会到来的事实：思维的迟钝、体力的衰弱和死亡的临近。英国著名哲学家罗素的观点值得老年人借鉴，也值得目前年富力强的人深思，不仅因为他们有朝一日也会进入老年，更重要的是，因为对待老年的态度，其实也是对待人生的态度。

In spite of the title, this article will really be on how not to grow old, which, at my time of life, is a much more important subject.My parents died young, I have done well in this respect as regards my other ancestors.My maternal grandfather, it is true, was cut off in the flower of his youth at the age of sixty-seven, but my other three grandparents all lived to be over eighty.Of remoter ancestors I can only discover one who did not live to a great age, and he died of a disease which is now rare, namely, having his head cut off.A great grand mother of mine lived to the age of ninety-two, and to her

last day remained a terror to all her descendants.My maternal grandmother, after having nine children who survived, one who died in infancy, and many miscarriages, as soon as she became a widow devoted herself to women's higher education.She was one of the founders of Girt on College, and worked hard at opening the medical profession to women.She used to tell of how she met in Italy an elderly gentleman who was looking very sad.She asked him why he was so melancholy and he said that he had just parted from his two grandchildren.“Good gracious,” she exclaimed, “I have seventy-two grandchildren, and if I were sad each time I parted from one of them, I should have a miserable existence!Madre snaturale,” he replied.But speaking as one of the seventy-two, I prefer her recipe.After the age of eighty she found she had some difficulty in getting to sleep, so she habitually spent the hours from midnight to 3 a.m.in reading popular science.I do not believe that she ever had time to notice that she was growing old.This, I think, is the proper recipe for remaining young.If you have wide and keen interests and activities in which you can still be effective, you will have no reason to think about the merely statistical fact of the number of years you have already lived, still less of the probable shortness of your future.2 As regards health, I have nothing useful to say as I have little experience of illness.I eat and drink whatever I like, and sleep when I cannot keep awake.I never do anything whatever on the ground that it is good for health, though in actual fact the things I like doing are mostly wholesome.3 Psychologically there are two dangers to be guarded against in old age.One of these is too great an absorption in the past.One should not live in memories, in regrets for the good old days, or in sadness about friends who are dead.One's thoughts must be directed to the future, and to things about which there is something to be done.This is not always easy;one's own past is a gradually increasing weight.It is easy to think to oneself that one's emotions used to be more vivid than they are, and one's mind more keen.If this is true it should be forgotten, and if it is forgotten it will probably not be true.The other thing to be avoided is clinging to youth in the hope of finding strength in its vitality.When your children are grown up they want to live their own lives, and if you continue to be as interested in them as you were when they were young, you are likely to become a burden to them, unless they are unusually insensible.I do not mean that one should be without interest in them, but one's interest should be contemplative and, if possible, philanthropic, but not too emotional.Animals become indifferent to their young as soon as their young can look after themselves, but human beings, owing to the length of infancy, find this less easy.5 I think that a successful old age is easiest for those who have strong impersonal interests leading to suitable activities.It is in this sphere that long experience is really fruitful, and that the wisdom born of experience can be used without becoming a burden.It is no use telling grown-up children not to make mistakes, both because they will not believe you, and because mistakes are an essential part of education.But if you are one of those who are incapable of impersonal interests, you may find that your life will be empty unless you concern yourself with your children and grandchildren.In that case you must realise that while you can still help them in material ways, as by making them an allowance or knitting them jumpers, you must not expect that they will enjoy your company.6 Some old people are troubled by the fear of death.In the young there is a justification for this feeling.Young men who have reason to fear they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that life has to offer.But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows and has done whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat ignoble.The best way to overcome it — so at least it seems to me — is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly part of the universal life.An individual human existence should be like a river — small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls.Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become part of the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the thing he cares for will continue.And if, with the loss of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome.I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.Three Passions l Have Lived For

Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind.These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.49

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy — so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of my life for a few hours of this joy.I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness — that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss.I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined.This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what — at last — I have found.9 With equal passion I have sought knowledge.I have wished to understand the hearts of men.I have wished to know why the stars shine A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.10 Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens.But always pity brought me back to earth.Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart.Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be.I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.11 This has been my life.I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.(304 words)

Lesson Fourteen

The Listener John Berry

一位几乎与世隔绝的八旬灯塔看管人，与一位三流小提琴手不期而遇。小提琴手为了躲避即将来临的暴风雨，来到老人的灯塔里，受到热诚的欢迎与款待。灯塔之外狂风怒号，掀起阵阵巨浪；灯塔内，老人从容不迫地履行自己的职责，泰然自若地与客人交谈。小提琴手端详着老人，情不自禁地拿出他心爱的乐器，在汹涌澎湃的暴风雨伴奏之下，为老人演奏了贝多芬的名曲。从未见过小提琴，不知音乐为何物的老人频频点头，完全理解乐曲反映出的思想感情，小提琴手找到了知音。

Once there was a little concert violinist named Rudolf, who lived in Sweden.Some of his friends thought he was not the best of musicians because he was restless;others thought he was restless because he was not the best of musicians.At any rate, he hit upon a way of making a living, with no competitors.Whether by choice or necessity, he used to sail about Scandinavia in his small boat, all alone, giving concerts in little seaport towns.If he found an accompanist, well and good;if not, he played works for unaccompanied violin;and it happened once or twice that he wanted a piano so badly that he imagined one, and then he played whole sonatas for violin and piano, with no piano in sight.2 One year Rudolf sailed all the way out to Iceland and began working his way around that rocky coast from one town to another.It was a hard, stubborn land;but people in those difficult places do not forget the law of hospitality to the stranger — for their God may decree that they too shall become strangers on the face of the earth.The audiences were small, and even if Rudolf had been really first-rate, they would not have been very demonstrative.From ancient times their energy had gone, first of all, into earnest toil.Sometimes the local schoolteacher, who reminded them of their duty to the names of Beethoven and Bach and Mozart and one or two others whose music perhaps was not much heard in those parts, collected them.Too often people sat stolidly watching the noisy little fiddler, and went home feeling gravely edified.But they paid.3 As Rudolf was sailing from one town to the next along a sparsely settled shore, the northeast turned black and menacing.A storm was bearing down upon Iceland.Rudolf was rounding a bleak, dangerouscape, and his map told him that the nearest harbor was half a day's journey away.He was starting to worry when he saw, less than a mile off shore, a lighthouse on a tiny rock island.At the base of the lighthouse was a deep, narrow cove, protected by cliffs.With some difficulty, in the rising seas, he put in there and moored to an iron ring that hung from the cliff.A flight of stairs, cut in the rock, led up to the lighthouse.On top of the cliff, outlined against the scudding clouds, stood a man.4 “You are welcome!” the voice boomed over the sound of the waves that were already beginning to break over the island.Darkness fell quickly.The lighthouse keeper led his guest up the spiral stairs to the living room on the third floor，50

第二篇：综合英语三课文翻译（范文）

Unit 1 Changes in the Way We Live

在美国，不少人对乡村生活怀有浪漫的情感。许多居住在城镇的人梦想着自己办个农场，梦想着靠土地为生。很少有人真去把梦想变为现实。或许这也没有什么不好，因为，正如吉姆·多尔蒂当初开始其写作和农场经营双重生涯时所体验到的那样，农耕生活远非轻松自在。但他写道，自己并不后悔，对自己作出的改变生活方式的决定仍热情不减。

Mr.Doherty Builds His Dream Life

Jim Doherty

有两件事是我一直想做的――写作与务农。如今我同时做着这两件事。作为作家，我和E·B·怀特不属同一等级，作为农场主，我和乡邻也不是同一类人，不过我应付得还行。在城市以及郊区历经多年的怅惘失望之后，我和妻子桑迪终于在这里的乡村寻觅到心灵的满足。

这是一种自力更生的生活。我们食用的果蔬几乎都是自己种的。自家饲养的鸡提供鸡蛋，每星期还能剩余几十个出售。自家养殖的蜜蜂提供蜂蜜，我们还自己动手砍柴，足可供过冬取暖之用。

这也是一种令人满足的生活。夏日里我们在河上荡舟，在林子里野餐，骑着自行车长时间漫游。冬日里我们滑雪溜冰。我们为落日的余辉而激动。我们爱闻大地回暖的气息，爱听牛群哞叫。我们守着看鹰儿飞过上空，看玉米田间鹿群嬉跃。

但如此美妙的生活有时会变得相当艰苦。就在三个月前，气温降

到华氏零下30度，我们辛苦劳作了整整两天，用一个雪橇沿着河边拖运木柴。再过三个月，气温会升到95度，我们就要给玉米松土，在草莓地除草，还要宰杀家禽。前一阵子我和桑迪不得不翻修后屋顶。过些时候，四个孩子中的两个小的，16岁的吉米和13岁的埃米莉，会帮着我一起把拖了很久没修的室外厕所修葺一下，那是专为室外干活修建的。这个月晚些时候，我们要给果树喷洒药水，要油漆谷仓，要给菜园播种，要赶在新的小鸡运到之前清扫鸡舍。

在这些活计之间，我每周要抽空花五、六十个小时，不是打字撰文，就是为作为自由撰稿人投给报刊的文章进行采访。桑迪则有她自己繁忙的工作日程。除了日常的家务，她还照管菜园和蜂房，烘烤面包，将食品装罐、冷藏，开车送孩子学音乐，和他们一起练习，自己还要上风琴课，为我做些研究工作并打字，自己有时也写写文章，还要侍弄花圃，堆摞木柴、运送鸡蛋。正如老话说的那样，在这种情形之下，坏人不得闲――贤德之人也歇不了。

我们谁也不会忘记第一年的冬天。从12月一直到3月底，我们都被深达5英尺的积雪困着。暴风雪肆虐，一场接着一场，积雪厚厚地覆盖着屋子和谷仓，而室内，我们用自己砍伐的木柴烧火取暖，吃着自家种植的苹果，温馨快乐每一分钟。

开春后，有过两次泛滥。一次是河水外溢，我们不少田地被淹了几个星期。接着一次是生长季节到了，一波又一波的农产品潮涌而来，弄得我们应接不暇。我们的冰箱里塞满了樱桃、蓝莓、草莓、芦笋、豌豆、青豆和玉米。接着我们存放食品罐的架子上、柜橱里也开始堆

满一罐罐的腌制食品，有番茄汁、葡萄汁、李子、果酱和果冻。最后，地窖里遍地是大堆大堆的土豆、西葫芦、南瓜，谷仓里也储满了苹果和梨。真是太美妙了。

第二年我们种了更多的作物，差不多就靠着从自家树林砍斫的木柴以及仅仅100加仑的燃油过了冬。其时，我开始认真考虑起辞了职去从事自由撰稿的事来。时机选得实在太差。当时，两个大的女儿肖恩和埃米正在费用很高的常春藤学校上学，而我们只有几千美金的银行存款。但我们一再回到一个老问题上来：真的会有更好的时机吗？答案无疑是否定的。于是，带着老板的祝福，口袋里揣着作为累积津贴的半年薪水，我走了。

那以后有过一些焦虑的时刻，但总的来说，情况比我们料想的要好得多。为了写那些内容各不相同的文章，我为《体育画报》爬进过黑熊窝；为《史密森期刊》替参赛的一组组狗套上过雪橇；为《科学文摘》调查过尚普兰湖水怪的真相；为《终点》杂志在明尼苏达划着小舟穿越美、加边界水域内的公共荒野保护区。

我挣的钱远比不上担任全职工作时的收入，可如今我们需要的钱也没有过去多。我挣的钱足以应付每月600美金的房屋贷款按揭以及一家人的日常开销。那些开销包括了所有支出，如音乐课学费、牙医账单、汽车维修以及大学费用等等。至于保险，我们买了一份低收入者的主要医疗项目保险。我们需要为每一位家庭成员的任何一项医疗费用支付最初的500美金。医疗保险则支付超出部分的80％。虽然我们仍要支付小部分医疗费用，但我们的保险费也低——每年只要

560美金——而我们给自己生大病保了险。除了这一保险项目，以及两辆汽车每年400美金的保险，我们就没有其他保险了。不过我们每年留出2000美元入个人退休金账户。

我们通过节约开支而又不明显降低生活水准的方式来弥补收入差额。我们每个月仍出去吃一两次饭，不过现在我们光顾的是当地餐馆，而不是城里的高级饭店。我们仍去密尔沃基听歌剧看芭蕾演出，不过一年才几次。我们肉吃得少了，酒喝得便宜了，电影看得少了。铺张的圣诞节成为一种回忆，我们把完成稿约作为度假的一部分„„

我想，不是所有热爱乡村的人都会乐意过我们这种生活的。这种生活需要一些特殊的素质。其一是耐得住寂寞。由于我们如此忙碌，手头又紧，我们很少请客。在作物生长季节，根本就没工夫参加社交活动。吉米和埃米莉虽然参加学校的各种活动，但他俩大多数时间也呆在家里。

另一项要求是体力――相当大的体力。小范围里实现自给自足的途径是抵制诱惑，不去购置拖拉机和其他昂贵的节省劳力的机械。相反，你要自己动手。我们仅有的机器（不包括割草机）是一台3马力的小型旋转式耕耘机以及一架16英寸的链锯。

没人知道我们还能有精力在这里再呆多久——也许呆很长一阵子，也许不是。到走的时候，我们会怆然离去，但也会为自己所做的一切深感自豪。我们把农场出售也会赚相当大一笔钱。我们自己在农场投入了约35，000美金的资金，要是现在售出的话价格差不多可以翻一倍。不过现在不是出售的好时机。但是一旦经济形势好转，对我们这种农场的需求又会增多。

但我们主要不是为了赚钱而移居至此的。我们来此居住是因为想提高生活质量。当我看着埃米莉傍晚去收鸡蛋，跟吉米一起在河上钓鱼，或和全家人一起在果园里享用老式的野餐，我知道，我们找到了自己一直在寻求的生活方式。

Part B

唐娜·巴伦描述了美国家庭生活近几年来的变化。她指出有三种力量在起作用。是哪三种力量？请读本文。读后问一下自己，同样的力量在中国是否也在起作用。中国的家庭生活最终是否会朝着同一个方向变化？

American Family Life: The Changing Picture

Donna Barron

美国家庭生活：变化中的景象

唐娜·巴伦

这是美国家庭一个寻常的傍晚。

门在5：30准时推开。“嗨，亲爱的！我回来了！”亲爱的老爸走了进来，他在办公室上了一天的班，肚子饿了，人也累了。迎接他的是系着围裙的妈妈，3个快乐的孩子以及炖肉诱人的香味。

全家人从容地吃完饭后，妈妈就刷洗碗碟。反正这是她的活。接着全家人聚在起居室。一个晚上大家玩玩牌，看看电视。

随后各自上床睡觉。第二天早上，爸爸和孩子们在妈妈准备早餐发出的声响和薄饼、香肠散发的香味中醒来。

什么？你说那听起来不像你府上的生活？其实，不仅仅是你一个

人这么想。事实上，大多数人很可能都跟你一样这么想的。

上面描述的家庭可以说在美国曾一度相当典型。如今你仍能见到这样的家庭――不过得在电视里。只要看一看那些重播的情景剧老片子。例如，《交给比弗吧》一剧中妈妈带着珍珠项链、穿着高跟鞋做家务。爸爸整个周末都穿着西装，戴着领带。但像比弗·克立弗那样的家庭越来越少了。那样的家庭正在消失，因为我们生活中的三个部分发生了变化：我们的工作方式，餐饮方式以及娱乐方式。了解这些变化所带来的影响也许有助于我们改善家庭生活。

我们先来看一下我们工作方式的变化。今天，“嗨，亲爱的，我回家了！”这句话可能不是出自亲爱的老爸之口。亲爱的老妈也同样可能说这句话。在上一代，大多数家庭可以靠一份工资――爸爸的工资维持。妈妈呆在家里，至少在孩子上学前是如此。但今天，一半以上有幼儿的母亲外出工作。在职人员中有大孩子的母亲的比例更高。而单亲家庭的数量在过去30年中急剧增长。

工作方面的这些变化影响着家长以及孩子。当父亲一人外出上班时，孩子们放学回家有妈妈在。（在情景电视剧里，他们回家有妈妈在，还有家里做的饼干）如今，我们会在晚托班或邻居家里见到他们。要不他们就回到空无一人的家。在各社区，孩子们都自己照管自己，直到父母下班回家。这些孩子会不会失去童年时期本应有的一些重要的东西？还是会因此培养起一种健康的自立意识？这些问题是克立弗太太过去从来不用操心的。

此外，爸爸，如今还有妈妈，在外的时间常常比以往任何时候都

长。不多久前，大多数男人还就近工作。办公室或者工厂就在市区。爸爸经常走着去上班，或者顺路搭友好邻居的车。但现在不一样了。今天的上班男女都是坐车来回的。他们上班距离之远会让他们的父母惊讶得倒抽一口凉气。45分钟或1小时的车程是常见的。上班族坐公共汽车、地铁，或开车行驶在交通拥挤的公路上。不少人一清早就离开位于郊区的家，一直要到天黑了才回来。今天的通勤族不再赶回家吃午饭。

说起午饭，那正是美国家庭生活的第二大变化。要是父母都长时间不在家，那谁在厨房里忙着准备美味的菜肴呢？越来越多听到的回答是没有人做饭。

如今，很少人有时间采购、烹制“家常”饭菜。克立弗一家常常吃炖肉或炖鸡，除主菜外还有土豆、色拉、蔬菜，甜食是馅饼或蛋糕。但烧这种饭菜要花几个小时。要是人们5：30才回到家，就无法在厨房里呆上几个小时。

那么双职工家庭吃什么呢？他们选择容易烹制或已经烹制好的食品。快餐，外卖食物，加热即食的菜肴构成了当今美国食谱的很大一部分。爸爸可能带回家一大包巨无霸汉堡包和饮料。妈妈可能电话定购中国菜，或让附近的比萨店外送。越来越多的人依赖微波炉在几分钟内把冷冻食品解冻。

这些烹制简易的菜肴造成的后果之一是，一家人一起坐下吃饭的时间少了。传统的快餐，如汉堡包，炸薯条，是让人匆匆忙忙吃的，而不是坐在餐桌旁慢慢享用的。现代家庭不再一起享用晚餐。其结果

是，大家不再相互交流一天的事，也感觉不到合家团聚的气氛。

最后一点，晚饭之后又如何？晚上的家居生活总该跟克立弗家多少有几分相似了吧？

没有丝毫相似之处。

我们不必走出家门去看有什么变化。当今美国家庭的娱乐方式是克立弗家无从想像的。

三十年前，家家户户每天晚上围坐着听收音机。后来电视机取而代之。大多数家庭只有一台电视机，全家人一起收看。如今，电视机和电脑将多得令人眩目的娱乐活动带入家庭。有线电视播出的节目从有氧操到莎士比亚戏剧无所不有。录像机更是扩大了选择性。要是网络电视或有线电视没有中意的节目，录像制品商店可提供好莱坞制作的品质迥异的各种节目：新近发行的电影、动画片、“成人”电影、体育锻炼节目、旅游、体育以及入门指南录像带。让收看人参与其间的电脑游戏也提供了相当的刺激。游戏者能在奥运会上施展身手，寻找外星人，或者在小小的屏幕上摧毁整个文明国家。

有了那么多的选择，拥有一台以上的电视机也就合乎情理了。过去很少有人家拥有一台以上电视机。如今，妈妈在看她的有线电视销售服务节目的时候，爸爸可能想租一部动作片。而在女儿想看《辛普森一家》时，儿子却在玩《让我们炸毁土星》的电子游戏。何不多买几台呢？那样每一个家庭成员都可以互不干扰地看各自喜爱的节目。

当今家庭的这一景象有何弊端呢？

只有一个弊端。今天的克立弗一家晚上各自守着自己的电视机。

随后他们各自上床。第二天早上，他们匆匆忙忙各奔各的岗位（上班或上学）。他们在各自不同的时间回家。他们分头吃饭。最后，他们又各自回到自己的电视机前，各自进行晚上的娱乐活动。在所有这些时段当中，他们什么时候相互交谈或见面呢？家人什么时候才相聚呢？

现代生活的某些现实无法改变。其一是大多数家庭需要父母两个人的工资收入。其二是许多人必得去较远处上班或上学。可是，非得为此改变一切吗？我们非得在这一过程中丧失原有的家庭结构吗？

没有人说我们应该回到五十年代去。克立弗家庭即使在当时也只是虚构而非现实。但我们或许能从这一人家获得一个重要的借鉴，即家庭生活和工作、娱乐同样重要。如果我们同意这一看法，我们就能设法找到更多时间聚在一起。我们就能找到共同的兴趣。那样的话，我们家庭生活的情景就颇为美妙了。

Unit 2 Civil-Rights Heroes

2004年，一个纪念“地下铁路”的中心将在辛辛那提州成立。这条铁路不同寻常，它不出售车票，也无火车行驶。然而，它将成千上万的乘客送往他们梦想中的目的地。

The Freedom Givers

Fergus M.Bordewich

给人以自由者 弗格斯·M·博得威

我步出这幢两层小屋，加拿大平原上轻风微拂。我身边是一位苗条的黑衣女子，把我带回到过去的向导。那时，安大略省得雷斯顿这

一带住着美国历史上的一位英雄。我们前往一座普普通通的灰色教堂，芭芭拉·卡特自豪地谈论着其高祖乔赛亚·亨森。“他坚信上帝要所有人生来平等。他从来没有停止过争取这一自由权利的奋斗。”

卡特对其先辈的忠诚不仅仅关乎一己之骄傲，而关乎家族荣誉。因为乔赛亚·亨森至今仍为人所知是由于他所激发的创作灵感使得一个美国小说人物问世：汤姆叔叔，哈丽特·比彻·斯陀的小说《汤姆叔叔的小屋》中那个逆来顺受的黑奴。具有讽刺意味的是，这一人物所象征的一切在亨森身上一点都找不到。一个不愿奋起力争、背叛种族的黑人？卡特对此颇为愤慨。“乔赛亚·亨森是个有原则的人，”她肯定地说。

我远道前来亨森最后的居所――如今已成为卡特曾管理过的一处历史遗迹――是为了更多地了解此人，他在许多方面堪称黑人摩西。亨森自己摆脱了黑奴身份获得自由之后，便秘密帮助其他许多黑奴逃奔北方去加拿大――逃奔自由之地。许多人和他一起在得雷斯顿这一带定居了下来。

但此地只是我所承担的繁重使命的一处停留地。乔赛亚·亨森只是一长串无所畏惧的男女名单中的一个名字，这些人共同创建了这条“地下铁路”，一条由逃亡线路和可靠的人家组成的用以解放美国南方黑奴的秘密网络。在1820年至1860年期间，多达十万名黑奴经由此路走向自由。

2000年10月，克林顿总统批准拨款1600万美元建造全国“地下铁路”自由中心，以此纪念美国历史上第一次伟大的民权斗争。中

心计划于2004年在辛辛那提州建成。真是该建立这样一个中心的时候了。因为地下铁路的英雄们依然默默无闻，他们的业绩依然少人颂扬。我要讲述他们的故事。

听到轻轻的敲门声，约翰·帕克神情紧张起来。他开门窥望，夜色中认出是一位可靠的邻居。“有一群逃亡奴隶躲在肯塔基州的树林里，就在离河20英里的地方，”那人用急迫的口气低语道。帕克没一点儿迟疑。“我就去，”他说着，把两支手枪揣进口袋。

20年前，即19世纪20年代，生来即为黑奴的帕克才8岁就被从母亲身边带走，被迫拖着镣铐从弗吉尼亚走到阿拉巴马，在那里的黑奴市场被买走。他打定主意有朝一日要过自由的生活，便设法学会了铸铁这门手艺。后来他终于靠这门手艺攒够钱赎回了自由。现在，帕克白天在俄亥俄州里普利港的一家铸铁厂干活。到了晚上，他就成了地下铁路的一位“乘务员”，帮助人们避开追捕逃亡黑奴的人。在他正前往的肯塔基州，当局悬赏1000美元抓他，活人死尸都要。

在那个阴冷的夜晚，帕克渡过俄亥俄河，找到了十个丧魂落魄的逃亡者。“拿好包裹跟我走，”他一边吩咐他们，一边带着这八男二女朝河边走去。就要到岸时，一个巡夜人发现了他们，急忙跑开去报告。

帕克看见一条小船，便大喝一声，把那些逃亡黑奴推上了船。大家都上了船，但有两个人容不下。小船徐徐驶向对岸，帕克眼睁睁地看着追捕者把他被迫留下的两个男人围住。

其他的人都上了岸，帕克急忙安排了一辆车把他们带到地下铁路的下一“站”――他们走向安全的加拿大之旅的第一程。约翰·帕克

在有生之年一共带领400多名黑奴走向安全之地。

黑人去当乘务员常常是由于本人痛苦的经历，而那些白人则往往是受了宗教信仰的感召。在北卡罗来纳州长大的贵格会教徒利瓦伊·科芬解释说：“《圣经》上只是要我们给饥者以食物，无衣者以衣衫，但没提到过肤色的事。”

在19世纪20年代，科芬向西迁移前往印第安纳州的新港（即今天的喷泉市），在那里开了一家小店。人们传说，逃亡黑奴在科芬家总是能得到庇护。有时他一次庇护的逃亡者就多达17人，他还备有一组人员和车辆把他们送往下一段行程。到后来有三条主要路线在科芬家汇合，科芬家成了地下铁路的中央车站。

科芬经常由于他做的工作受到被杀的威胁，收到焚毁他店铺和住宅的警告。几乎每一个乘务员都面临类似的危险――或者更为严重。在北方，治安官会对帮助逃亡的人课以罚金，或判以短期监禁。在南方各州，白人则被判处几个月甚至几年的监禁。一位勇敢的循道宗牧师卡尔文·费尔班克在肯塔基州被关押了17年多，他记录了自己遭受毒打的情况：总共被鞭笞了35,105下。

至于那些黑奴，逃亡意味着数百英里的长途跋涉，意味着穿越自己极易被人辨认的陌生地域。没有路标，也几乎没有线路图，他们赶路全凭着口口相告的路线以及秘密记号――比如树上钉着的钉子――是乘务员用来标示北上路线的记号。

许多黑奴在夜色掩护下赶路，有时脸上涂着厚厚的白粉。贵格会教徒经常让他们的“乘客”不分男女穿上灰衣服，戴上深沿帽，披着

把头部完全遮盖住的面纱。有一次，利瓦伊·科芬运送的逃亡黑奴实在太多，他就把他们装扮成出殡队伍。

加拿大是许多逃亡者的首选终点站。那儿1833年就废除了奴隶制，加拿大当局鼓励逃亡奴隶在其广阔的未经开垦的土地上定居。其中就有乔赛亚·亨森。

还是孩子的亨森在马里兰州目睹着全家人被卖给不同的主人，看到母亲为了想把自己留在她身边而遭受毒打。亨森非常认命，干活勤勉，深受主人器重。

经济困顿最终迫使亨森的主人将他及其妻儿送到主人在肯塔基州的一个兄弟处。在那儿干了几年苦工之后，亨森听说了一个可怕的消息：新主人准备把他卖到遥远的南方腹地去农庄干活。这名奴隶将与自己的家人永远分离。

只有一条路可走：逃亡。“我会认北斗星，”许多年后亨森写道。“就像圣地伯利恒的救星一样，它告诉我在哪里可以获救。”

亨森和妻子冒着极大的风险带着四个孩子上路了。两个星期之后，饥饿疲惫的一家人来到了辛辛那提州，在那儿，他们与地下铁路的成员取得了联系。“他们为我们提供了食宿，非常关心，接着又用车送了我们30英里。”

亨森一家继续往北走，最后来到纽约州的布法罗。在那儿，一位友善的船长指着尼亚加拉河对岸。“‘看见那些树没有？’他说，‘它们生长在自由的土地上。’”他给了亨森一美元钱，安排了一条小船，小船载着这位黑奴及其家人过河来到加拿大。

“我扑倒在地，在沙土里打滚，手舞足蹈，最后，在场的那几个人都认定我是疯子。‘他是个疯子，’有个沃伦上校说。”

“‘不，不是的！知道吗？我自由了！’”

Part B 只有极少数有人能说自己的行动改变了国家的面貌，这里就有这样一位人士——罗莎。让我们看一下她的一生吧。她坐了下去，因而她的美国同胞能够站立起来。

Rosa Parks:the Mother of the American Civil Rights Movement

——Nancy Steinbach 罗莎：美国民权运动之母

20世纪60年代以前美国许多地方的黑人不能像白人那样享受一样的民权。美国南方的法律把两个种族分割开来，这些法律让黑人上不同的学校，居住不同的区域，公共汽车上坐不同部位的座位。

1955年12月1日，在南部城市阿拉巴马州的蒙哥马利，一位42岁的黑人妇女坐上公共汽车。那里法律规定坐在某些部位的黑人必须把座位让给想要坐这个位子的白人，但那个妇女拒绝让座于是她被捕了。

这一和平的不服从行为引起了蒙哥马利的黑人抗议。最终使少数民族权力在法律上发生了变化。开始了美国民权运动的新阶段。而引发这次抗议的妇女名字就是罗莎。

她1913年出生在特斯基，取名罗莎。11岁前一直在本地上学，后来她去蒙哥马利上学。她很早离开父母去照顾生病的祖母。后来她也照顾母亲。直到 21岁她才中学毕业。

她1932 年与帕克斯结婚，他是理发员也是民权积极分子。他们两个人一起为美国有色人种协会在当地的一个部门工作。43年帕克斯成为了当地小组的一位干事，后来成为年轻人的领导。从20世纪30年代到55年，罗莎是当地的一个女裁缝，但后来她成为千百万美国黑人争取自由的代表。

20世纪50年代在美国南部许多地方，公共汽车前排座位是专门为白人所留，黑人坐后面，中间部位白人黑人都可以坐。但是如果白人想坐中间的坐位黑人必须让座。

当时一个白人想坐这里的时候，罗莎和另外三位黑人坐在那里。司机要求所有黑人都起立离开，这样白人坐下后就不会有黑人在旁边。但是罗莎拒绝起立于是她被捕了。

一些流传的故事还包括下面这点，罗莎拒绝的原因是她的脚累了，但是多年后她自己说不是这样。她说她真正感觉厌倦的是她遭受不公平待遇。后来她解释说，这儿似乎是她结束受人摆布，弄清楚如果有的话究竟有何人权的地方。

蒙哥马利的黑人妇女积极分子团体叫妇女政治联合会，该联合会致力于反对黑人公共汽车乘客遭受虐待。黑人因违背司机命令被捕甚至被杀。罗莎不是第一个在公共汽车上拒绝让座位给白人的黑人。但是蒙哥马利的黑人团体认为应该团结在她周围组织抗议活动。她是适合担当这一任务的公民，因为她是该市最优秀的公民之一。

这个妇女组织马上号召城里所有黑人在12月5日周一罗莎受审那天拒绝乘坐市内汽车。结果那天有四万人步行或使用其他交通工具。那天晚上在全市各个地方召开的会议上，蒙哥马利的所有黑人都赞成继续拒绝乘坐公共汽车，直到停止对他们的不公正待遇。他们还要求市内雇佣黑人驾驶员，要求任何人都可以坐中间部位座位。不必起身让座。

蒙哥马利的抵制坐公共汽车一直持续了381天。由当地的黑人领袖尼克森和年轻的黑人马丁-路德金领导。在南部的一些其他城市也举行了些类似的抗议活动。最终美国最高法院对罗莎的案件作出最后裁决。裁定公共汽车在车上隔离是非法的。这一裁决56年11月13日作出，这几乎是罗莎被捕一年后，蒙哥马利抵制活动在12月20日法院的裁决下来第二天结束。

罗莎和马丁·路德金在美国南部采取了非暴力抗议活动，这个活动永久性的改变了美国人权状况。路德金成为这一运动发言人，但是他自己在有生之年没有看到成果。而罗莎看到了。

在抵制公共汽车日子里，罗莎和家人的生活变得越来越困难，她被解雇，无法找到工作。因此帕克斯一家离开了蒙哥马利。一开始到佛界尼亚随后搬到迪特里65年之前她一直是位裁缝，后来密西根州议员科尼尔给了她一份工作，让她在议会办公室工作88年她从这 个岗位上退休。

多年来罗莎一直为全国有色人种协会工作。出现在民权运动各种场合，她是个文静的女子，常常对自己名望感觉不安。但是她说她曾

帮助别人，尤其是年轻人。使他们过有意义的生活，并去帮助别人。87年她成立了罗莎发展学院，用以改善美国黑人孩子的生活。罗莎因为从事民权活动而得到两项最高荣誉，96年克林顿总统授予她总统自由勋章，99年她获得国会荣誉金质奖章。

在她晚年人们经常问她，自从20世纪60年代通过民权法案以来种族关系改善了多少，她认为还有很长路要走。但是她仍然是美国争取种族平等的代表人物。

罗莎05年10月去世，享年92岁。她遗体安放在华盛顿国会大夏，受到公众瞻仰。她是享有这个荣誉的第一个美国女性，有三万人默默从她身边走过，表示敬意。

众议院议员科尔斯曾谈起这位温和而坚强的女性对国家意味着什么。他说，只有极少数人能说自己行动和行为改变了国家面貌，罗莎就是这些人中的一个。

Unit 3 Security

许多年前，在美国，家家户户白天黑夜不锁门是司空见惯的。在本文中，格林叹惜人们不再相互信任，不得不凭借精密的安全设备来保护自己和财产。

The Land of the Lock

Bob Greene

锁之国

鲍伯·格林

小时候在家里，我们的前门总是夜不落锁。我不知道这是当地的一种说法还是大家都这么说；“不落锁”的意思是掩上门，但不锁住。

我们谁都不带钥匙；晚上最后一个回家的人把门关上，这就行了。

那样的日子已经一去不复返了。在乡下，在城里，门不再关着不锁上，哪怕是傍晚一段时间也不例外。

在许多方面，郊区和农村甚至比巡查严密的城市街道更易受到攻击。统计显示，那些据称是安宁的地区的犯罪率上升得比城镇更为显著。不管怎么说，前门虚掩不落锁的时代是一去不复返了。

取而代之的是防盗锁、防护链、电子报警系统，以及连接警署或私人保安公司的报警装置。郊区的许多人家在露台上安装了玻璃滑门，内侧有装得很讲究的钢条，这样就没人能把门撬开。

在最温馨的居家，也常常看得到窗上贴着小小的告示，称本宅由某家安全机构或某个保安公司负责监管。

锁成了美国的新的象征。的确，一家大保险公司最近的一则公益广告没有用图表表明我们所处的危险有多大，而是用了一幅童车的图片，车身上悬着如今无所不在的挂锁。

广告指出，没错，确是保险公司理赔失窃物品，但谁来赔偿互不信任、担心害怕这种新氛围对我们的生活方式所造成的影响呢？谁来对美国从自由之国到锁之国这一蜕变作出精神赔偿呢？

因为那就是现状。我们已经变得如此习惯于保护自己不受美国生活新氛围的影响，如此习惯于设置障碍，因而无暇考虑这一切意味着什么。

出于某种原因，当我们觉得防范周密时就感到心满意足；我们没有问过自己：为什么会出现这种情况？为什么非得把自己与邻居和同

住一城的居民相隔绝，这一切究竟是从什么时候开始主宰我们生活的？

这一切确是主宰了我们的生活。如果你在一家大中型公司上班，你上下班很可能不好随意进出。你可能随身带着某种出入卡，电子的或别的什么的，因为这卡能让你进出工作场所。也许前台的保安认识你这张脸，平日一挥手让你进去，但事实明摆着，你所任职的公司深感面临威胁，因此要借助这些“钥匙”不让外人靠近。

这一现象并非向来有之。即使在十年前，大多数私营公司仍采取自由出入的做法。那时管理人员根本没想到过恰当的手段是不信任他人。

且看各地机场。过去家长常常带孩子去登机口看飞机起飞降落。这种事再也没有了。机场不再是一个有趣的学习场所；它们成了拥有最精密的安全检查系统的场所。

凭借着电子透视装置，我们似乎终于想出妙计让恐怖分子无法近身，无论是真的恐怖分子还是凭空臆想的。能解决这一问题真是如释重负，于是我们不去多想这种状况对我们的生活质量意味着什么。如今我们走过这些电子搜查器时已经看都不看一眼了，这些装置，还有它们所代表的一切已经获胜。

我们的居住区处在强光源的照射下；我们连哪怕像阴影这样小小的享受也不想给自己。

越来越多的商人正购置连接在电话机上、能剖析来电者声音的新机器。据说那种机器能让商人知道他的朋友或客户是否在撒谎，其出

错概率很小。

所有这一切都是以“安全”的名义实施的：我们是这么跟自己说的。我们害怕，于是我们设法把害怕锁在外面，我们认定，那就是安全的意义。

其实不然；我们虽然有了这一切安全措施，但我们或许是人类文明史上最不安全的国民。还有什么更好的字眼能用来描述我们被迫选择的生活方式呢？还有什么更为可悲地表明我们在这个令人困惑的新时代所感受到的惶恐之情呢？

我们不信任任何人。郊区的家庭主妇在客货两用车钥匙链上挂着防强暴口哨。我们在自我防卫方面变得如此聪明，最终聪明反被聪明误。我们或许是把邪恶锁在了门外，但在这么做的同时我们把自己锁在里边了。

那也许是我们将来回顾这一时代时记得最牢的精神遗产：在对付我们中间无形的恐惧之时，我们成了自己的囚徒。在我们这个问题重重的时代，所有的人都是囚徒。

Part B 特。另外一些人则拒绝这么做，比如她的许多朋友，因为他们认为，枪支引发的问题比解决的更多。以前盖尔与她的朋友们持有相同的观点，但后来她改变了看法。读一读她所说的一切，并判定她的选择是否明智。

Why I Bought A Gun

Gail Buchalter

我为什么买枪

盖尔·巴卡尔特

我在曼哈顿一个相当不错的社区长大。我的中上阶级的社会背景从来与枪支无涉。我的父母要是觉得有威胁存在，他们仅仅是在门上再加把锁。

高中时，我用一件开司米羊毛衫跟人换了个黑色的臂章。我参加人权游行，反对国防演习，抗议越南战争。作为妙龄18的少女，当一名反战分子，真是轻松自在。那时我还没有一个11岁的孩子要抚养。

时至今日，我成了一个典型的被枪支制造商看重并视为其潜在买主的那种女人——成了成千上万个采取这种行动的人中的一员。

一个万圣节的晚上，在我婚后移居的凤凰城，我开始怀疑自己的和平主义信条。一辆车与我的车差点迎头相撞时，我几乎都到家了。我以纽约城出租车司机的敏捷，快速摇下车窗高声咒骂那位开车的。他当即掉转车头，几乎撞上我的车后保险杠。这时，他和两个同伴从车窗伸出头来，嚷嚷着要强奸我，砍我，杀了我。

我开进车道才想起丈夫不在家。这下我进退两难。那辆车尾随着跟了进来。我把车开到后门廊停下，冲进厨房，我家的那两条狗站在那儿等我。那三个家伙从汽车里一拥而出，进了院子。

我的心怦怦直跳。我抓起杰克和斯露西的颈圈――一条是200磅重的爱尔兰狼狗，另一条是它的伙伴，140磅重的北极犬。随后我一

脚踢开后门――我吓坏了，变得暴躁好斗――事实上我要激那三人过来。有狗相助，局势变得对我有利，他们退回安全的车里，嚷嚷着说要明天来宰了我。总算幸运，他们没再露面。

几年后，我离了婚，带着3岁的儿子乔丹前往洛杉矶（那两条狗也死了）。几个星期后我送他去幼儿园，老师发现我是个单身母亲，马上提醒我，我刚搬入的居住区里有个强奸犯。

我给警察局打了个电话，他们证实了这一情况。那个强奸犯没有什么特别的作案规律。有时他在受害者家里等候，有时他趁人入睡时潜入。当时正是夏天，可夜间我还是谨慎地锁住窗户，然后躺在床上，吓得浑身是汗。谢天谢地，那个强奸犯被逮捕了，可那是在他又强暴了两名女子之后。

不久，报纸上又报道起另一个丧心病狂的恐怖人物的事来。此人名叫理查德·巴米里，人称“入室杀手”，被抓获前，一连几个月残害、杀死他人。据称他的犯罪行为非常野蛮，他加害于人的欲望非常强烈，这使我开始对自己在任何情况下决不杀人的信念产生了怀疑。取人性命的想法令我憎恨，但成为他人受害者的念头更可怕。我开始问自己，你怎么跟一个杀人犯或强奸犯来谈论和平呢？

最后，我决定要自我防卫，哪怕这意味着杀死他人。我意识到，自己曾积极提倡的一厢情愿的和平主义会为害自身，更糟的是，会为害我的儿子。于是我极不情愿地决定：为了我们的生存，我必须确保有一个最佳选择方案。我的选择：依靠警察，或拥有一支枪。

我给不久前认识的一个人打电话，我记得他有好几支枪。他告诉

我，他有一支史密斯－韦森0.38口径特种枪要出售，建议我买下，因为那支枪小巧好使，又有必要的威慑力。

我买下了枪。在同一天，我弄到了6发包着塑料头、一撞击就崩碎的特别的子弹。这些子弹不是打靶练习用的，是防身用的。

花了大约50美元，我还买了个金属安全盒。如果知道正确的暗码，它的按钮式锁一碰就开，大概比伸手去床头柜抽屉取他只慢一两秒钟。我知道儿子乔丹拿不到它，但我拿得到。

我把枪拿回家，乔丹兴奋得不得了。他不停地拿起来看，我紧张地瞧着。但我相信，知识仍是我们最有力的防范手段。由于我主张对孩子进行性知识教育，艾滋病知识教育，以及让孩子学会开车，我不能不赞成教儿子关于枪的知识。

随后，我携枪带儿子去射击场。我给乔丹租了一支0.22口径的手枪。（0.38口径的他摆弄不了。）10分钟后他放下了枪，我不禁松了口气――他不喜欢握枪的感觉。

但他并不因此不来问我，如果我不在家时有人闯入，他能不能用枪。我大喝一声“不行！”，喊声响得把我们都吓得跳了起来。我解释说，要是真有人闯入，他人小，又灵活，完全可以跳窗逃生。

如今他对那支枪早没了兴趣。两人在我的卧室一起看电视时，我常常练习开启安全盒，乔丹替我计时。我已经快到只需要3秒钟了。我会问他，拿枪时第一件要做的事是什么，他像看傻瓜似的看着我，说：“要看看子弹是不是没上膛。不过我是不会去碰它，也不会跟朋友们说的。”乔丹对枪已经厌倦了。

而我则盼着每个星期一――射击场的“女士专场”――我可以免费练习射击。我在柜台上买一盒子弹，几个靶子，戴上护眼罩和护耳罩，穿过双层门，来到射击区。

到了那儿，我把子弹装上膛，看着枪管上的瞄准器调整瞄准方向。我对着25英尺开外的真人大小的靶子的胸部连发6弹。随着一发发子弹洞穿对面画着的图像，我意识到，自己正在习惯拥有枪支，拿枪时不再害怕了。枪的重量在手上已觉得挺舒服。我坚持练习。太多的人由于不知如何使用枪而死在自己的枪下。

我花了好多年才决定买枪，又花了好几个星期才学会把子弹装上膛。枪让我恶梦不断。

一天夜晚，我梦见自己醒来，发现有人闯进屋子。我一把抓起枪，坐在床脚处等着。最后我看着他拐过墙角朝我走来。他很高大，把过道都堵住了――根本不可能击不中。我不想开枪，但我知道生死在此一搏。我手指扣住扳机，最后用力一扣，准备在亲手结束侵入者性命的同时庆幸自己没有成为牺牲品。就在我决定开枪时我醒了。

我如释重负，不由得热泪长流，幸亏这只是个梦。

我从来没有像在买枪一事上对某种行为的后果如此反复权衡――可是，我也从来没做过后果如此严重的事。我的大多数朋友甚至不肯跟我谈论这事。他们认为，暴力只能导致暴力。

他们或许是对的。

Unit 4 Imagination and Creativity

Was Einstein a Space Alien?

——Tony Phillips

爱因斯坦是一个外星人吗？

艾伯特·爱因斯坦被搞得筋疲力尽。连续第三个晚上，他的宝贝儿子汉斯，哭泣，让家人清醒直到黎明。当艾伯特终于睡着了却是时候起床去工作了。他不能跳过一天。他需要工作来养活家人。

他轻快地走到专利局，在那里他是一个“技术专家，第三级，”艾伯特担心他的母亲。她越来越虚弱，她不赞成他与米列娃结婚，关系紧张。艾伯特看了一眼路过商店的橱窗。他发现他的头发是一个烂摊子，他忘了梳一遍。

工作，家庭，使收支平衡。艾伯特感受到任何年轻丈夫和父亲的所有的压力和责任。

放松，他彻底改变了物理学。

1905年，在年龄26时，四年前他找到了工作作为一个物理学教授，爱因斯坦出版了五个最重要的论文在科学史——所有在他的空余时间写的。他证明了原子和分子的存在。1905年之前，科学家们不清楚那些。他认为光是小块，后来被称为“光子”，从而奠定了量子力学的基础。他描述了他的狭义相对论理论，空间和时间是同一个织物的线，他提出那是可弯曲、拉伸和扭曲的。

哦，顺便说一句，E = mc2。

在爱因斯坦之前，最后一个有这样突出创意的科学家，是艾萨克牛顿先生。它发生在1666年，牛顿隔离自己母亲的农场去避免爆发

在剑桥的瘟疫。没有什么更好的事，他提出了他的万有引力。

几个世纪以来，历史学家称为1666牛顿的“奇迹年。现在这些话有不同的意义：爱因斯坦和1905。联合国已经宣布2005年为“世界物理年”庆祝“爱因斯坦奇迹年”的100周年

现代流行文化吧画爱因斯坦是一个头发浓密的超级思想家。我们被告之他的想法，是不可能远远领先于其他科学家。他一定是从其他星球来的——也许是牛顿长大的同一个星球。

“爱因斯坦不是外星人。”哈佛大学物理学家和科学史家彼得笑到。“他是他那个时代的人。”他所有的1905年的文件揭开问题正在被其他科学家研究，成败参半。“如果爱因斯坦没有出生的 [文件]将最终由他人以某种形式写出来”Galison说

1905年值得注意的是，一个人撰写的五个文件的全部，加上原有的，爱因斯坦以不敬的方式得到自己的结论。

例如，光电效应。这在20世纪初是一个难题。当光照射到金属，如锌，电子会飞。只来一点点光集中集中撞击自由电子这才会发生。传播的波不具有光电效果。

解决办法似乎很简单——光的微粒。事实上，这是爱因斯坦在1905年提出的解决方案并在1921获得了诺贝尔奖。其他物理学家如普朗克，在工作相关的问题上，黑体辐射比爱因斯坦更先一步更有经验，步步逼近答案，但爱因斯坦先到那里。为什么呢？ 这是一个权威的问题。

“在爱因斯坦的时代，如果你想说，光是由粒子构成的，你发现

自己不同意的物理学家杰姆斯麦斯威尔的理论。“没有人想做这样的事。”Galison说。麦斯威尔方程取得了巨大的成功，统一物理电磁学和光学。麦斯威尔毫无疑问证明光是一种电磁波。麦斯威尔是一个权威人物。

爱因斯坦不在乎权威。他没有反抗被告知要做什么，但他讨厌被告诉什么是真理。即使作为一个孩子，他不断的怀疑和质疑。“你的存在在这里破坏了班级对我的尊敬。”他七年级的老师约瑟夫博士狄根哈特说。“狄根哈特还预测，爱因斯坦将一事无成”，这一性格缺陷是爱因斯坦发现的一个关键因素。

“在1905年，”Galison记录，“爱因斯坦刚刚获得博士学位。他不感激于一个导师或任何其他权威人物。”他的思想在相应地自由漫游。

回想起来，麦斯威尔是正确的。光是一种波动。但爱因斯坦也是对的。光是粒子。这个奇特的二元性物质困惑物理101班的学生跟在1905年困惑爱因斯坦一样。怎么光是二元性的？爱因斯坦不知道。

不过这不能使他慢下来。轻视谨慎，爱因斯坦采用了直观的飞跃，作为一个基本工具。“我相信直觉和灵感，”他写道，在1931年。“有时我觉得我是对的但不知道原因。”

尽管爱因斯坦的五篇论文发表在一年的时间里，但他一直自童年开始在深深地思考物理学。“在爱因斯坦家中，科学是餐桌上的谈话”Galison解释到。艾伯特的父亲赫尔曼和叔叔雅经营一家德国公司制造厂，包括发电机、电弧灯、灯泡、电话。这些都是世纪之初的高科技，“像现在一个在硅谷公司。”Galison记录。“艾伯特对科技感兴趣

是很自然的。”

爱因斯坦的父母有时会带艾伯特参加聚会。保姆是不必要的，当其他人在他周围跳舞时艾伯特坐在沙发上，全神贯注，静静地做数学题。笔和纸是艾伯特的玩具！

他有令人印象深刻的专注力。爱因斯坦的妹妹，玛雅，回忆说，“„„即使有很大的噪音，他也能躺在沙发上，拿起纸和笔，不平衡地靠在一个墨水瓶上，全神贯注地沉浸在一个问题中，就如同背景噪声是促进而不是打扰他。”

爱因斯坦很聪明，但没有比他的同行更特殊的地方。“我没有特殊的才能。”他说，“我只是有强烈的好奇心。”又说:“关于我能力的流行评估，和现实对比真是荒唐。”爱因斯坦将他的发现归功于想象力和无止境的提问而不是传统的智慧。

在后来的生活中，我们应该记住，他努力创造一个统一场理论，结合重力和其他自然的力量。他失败了。爱因斯坦的智慧不是无限的。

爱因斯坦的大脑也是如此。它被托马斯博士哈维在1955年爱因斯坦死的时候移除。他可能期待会发现一些惊人的事，但爱因斯坦的大脑看起来像任何其他的一样，灰色，起皱。并且，如果非要说什么不同，比一般人的小一点。

Part B

Anecdotes about Einstein

——Walter Isaacson

爱因斯坦的轶事

一个装他错误的废纸篓

艾伯特爱因斯坦抵达美国，在54岁驶入纽约港的远洋班轮westernland十月17,1933，官方欢迎委员会正在等着他。爱因斯坦和他的随行人员，然而，不知去向。

亚伯拉罕弗莱克斯纳，导演在普林斯顿高等研究院，新泽西，被屏蔽他的名人教授从宣传。所以他派拖船精神伟人从westernland尽快通过检疫。(1)他的头发伸出一个宽边黑帽，爱因斯坦偷偷地到拖船上岸，这使他和他的党下摆渡到曼哈顿，在车飞快接送到普林斯顿。”爱因斯坦博士是想求得和平和安静，”弗莱克斯纳告诉记者。

诺贝尔奖得主在1921他对理论物理学，爱因斯坦得到一个办公室在学院。他问他需要什么设备。”一个写字台或桌子，椅子，纸和铅笔，”他回答说。“哦，和一个大篓，所以我可以扔掉我所有的错误。”

他和埃尔莎，他的妻子，租了一个房子和定居生活在普林斯顿。他喜欢美国的事实，尽管其不平等的财富和种族不公正，更多的是一个精英比欧洲。”让新来的致力于这个国家的民主特质的人，”他后来奇迹。”没有人谦卑自己，在另一个人。” 不是一个爱因斯坦

(2)爱因斯坦，然而，没有爱因斯坦的时候他还是一个孩子的成长。在慕尼黑，德国，第一个孩子的赫尔曼和保罗爱因斯坦，他在缓慢的学习说话。“我的父母非常担心，”他回忆道，“他们找医生。” 当他开始使用的话2岁之后，他制定了一个怪癖，促使他的保姆给他迟钝的人。”他所说的每一句，无论多么常规，”回忆起他的妹妹，玛雅，”他轻声地反复，动动嘴唇。”他缓慢发展的结合是一个厚脸皮的叛逆的权威，从而导致一个德国校长把他包装。另一个说，爱因斯坦不会多。

“当我问自己这是怎么发生的，我发现了相对论，它似乎躺在下面的情况，”爱因斯坦后来解释说。“普通成人不会困扰他的头问题的空间和时间。这些都是他认为作为一个孩子。但我发展很慢，我开始思考的空间和时间，当我已经长大了。我更深入探讨的问题不是一个普通的孩子都有一个快乐的科学。” 一个愉快的科学家

鼓励他的和蔼的父亲，谁经营家族生意，和他热爱音乐的母亲，爱因斯坦花了几个小时的工作上的难题和建筑塔的玩具。”的毅力和韧性是他性格中的一部分，”他的妹妹说。

一次，爱因斯坦生病在床上作为一个学前儿童，他的父亲带他一个指南针。爱因斯坦后来想起这么激动，当他检查了它的神秘力量，他颤抖着越来越冷。磁针的表现好像受到一个隐藏的力场，而不是通过机械的方法接触或接触。”深深的藏得背后的东西，”他说。他对磁域，重力，惯性和光束。他保留的能力，将两个念头的同时，感到困惑时，冲突和喜悦时，他看到一个潜在的团结。”像你我这样的人是永远不会老的，”他写道，一个朋友多年以后。“(3)我们从来没有停止过像好奇的孩童在伟大神秘前，我们是天生的。” 普遍的看法相反，爱因斯坦擅长数学。在13岁的时候，他已经有了一个偏爱解决复杂问题的应用数学，他的妹妹回忆说。一个叔叔，雅各布爱因斯坦，工程师，把他介绍给欢乐的代数，称它是“快乐的科学，”当爱因斯坦取得了胜利，他“很高兴不已。”

他从阅读科普书籍，这表明他“圣经不可能是真的，”爱因斯坦制定了一个抵制一切形式的教条。他写了1901，“一个愚蠢的信仰权威是真理最大的敌人。” 一个骄傲的美国人

在15岁时，爱因斯坦离开德国去了意大利北部，在那里他的父母迁往自己的业务，并在16，他写了他的第一篇文章在理论物理。爱因斯坦发现了相对论，他毕业于苏黎世理工大学1900当他21，涉及的直觉知识以及个人的经验。他发展的理论，从1905开始，后一个工作在瑞士专利局。但他的理论并不完全接受，直到1919，当观测在一次日食证实他的预测多少太阳的引力弯曲的光束。在年龄40，1919，爱因斯坦突然被世界著名。他和艾尔莎结婚，他的第二任妻子。是二个儿子的父亲，从他的第一次婚姻。(4)1921的春天，他的名声全球大爆炸导致两个月访问美国时，在那里他受到热烈欢迎，他所到之处会唤起大众疯狂。世界从未见过这样一个科学名人明星。

爱因斯坦热爱美国，欣赏其连发繁荣的结果，自由和个人主义。在3月1933，希特勒在德国，爱因斯坦意识到他可以不再生活在欧洲的。秋天，他定居在普林斯顿，和1940，他是美国公民，自豪地称自己美国。自然界的和谐和数学

他的第一个万圣节生活在美国，爱因斯坦解除了一些捣蛋的小夜曲惊讶他们在门口和小提琴。在圣诞节，当成员的本地教会来唱圣诞颂歌，他走到外面，借了一把小提琴，愉快地陪他们。

爱因斯坦很快获得的图像，它长到附近的一个传说，是一个亲切的教授，分散在次但始终甜，谁很少梳头穿袜子。”我已经到了一岁时，如果有人告诉我穿袜子，我不去，”他告诉当地的一些孩子。他曾经帮助一个15岁的学生，亨利·罗索，新闻班。我们的老师提供了一个高档的人得分采访的科学家，所以我们出现在爱因斯坦的家，却被拒绝在门外。送牛奶的人给了他一个提示：爱因斯坦走了一段路每早晨9: 30.罗索溜出学校，同他搭讪。

但学生，突然所有的困惑，不知道问什么。所以爱因斯坦提出的问题，关于数学的。”我发现大自然是建造在一个美妙的方式，我们的任务就是找到我们的[它]的数学结构，”爱因斯坦解释了自己的教育。”它是一种信念，帮助我通过我的整个生活。” 访谈获得亨利罗索A。

Unit 5 Giving Thanks

亚历克斯·黑利二战时在海岸警卫队服役。出海在外，时逢一个倍感孤寂的日子――感恩节，他开始认真思考起这一节日的意义。对许多美国人而言，这个节日已成为大吃大喝、没完没了地看橄榄球比赛的日子。黑利决定写三封不同寻常的信，以此来纪念感恩节的真正意义。

Writing Three Thank-You Letters

Alex Haley

写三封感谢信

亚利克斯·黑利

那是在二战期间的1943年，我是个年轻的美国海岸警卫队队员。我们的船，美国军舰军市一号已出海多日。多数船舱装着成千上万箱罐装或风干的食品。其余的船舱装着不少五百磅重的炸弹，都小心翼翼地放在垫过的架子上。我们的目的地是南太平洋图拉吉岛上一个规模很大的基地。

我是军市一号上的一个厨师，跟岸上的人一样，那个感恩节的上午，我们忙着在准备一道以烤火鸡为主的传统菜肴。

当厨师的都知道，要烹制一顿大餐，摆上桌，再刷洗、收拾干净，是件辛苦的事。不过，等到太阳快下山时，我们总算全都收拾停当了。

我想先去后甲板透透气。我信步走去，一边深深呼吸着空气，一边慢慢地踱着步，头上仍戴着那顶白色的厨师帽。

我开始思索起感恩节这个节日来，想着清教徒前辈移民、印第安人、野火鸡、南瓜、玉米棒等等。

可我脑子里似乎还在搜索着别的事什么――某种我能够赋予这一节日以个人意义的方式。大概过了半个小时左右我才意识到，问题的关键也许在于把Thanksgiving这个字前后颠倒一下――那样一来至少文字好懂了：Giving thanks。

表达谢意――就如在祈祷时感谢上帝那样，我暗想。对啊，是这样，当然是这样。

可我脑子里仍一直盘桓着这事。

过了片刻，如同晨曦初现，一个更清晰的念头终于涌现脑际――要感谢他人，那些赐我以诸多恩惠，我根本无以回报的人们。令我深感不安的实际情形是，我向来对他们所做的一切受之泰然，认为是理所应当。我一次也没想过要对他们中的任何一位真心诚意地说一句简单的谢谢。

至少有七个人对我有过不同寻常、影响深远的帮助。令人难过的是，我意识到，他们中有一半已经过世了――因此他们永远也无法接受我的谢意了。我越想越感到羞愧。最后我想到了仍健在的三位，几分钟后，我就回到了自己的舱房。

我坐在摊着信纸的桌旁，回想着他们各自对我所做的一切，试图用真挚的文字表达我对他们的由衷的感激之情：父亲西蒙·A·黑利，阿肯色州派因布拉夫那所古老的农业机械师范学院的教授；住在田纳西州小镇亨宁老家的外祖母辛西娅·帕尔默；以及我的文法学校校长，退休后住在亨宁以北6英里处的里普利的洛纽尔·纳尔逊牧师。

我的信是这样开头的：“出海在外度过的这个感恩节，令我回想起您为我做了那么多事，但我从来没有对您说过自己是多么想感谢您――”我简短回忆了各位为我所做的具体事例。

例如，我父亲的最不同寻常之处在于，从我童年时代起，他就让我深深意识到要热爱书籍、热爱阅读。事实上，这一爱好渐渐变成一种家庭习惯，晚饭后大家围在餐桌旁互相考查近日所读的书以及新学的单词。我对书籍的热爱从未减弱，日后还引导我自己撰文著书。多少次，当我看到如今的孩子们如此沉迷于电子媒体时，我不由深感悲

哀，他们很少，或者根本不了解书中所能发现的神奇世界。

我跟纳尔逊牧师提及他如何每天清晨和集合在一起的学生做祷告，以此开始乡村小学的一天。我告诉他，我后来所做的任何有意义的事，都至少部分地是受了他那些学校晨祷的影响。

在给外祖母的信中，我谈到了她用了种种方式教我讲真话，教我与人分享，教我宽恕、体谅他人。我感谢她多年来让我吃到她烧的美味菜肴，离开她后我从来没吃过那么可口的菜肴。最后，我感谢她，因为她在我的生命中撒下美妙的遐想。

睡觉前，我的这三封信都送进了船上的邮袋。我们抵达图拉吉岛后都寄了出去。

我们卸了货，又装了其它物品，随后我们按熟悉的常规，再次出海。一天又一天，一星期又一星期，我个人的经历渐渐淡忘。我们在海上航行时，有时会与邮船会合，邮船会带给我们家信，当然这是我们视为最紧要的事情。

每当船上的喇叭响起：“大伙听好！邮件点名！”200名左右的水兵就会冲上甲板，围聚在那两个站在宝贵的鼓鼓囊囊的灰色邮袋旁的水手周围。两人轮流取出一把信，大声念收信水手的名字，叫到的人从人群当中挤出，一边应道：“来了，来了！”

一次“邮件点名”带给我外祖母，爸爸，以及纳尔逊牧师的回信――我读了信，既震惊又深感卑微。

他们没有说他们原谅我以前不曾感谢他们，相反，他们向我致谢，天哪，就因为我记得，就因为我认为他们做了不同寻常的事。

身为大学教授的爸爸向来特别留意不使用任何过于感情化的文字，因此，当他对我写道，在教了许许多多的年轻人之后，他认为自己最优秀的学生当中也包括自己的儿子时，我知道他是多么地感动。

纳尔逊牧师写道，他那平凡的传统校长的岁月随着学校里发生的如此迅猛的变化而结束，他怀着自我怀疑的心态退了休。“说我做得不对的远远多于说我做得对的，”他写道，接着说我的信给他带来了振奋人心的信心：自己的校长生涯还是有其价值的。

一看到外祖母那熟悉的笔迹，我顿时回想起往日站在她的白色摇椅旁看她给亲戚写信的情景。外祖母一个字母一个字母地慢慢拼出一个词，接着是下一个词，因此写满一页要花上几个小时。捧着外祖母最近花费不少工夫对我表达了充满慈爱的谢意，我禁不住流泪――从前是她给我换尿布的呀。

许多年后，我从海岸警卫队退役，试着靠写作为生，我一直不曾忘记那三封“感谢”信是如何使我认识到，大凡人都暗自期望着有更多的人对自己的努力表达谢意。

现在，感恩节又将来临，我自问，对此文的读者，对我们的祖国，事实上对全世界，我有什么祝愿，因为，用一位善良而且又有智慧的朋友的话来说，“我们究其实都是十分相像的凡人，有着相似的需求。”当然，我首先祝愿大家记住这一简单的常识：实现世界和平，这对我们自身的存亡至关重要。

此外我还有别的祝愿――这一祝愿是如此强烈，我将这句话印在我所有的信笺底部：“发现并褒扬各种美好的事物。”

Part B

The Power of Gratitude

——Deborah Norville 感恩的力量 黛博拉·诺维尔

加州大学的心理学教授罗伯特·埃蒙斯博士，长期以来对感恩在身体健康和心理健康方面所起的作用颇感兴趣。他与迈阿密大学的心理学教授迈克尔·麦卡洛夫一道选择了三组志愿者，并且随意指定他们每周关注三件事情中的一件：麻烦事，让他们心存感激的事以及日常琐事。第一组的人把注意力集中在每一件不称心的或者令他们恼怒的事情上，比如“那个该死的家伙在高速公路上突然将车开到我前面抢道。”第二组专门关注那些提升生活质量的事，比方说“我的男友善良体贴——有他真是幸运。”第三组回忆最近的日常生活中的事，诸如“我去买鞋了。”

结果是那些注意力集中于感恩的人明显感觉更加幸福，他们以积极的态度看待生活。他们鲜有诉说头疼感冒之类的身体不适症状，积极参加健康有益的活动。比起那些关注麻烦事的人们，他们每周差不多多运动一个半小时。知晓感恩的人单纯朴素，生活质量更高。他们身边的人也察觉到了这一点。“他们注意到这群人更加快乐、更有活力。他们看得出来那些人正变得更加乐观。”埃蒙斯说道。懂得感恩的这组人“甚至似乎看上去更加乐于助人，会独立帮助他人。”对于这一结果，埃蒙斯大为惊讶。“感恩不仅仅是像积极思维或乐观之类事使人感到快乐。感恩真的使人付诸行动，使人变得更加亲近社

会，更富同情心。”这种变化在另外两组人身上却不曾显现。埃蒙斯和麦卡洛夫对他们发表于2003年的研究成果作了进一步的探讨。他们召集一批大学生每天——而非仅仅每周——关注生活中的烦恼或幸事。从一开始埃蒙斯和他的团队就意识到定期的感恩检查功效甚大。（1）后续的研究发现，那些每天都能找到感激之事的人较少追求物质享受——他们不大会把生活的满意度与物质财富联系起来。他们比别人更愿意放弃所拥有的财富。在他们的车的保险杠上不可能看到写着“谁拥有最多，谁就是赢家”之类的小标语。

那么，在生活中我们又该如何利用感恩这门科学呢？（2）每天只需花几分钟工夫，感恩就会产生力量。但是它需要始终不渝、心胸开阔以及奉献精神。埃蒙斯说：“我认为感恩是一种要求极高的品质，一种苛严的品质。它是一种磨砺，一种训练。”它也许来之不易，但是可以培养。培养的方法如下： 记录你的谢意。

每天花上片刻——一般最好是临睡之前——扼要记下三件当日发生的让你心存感激的事情。任何使你精神振奋的事，使你绽露笑容、心情愉悦的事，或为你的将来带来幸福感的事，都行。

对于每一件令你心怀感激的事情，写一写为什么它对你而言是件好事。也许你收到一个久未联系的老同学的电子邮件，它让你回想起你们一同度过的美好时光，让你意识到即便你不曾与他们联系，他们还惦念着你。这足以说明你是个不同寻常的人。

另外，记录下谁（如果有那么一个人的话）在你当天的回忆中是

个有影响的人，以及那个人如何对你的生活产生了影响。

这一切听起来都不难，是不是？如果让你在记录谢意和做五十个仰卧起坐外加二十五个俯卧撑之间做个选择，你会更倾向于拿起一支笔，是不是？（3）感恩日记使你以积极而又具体的方式看待生活，提醒你关注在这个快节奏的、冷漠的世界里生活的相互联系，以及他人在多大程度上提升了你的生活质量。感恩日记促使你关注正面事物，而非不可避免的负面事物。此外，感恩日记还能增强你的自尊。认清模式。

过一段时间，你会发现在令你感激的条目列表中有着某种一致性。许多条目显示他人在你生活中所起的重要作用。其他条目突出一些有意义的经历。还有一些则涉及你所引发的事情，你能满怀豪情地指着说，“我促成了此事。”这叫做由理性支配的积极生活所带来的幸福，即来自于行动本身，而非其结果的幸福或满足。随之而来的所有其他益处——如：某人感激你，你的项目获得成功——不过是种点缀而已。接住回飞镖。

感激之情，在向别人表示之后，几乎总能辗转返回。被感激的人更加愿意为那些使他们觉得自己有价值的人作出回报。一项研究表明，服务员把账单递给顾客前，在账单上简单地写上“谢谢”两字，比起那些不写的来说，平均多得11%的小费。在账单上写上即将推出的特价餐信息的服务员同样获得较高的小费，平均高出17%到20%。（4）在人际关系显得越来越少而且有时非常紧张的当今世界，感恩

之情会激起回响。抓住时机。

环顾你的四周：在你的世界里哪些事是对的？如果你有什么爱好，你就付诸行动吧；如果没有，你就找一个吧。主动接触他人，与人分享你的东西。对别人做一个小小的姿态并不使你损失什么，却能给你带来诸多好处。所有这些行动都能增加你心怀感激的机会。

北卡罗莱纳大学心理学家芭芭拉·费雷德里克森说：“感恩之心有可能使万物由其平常状态升华为一种礼物。”

Unit 6 The Human Touch

约翰西病情严重，她似乎失去了活下去的意志。医生对她不抱什么希望。朋友们看来也爱莫能助。难道真的就无可奈何了吗？

The Last Leaf

——O.Henry

最后一片叶子

欧·亨利

在一幢三层砖楼的顶层，苏和约翰西开辟了个画室。“约翰西”是乔安娜的昵称。她们一位来自缅因州，一位来自加利福尼亚。两人相遇在第八大街的一个咖啡馆，发现各自在艺术品味、菊苣色拉，以及灯笼袖等方面趣味相投，于是就有了这个两人画室。

那是5月里的事。到了11月，一个医生称之为肺炎的阴森的隐形客闯入了这一地区，用它冰冷的手指东碰西触。约翰西也为其所害。她病倒了，躺在床上几乎一动不动，只能隔着小窗望着隔壁砖房那单

调沉闷的侧墙。

一天上午，忙碌的医生扬了扬灰白的浓眉，示意苏来到过道。

“她只有一成希望，”他说。“那还得看她自己是不是想活下去。你这位女朋友已经下决心不想好了。她有什么心事吗？”

“她――她想有一天能去画那不勒斯湾，”苏说。

“画画？――得了。她有没有别的事值得她留恋的――比如说，一个男人？”

“男人？”苏说。“难道一个男人就值得――可是，她没有啊，大夫，没有这码子事。”

“好吧，”大夫说。“我会尽一切努力，只要是科学能做到的。可是，但凡病人开始计算她出殡的行列里有几辆马车的时候，我就要把医药的疗效减去一半。”大夫走后，苏去工作室哭了一场。随后她携着画板大步走进约翰西的房间，口里吹着轻快的口哨。

约翰西躺在被子下几乎一动不动，脸朝着窗。她望着窗外，数着数――倒数着数！

“12，”她数道，过了一会儿“11”，接着数“10”和“9”；再数“8”和“7”，几乎一口气同时数下来。

苏朝窗外望去。外面有什么好数的呢？外面只看到一个空荡荡的沉闷的院子，还有20英尺开外那砖房的侧墙，上面什么也没有。一棵古老的常青藤爬到半墙高。萧瑟秋风吹落了枝叶，藤上几乎光秃秃的。

“6”，约翰西数着，声音几乎听不出来。“现在叶子掉落得快多了。

三天前差不多还有100片。数得我头都疼。可现在容易了。又掉了一片。这下子只剩5片了。”

“5片什么，亲爱的？”

“叶子。常青藤上的叶子。等最后一片叶子掉了，我也就得走了。三天前我就知道会这样。大夫没跟你说吗？”

“噢，我从没听说过这种胡说八道。常青藤叶子跟你病好不好有什么关系？别这么傻。对了，大夫上午跟我说，你的病十有八九就快好了。快喝些汤，让苏迪给她生病的孩子去买些波尔图葡萄酒来。”

“你不用再去买酒了，”约翰西说道，两眼一直盯着窗外。“又掉了一片。不，我不想喝汤。这一下只剩下4片了。我要在天黑前看到最后一片叶子掉落。那时我也就跟着走了。我都等腻了。也想腻了。我只想撇开一切, 飘然而去，就像那边一片可怜的疲倦的叶子。”

“快睡吧，”苏说。“我得叫贝尔曼上楼来给我当老矿工模特儿。我去去就来。”

老贝尔曼是住在两人楼下底层的一个画家。他已年过六旬，银白色蜷曲的长髯披挂胸前。贝尔曼看上去挺像艺术家，但在艺术上却没有什么成就。40年来他一直想创作一幅传世之作，却始终没能动手。他给那些请不起职业模特的青年画家当模特挣点小钱。他没节制地喝酒，谈论着他那即将问世的不朽之作。要说其他方面，他是个好斗的小老头，要是谁表现出一点软弱，他便大肆嘲笑，并把自己看成是楼上画室里两位年轻艺术家的看护人。

苏在楼下光线暗淡的画室里找到了贝尔曼，他满身酒味刺鼻。屋

子一角的画架上支着一张从未落过笔的画布，在那儿搁了25年，等着一幅杰作的起笔。苏把约翰西的怪念头跟他说了，并说约翰西本身就像一片叶子又瘦又弱，她害怕要是她那本已脆弱的生存意志再软下去的话，真的会凋零飘落。老贝尔曼双眼通红，显然是泪涟涟的，他大声叫嚷着说他蔑视这种傻念头。

“什么！”他嚷道。“世界上竟然有这么愚蠢的人，因为树叶从藤上掉落就要去死？我听都没听说过这等事。你怎么让这种傻念头钻到她那个怪脑袋里？天哪！这不是一个像约翰西小姐这样的好姑娘躺倒生病的地方。有朝一日我要画一幅巨作，那时候我们就离开这里。真的。”

两人上了楼，约翰西已经睡着了。苏放下窗帘，示意贝尔曼去另一个房间。在那儿两人惶惶不安地凝视着窗外的常青藤。接着两人面面相觑，哑然无语。外面冷雨夹雪，淅淅沥沥。贝尔曼穿着破旧的蓝色衬衣, 坐在充当矿石的倒置的水壶上，摆出矿工的架势。

第二天早上，只睡了一个小时的苏醒来看到约翰西睁大着无神的双眼，凝望着拉下的绿色窗帘。

“把窗帘拉起来；我要看，”她低声命令道。

苏带着疲倦，遵命拉起窗帘。

可是，瞧！经过一整夜的急风骤雨，竟然还存留一片常青藤叶，背靠砖墙，格外显目。这是常青藤上的最后一片叶子。近梗部位仍呈暗绿色，但边缘已经泛黄了，它无所畏惧地挂在离地20多英尺高的枝干上。

“这是最后一片叶子，”约翰西说。“我以为夜里它肯定会掉落的。我晚上听到大风呼啸。今天它会掉落的，叶子掉的时候，也是我死的时候。”

白天慢慢过去了，即便在暮色黄昏之中，他们仍能看到那片孤零零的常青藤叶子，背靠砖墙，紧紧抱住梗茎。尔后，随着夜幕的降临，又是北风大作。

等天色亮起，冷酷无情的约翰西命令将窗帘拉起。

常青藤叶依然挺在。

约翰西躺在那儿，望着它许久许久。接着她大声呼唤正在煤气灶上搅鸡汤的苏。

“我一直像个不乖的孩子，苏迪，”约翰西说。“有一种力量让那最后一片叶子不掉，好让我看到自己有多坏。想死是一种罪过。你给我喝点汤吧，再来点牛奶，稍放一点波尔图葡萄酒――不，先给我拿面小镜子来，弄几个枕头垫在我身边，我要坐起来看你做菜。”

一个小时之后，她说：

“苏迪，我真想有一天去画那不勒斯海湾。”

下午大夫来了，他走时苏找了个借口跟进了过道。

“现在是势均力敌，”大夫说着，握了握苏纤细颤抖的手。

“只要精心照料，你就赢了。现在我得去楼下看另外一个病人了。贝尔曼，是他的名字――记得是个什么画家。也是肺炎。他年老体弱，病来势又猛。他是没救了。不过今天他去了医院，照料得会好一点。”

第二天，大夫对苏说：“她脱离危险了。你赢了。注意饮食，好

好照顾，就行了。”

当日下午，苏来到约翰西的床头，用一只手臂搂住她。

“我跟你说件事，小白鼠，”她说。“贝尔曼先生今天在医院里得肺炎去世了。他得病才两天。发病那天上午人家在楼下他的房间里发现他疼得利害。他的鞋子衣服都湿透了，冰冷冰冷的。他们想不出那么糟糕的天气他夜里会去哪儿。后来他们发现了一个灯笼，还亮着，还有一个梯子被拖了出来，另外还有些散落的画笔，一个调色板，和着黄绿两种颜色，――看看窗外，宝贝儿，看看墙上那最后一片常青藤叶子。它在刮风的时候一动也不动，你没有觉得奇怪吗？啊，亲爱的，那是贝尔曼的杰作――最后一片叶子掉落的那天夜里他画上了这片叶子。”

他不敢相信这个女人居然会信任自己。他也不认为这个女人就不信任自己。不过，现在他不想失去别人对自己的信任。

Part B Night Watch

——Roy Popkin

故事开始于布鲁克林闹市区的一个街角处。有个老汉过马路时突然晕倒在地，一辆救护车把他急速送往金斯县医院。在医院里，老人时昏时醒, 反反复复叫喊着，要见儿子。

急救室的一位护士在他口袋里发现一封已被揉皱的信，从信中得知他儿子是海军陆战队的战士，随部队驻扎在北卡罗来纳州。看来, 他没有别的亲戚。

医院有人给布鲁克林区的红十字办公室挂了电话，向北卡罗来纳州海军陆战队营地的红十字机构的主任发出请求，让那个年轻人赶紧回布鲁克林。由于时间紧迫——病人已奄奄一息——红十字会的人和一名军官乘一辆军车出发。赶到部队时他们看到那个年轻人正在参加军事演习，徒步穿越沼泽地。他被及时送到机场, 赶上那班能把他送到临终的父亲身边的唯一的一架班机。

年轻的海军战士走进金斯县医院的入口大厅时，已是黄昏。一名护士将这位疲劳、焦急的军人带到了老人床边。

她对老人说：“您儿子来了。”她重复说了好几遍，老人的眼睛才睁开。老人服用了医治心脏病的药物，损害了他的视力，所以他只能看见一个年轻人的身影，身穿海军陆战队军服，站在氧气帐外。他伸出手，那位海军陆战队队员立刻用自己有力的手紧紧握住了这只无力的手，充满了爱与鼓励。护士搬来一张椅子，那海军陆战队队员就坐在床边守着。

医院里长夜漫漫，年轻的海军陆战队战士整夜坐在灯光昏暗的病房里，握着老人的手，给予老人希望与力量。护士偶尔会过来劝他休息一会儿，但他都拒绝了。

护士每次进来，海军陆战队战士都坐在那儿。对于护士的进出、医院晚上的各种响动——氧气瓶的撞击声、值夜班的医生护士打招呼时的笑声、其他病人的哭喊、呻吟声和呼吸声——他都视若不见。不时地，护士听见他柔声说着什么。弥留之际的老人则什么也没说，只是在那一夜大部分的时间里紧紧抓着儿子的手。

天快亮时老人去世了。海军陆战队队员把那只他一直握着的、现在已失去生命的手放回床上，然后去通知护士。在护士去做善后工作时，他抽了根烟，这是他进医院后抽的第一支香烟。

最后，护士回到了护士办公室，而他则一直等在那儿。护士开始安慰他，但他却打断了她，“那位老人是谁?”他问。

“他是你父亲啊!”她回答道，诧异万分。

“不，他不是，”海军陆战队队员回答道。“我以前从没见过这个人。”

“那我带你进去时，你为什么不说?”护士问道。

“当时我就知道弄错了。但我同样也知道，他需要他的儿子，而他的儿子又恰好不在。当我发现他病得这么重，都认不出我不是他的儿子后，我想他确实是很需要我的。所以我留下来了。”

说完这些话后，海军陆战队战士转过身，离开了医院。两天后，北卡罗来纳海军陆战队基地给布鲁克林红十字会发来一份通知：老人真正的儿子正在前往布鲁克林参加他父亲葬礼的路上。原来，军中恰好有两个海军陆战队队员同名同姓，并且编号相近。人事部的官员拿错了档案。

但是，这个假儿子在老人真正需要儿子的时刻却成了真正的儿子。而且他以一种非常人道的方式，证明了在这个世界上确实有人会关心自己同胞的遭遇。

Unit 7 Making a Living

干挨家挨户上门推销这一营生得脸皮厚，这是因为干这一行不仅要经受风吹日晒，还要承受一次又一次的闭门羹。比尔 · 波特忍受着这一切，以及别的种种折磨。

Life of a Salesman

Tom Hallman Jr.一个推销员的生活

小汤姆 · 霍尔曼

闹钟响了。是清晨5：45。他可以在被子里再躺一会儿，听听无线电广播。天气预报员预报有雨。人们会理解的。这点他清楚。

他的下背有一道手术疤痕。他右手的手指严重扭曲，连鞋带都没法系。有时，他真想放弃不干了。可在他内心深处，一直回响着已故老母的激励, 还有那些说他蠢，说他不能独立生活的人的声音。他一生都在拚命去证明他们错了。他决不能放弃不干。

于是比尔·波特起身了。

他摇摇晃晃迈出了去波特兰大街的头几步，波特兰大街是他为独立与尊严而孤身搏杀的战场。他是个挨家挨户上门推销的推销员，今年63岁。他的敌人――辜负他的残疾的身体和一个不再需要他的变化着的世界――正一步一步把他逼向绝境。

他用颤抖的双手收拾行装：深色宽松裤，蓝衬衣和与之相配的茄克衫，褐色领带，土褐色雨衣和帽子。在他看来，形象就是一切。

他在门口停了一下，提起公文包，走了出去。秋风骤起，冷飕飕的。天气预报员说得没错。他将雨衣裹裹紧。

他把帽子往一侧微微一斜。

在街对面停靠的7：45那班公共汽车上，他把公文包放在司机身旁，在一群没精打采的十几岁的孩子当中找了个位子坐下。

他身子往前一倾，盯着司机那儿望，然后靠着椅背坐下，接着他又反复这个过程。他心情紧张，控制不住自己而笑出声来。那些孩子望着他。他们不明白，波特是担心有人偷他的包，包里有他生存不可缺少的眼镜，宣传小册子，定单，以及可用别针别上的领带。

波特意识到了小孩子在盯着他看。他把目光转向车厢地板。

他脸上没有流露出任何神情。但在他心里，他知道自己本该和这些孩子一样，和车上其他所有人一样。他并不生气。但他心里明白。他母亲解释说生他时难产，医生使用了某种器械，损坏了他大脑的一部分，导致了大脑性麻痹，一种影响他说话，手部活动以及行走的神经系统的紊乱。

波特13岁那年随着当推销员的父亲工作调动来到波特兰。他上了一个残疾人学校，后来就读林肯高级中学，在那儿他被编入慢班。

但他并不笨。

他由于身体不能正常运行而使脑子不能充分发挥其功能。他说话困难，而且慢。别人不耐烦，不听他说。他觉得自己不同于――事实上也确实不同于――那些在过道里东奔西跑的孩子，那些孩子安排的舞会他永远也不可能参加。

他将来会是个什么样子呢？波特想做些事，母亲也相信他能冲破身体的局限。在她的鼓励之下，他向福勒牙刷公司申请一份工作，结

果却遭到拒绝。他不能提样品包，也不能跑一条推销线路，他们说。

波特知道自己想当推销员。他开始阅读报纸上的招聘广告。他看到沃特金斯，一家上门推销家用物品的公司要人，他母亲就跟其代理人安排会面。那人说不行，可波特不予理会。他就是需要一个机会。那人让步了，把城里一个其他推销员都不要的区域派给了他。

波特一开始四次都没敢敲门，第五次才鼓起勇气按了第一户人家的门铃。开门的那人让他走开，这种情形持续了一整天。

当晚，波特仔细阅读了公司的宣传资料，发现产品都是保用的。他要把保用作为卖点。只要别人肯听他说话就成。

要是客户回绝波特，拒绝倾听他的介绍，他就一再上门。就这样他将产品卖了出去。

他连着几年都是沃特金斯公司的最佳零售推销员。如今他是该公司44000名推销员中惟一一个上门推销的人。

公共汽车在公交中转购物中心站停下，波特下了车。

他的身体不适合行走。每走一步关节都疼。头疼也是习以为常的事。他的右臂几乎没用。他不能完全控制这只手臂。他的身体从腰部开始前倾，看上去就像是顶着一股强劲的吹个不停的风迈步向前，风似乎要把他刮倒。有时他看上去就像是个刚刚学步的孩童。

他每天要走10英里的路程。

像平日一样，他今天的第一站是个擦鞋摊，这里的雇员替他系好鞋带。他每周请他们擦两次鞋。附近一家旅馆的门卫替他扣上衬衣最上面一粒纽扣，戴上用别针别上的领带。随后他步行去搭乘另一部巴

第三篇：综合英语三课文词汇8

综合英语三课文词汇 U8 Puritan n.严格的人/ overshadow v.遮蔽/ fetish n.迷恋（物）/ flunk v不及格./ bumper n保险杆./ traipse v.疲惫地走/ licentiousness n.放肆，放荡/ swill v.豪饮，狂饮/ epitome n.典型/ damper n.起抑制作用的因素/ reverently ad.虔诚地，恭敬地/ mirth n.欢笑/ blaspheme v.咒骂，亵渎/ scan v.细察

U7 Chaser n.淡味饮料/ creaky a.咯吱咯吱的/ peer v.凝视/ buff n.浅黄色/ make somebody’s acquaintance 结识某人/ laxative n.泻药/ imperceptible a.觉察不到的 / autopsy n.验尸 / apprehensively ad.担心地 / potion n.有特效的饮料/ oblige v.施恩惠/ confidential a.可信任的 / bountifully ad.充足地，丰富地/ substitute v.用……代替/ scorn n.嘲笑，轻蔑/ giddy a.轻率的，轻浮的/ rapture n.欣喜若狂/ draught n.气流/overwhelm v.征服/ fervently ad.热心地，热诚地/ phial n.小玻璃瓶，药瓶 / better off 经济状况好的，富裕的 U6 Correlative a.相应的 / cease v.终止/ promote v.促进 / contribute to 促成/ proportion n.比例 / due a.适当的，充分的 / populous a.人口多的，人口稠密的/ spectacular a.巨大的，显而易见的/ atom n.原子弹/ lunatic n.疯子，狂人 / eminent a.著名的，卓越的/ inculcate v.反复灌输，谆谆教诲/ emancipation n.解放/ prejudice n.偏见，歧视/ elixir n.长生不老药 / confer v.授予 / appalling a.骇人听闻的/ vice n.恶习，缺点/ admixture n.添加物，混合物 / egoism n.利己主义/ horizon n.眼界，见识 /impartiality n.公平公正，不偏不倚 U5 Obituary n.讣告 / coronary thrombosis n.冠状动脉血栓病/ workaholic n.工作狂/ conceivably ad.可能地，想象得到地/ executive v.执行者，主管/ survive v.比……活得长 / board v.寄宿/ widow n.寡妇/ deceased n.死者 / lineup n.列队接受检查或为确定身份而排成一行的人 U4 Nurturing a.教养的，滋养的/ attendant n.服务员/ peer n.同龄人 /rambling a.漫无边际的，不连贯的 / entertain v.招待，款待 / ashtray n.烟灰缸/ replenish v.再斟满，再装满/ adherence n.忠诚，忠实/ monogamy n.一夫一妻制 / liberty n.自由 / solely ad.仅仅地 U3 Attend to 处理/ gourmet n.美食家/ glutton n.贪吃的人，暴食者/ derive from 起源于，来自/ sage n.圣人，哲人 / primal a./主要的，根本的/ ecstasy n.狂喜 / smother v.厚厚地覆盖，密密地加上/ lavish v.挥霍，滥用/ cuisine n.烹调法，烹调风格/ bedeck v.装饰，修饰/ exotica n.pl.异族事物，新奇事物/ aubergine n.茄子 / infamous a.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的/ joint n.大块肉/ sensuality n.感觉性，感能/ sensual a.肉体上的，感官的 / texture n.口感 / part and parcel 不可忽略的重要部分/ fastidiously ad.挑剔地，费城讲究的地，一丝不苟地/ braise v.用文火炖/ batter n.糊状物/ contrive v.发明，设计/ palate n.味觉/ buffet n.自助餐/ fowl n.家禽/ elusive a.难以理解的，难以记起的 / piquant a.辛辣的，够刺激的，味道浓烈的 / enterprise n.进取心，事业心 U2 Tyranny n.暴虐 / haunt v.时常萦绕心头 / allotment n.分配 / dilemma n.进退两难的处境 / misgiving n.疑虑/ reef n.暗礁/ confess v.供认，承认 / maxim n.格言 / rebuke v.指责，非难/ breach v.打破/ imperious a.专横的/ devour v.吞噬，耗尽/ perspective n.视角，方法 / deceptive a.不实的，欺骗的 / prominence n.突出，显著 / fade v.逐渐消失，逝去 U1 Square v.挺直，摆直/ discreetly ad.谨慎地，小心地/ reserve n.自我克制，约束/ whereabouts n.下落，行踪，所在之处/ anthology n.诗选，文选/ grope v.摸索 / tip off 提示，提醒/ goody n.好吃的东西 / puddle n.地上的积水 / ketchup n.调味番茄酱 / flail v.胡乱地摆动，挥动 / maneuver n.熟练或谨慎的动作 / rear a.后面的，后部的 / sandal n.拖鞋/ brigade n.群，伙，帮 / sneak v.悄悄地走，偷偷地离开/ junk food垃圾食品，无营养食品 / crunchy a.又硬又脆的，鲜脆的 / spaghetti n.意大利细面条 / somebody’s heart goes out to somebody对某人表示同情 / clasp n.紧握/ slink v.悄悄走开，偷偷溜走/ malicious a.怀恶意的，恶毒的 / shackle n.枷锁，桎梏，束缚

第四篇：综合英语二学习方略

1998年下半年起江苏省高等教育自学考试英语专业已开始实施新计划。新计划对英语专、本科的一些课程作了调整，并增设了一些新课程。这对自学考试英语专业的更加完善，更好地适应形势的变化发展，对教育面向社会、面向现代化起到了进一步地推动作用。

新计划将英语专科段原来的精(一)、(二)改成了综合英语(一)、(二)。为什么要作此修改?修改后有无实质性的变化?我们又应该如何学习?这是众多考生经常询问的问题，下面就此谈谈笔者的几点看法。综合英语(二)的位置

1989年出版的《高等学校英语专业基础阶段教学大纲》提出的课程设置方案包括了“综合英语”、“阅读”、“听说”、“写作”、“语音”和“语法”等几门主要课程，“综合英语”被置于各科之首，每周学时数6－8节，可见综合英语的重要位置。对这门课的要求也是很高的。它的任务在于：“传授系统的语言知识(语音、语法、词汇、篇章结构、语言功能等)，训练语言基本技能(听、说、读、写)，培养学生初步运用英语进行交际的能力，同时指导学习方法，培养逻辑思维的能力，为进入高年级打下扎实的基础”。①从大纲的要求可以看出这门课的重点在语言基本技能的训练上，即听、说、读、写的能力培养。有的外语院校还具体细化为一年级侧重于听、说，二年级侧重于读、写。有人不禁要问听有听力课，说有会说课，读有阅读课，写作自考也增加了“基础写作”课，综合英语课岂不是与其它课重复了吗?它与其它课程有何区别?与原来的精读课有甚不同?《高等学校英语专业基础阶段教学大纲》明确指出：“综合英语”不同于一般阅读课，其重点应放在口头笔头能力的训练上，而阅读课的重点则在于提高学生的阅读理解能力和加强阅读技能训练。②“综合英语课区别于单项技能课，但与其它课又有必要的重复，与单项技能课相辅相成”。③应该说自考新计划所要求开设的综合英语与原精读课还是有区别的。原精读课只强调语言点的学习、语法结构的分析，现在的综合英语课包含了这些要求，更强调综合能力的训练。但有一点必须指出，由于现行自学教材的限制，综合英语(二)还做不到听、说、读、写的同时训练。看来，新计划为跨世纪的英语专业的自学考试学习定下基调。在新计划中，综合英语(二)的重要位置也是非常清楚的。专科段总的学分74分，综合英语(一)、(二)各占10分，是12门课中占分最高的两门。计划中还规定，“各类高等教育形式的非英语专业、专科及以上毕业生报考高等教育自学考试英语专业本科段，除必须取得本科段计划规定课程的合格成绩，学分达65分，还必须加考综合英语(二)、听力和口语”。可见，综合英语是专科段最基础又极其重要的一门课。对于英语初学者来说，应先从综合英语(一)开始。综合英语不同于其它科目。因为它包含了语音、语法、词汇、篇章结构等系统的语言基础知识，所使用的材料是系统、精选的。学好综合英语(二)对学习听、说、读、写其它几科会起到一定的铺垫作用。

综合英语(二)的重点、难点及学习策略

综合英语(二)既然处于这样重要的位置，那么学好它是至关重要的。原精读(一)大部分考生能轻松通过。而精读(二)通过则显得比较困难。其原因之一就是考生基础知识掌握不牢，抓不住重点和难点。

综合英语(二)重、难点分别是什么呢?由于2000年前江苏省这门考试仍采用郝振益、高维正和徐东升三位教授主编的《英语自学教程》

三、四册。故在此针对三、四册谈谈其重点、难点及其学习方法，为了讨论的方便，我们将每一单元大致分为：课文、语法、练习三大块。

三、四册课文有text a、dialogue、text b以及文章体裁介绍等几个部分组成。其中第三册中的text a 和dialogue尤为重要。text b可以作为泛读材料。第四册中每单元中text a是重点。其它的文体介绍和text b可以作一般性的泛读材料。第三册的最后两课、第四册的部分课文(都指text a)是难点所在。

语法项目主要分布在第三册，其重点是非谓语动词、名词性从句、定语和状语从句以及虚拟语气。第四册中出现了倒装、主谓一致等。这当中，非谓语动词是难点所在。

练习：

三、四册各有特色。第三册以练习消化课文、巩固语法知识和扩宽知识面为主；而第四册既包含了以上内容，又含有总复习的意味。对第一到第四册的语言和语法进行了概括复习和练习。

三、四册中有些练习应重点做，有的可以作为训练，做一下即可，还有的根本不需要做。具体在练习一节中详细叙述。从总体上看，第四册每单元的练习是重点。

了解这些重点、难点之后，下一步应考虑如何去学。以下就上面提到的三大块谈谈自己的看法。

(一)、课文。它包括词汇、注释，笔者认为应这样处理。

1、抓好阅读，一着不让 调查发现“阅读理解”、“完形填空”和“改错”是自考生的弱项。其原因在于读的少，缺乏正确的学习方法。自学者除了看课文之外，其它英文文章很少涉猎。他们没有时间，更主要的是找不到合适的文章去读。笔者认为将课文首先做泛读材料来用，这样既了解课文大意，又训练了自己的阅读理解能力。长期坚持，阅读理解能力必有长进。正确的做法是，拿到课文不要查阅生词、注释，结合课后阅读理解练习检验自己对文章的理解情况。做题的方法有两种：一是先看问题，带着问题去看文章。这种做法适用于文章难度不大，但篇幅较长，后面提出的问题很少的材料；另一种方法是先阅读文章，再按顺序逐一回答问题。这种方法适用于有一定难度的议论文和论叙文，而且时间比较充裕。采用这种方法，应在关键的句子、词组和词下面或旁边做一些标记，以便于回答问题时在无法肯定的情况下，迅速查到所问问题的出处。在阅读过程中，我们应记取的是不要因生词多而半途而废，更不要逐一查出生词再去读。这样，既影响了速度，又不能从整体上了解全文大意；妨碍对文章的正确理解。

2、从生词到句篇“细嚼慢咽”

完成了作为阅读理解的第一遍后，重点就应该放在课文的生词、短语到句子乃至篇章的精读上。单词是构成篇章的主要因素，而每一课都有大量的生词和已学过的同义词、近义词和反义词等。如何科学地学习、记忆乃至运用这些词是摆在每一个自学者面前的难题。记忆单词的方法有多种多样。诸如词根、词缀记忆法、联想记忆法、总结归纳法等。究竟选用什么方法，还是多种方法兼用完全因人而宜。实践证明：对所学单词进行归类、对比、总结，这是学习中行之有效的方法。借助于此，学习者搞清词与词间的区别，加深记忆和准确使用。第四册第一课词汇中出现了emigrate一词，我们除了了解这一词的词性、意思和具体用法外，还可将它与immigrate 和 migrate进行对比，找出它们间的异同。emigrate 是移居某国，并加入该国国籍。由此而产生的派生词：表示永久移居的行动用emigration；移居外国的人叫emigrant。与这一组词极其相似的是migrate，表示在某一段时间内移居国外或外地。去外国或外地做工的劳工被称之为migrants。migrants 的另一意思是“候鸟”。移居的行为叫migration。另外，immigrate 有从外地移来，移居入境之意，immigrant 名词，移入者、国外来的移民，immigration 由外国迁居入境或表示移民的总称。通过这样的对比归类，学习者至少对这一组词有了一个感性认识，再结合本单元的课后练习就会有比较全面的理性认识。

课文的理解是一大难点。这其中包括众多的语言点和复杂的句子结构。只有理顺句子间的关系，了解语言间的逻辑联系，才能吃透课文精神。以第三册第15课text a 为例，这一课较前面所学的课文各方面要难得多，出现了并列句、复杂句等长句。第一句最后一句：

he would give them the much－needed support and necessary feedback in order that the program be accepted by the government.“he”指steve 句中包含了 in order that 引起的目的状语从句，而在从句中又省去了情态动词 might。看到这样的句子，学习者自然会想起其它一些如：so that ,for fear that ,lest ,in case 等引导的目的状语从句，这些从句有何区别呢? for fear that ,lest ,in case 引导目的状语时，从句中往往由“主语＋ should ＋ 动词”，should 可以被省略；so that 和 in order that 引导的目的状语从句，句子结构为“主语＋情态动词＋动词原形”，当中的情态动词一般不省略。这样就不难看出此句的特殊性，从而帮助你正确理解。语法现象纷繁复杂，有时两句有同样的语法功能。但由于用词的不同而会产生细微的差别。还是以同一课中第3小节的两句话为例：

3、全面学习，不要遗漏任何角落 课后注释是理解课文的辅助工具，现行的《英语自学教程》

三、四册没有正式的配套参考书，注释无疑是自学者理解课文不可多得的助手。但很多自学者忽视了这一块，往往是一带而过，甚至舍不得花时间去看。其实它不仅对理解课文、扩宽知识面有很大的帮助，而且在最后的考试中也会发挥很重要的作用。第三册第11课注释5(p188)出现了短语 catch one's eye。编者在此不仅指出了这一单词的用法，而且列出了与 eye 相关的其它短语。这无疑给学习者提供了课文之外有益的东西。有时参考书上还归纳总结出辞书上没有的东西。比如第3册第13课对话的注解10，对 doubt 一词的后续从句做出详尽明确的介绍，回答了自学者感到困惑的问题。它指出：“ doubt 用在肯定句中，之后的宾语从句用 whether 或 if 引导。用在否定句中，后接宾语从句用 that 引导„„”⑤诸如此类，解释仔细、明了，有时配有练习，且译文齐全，这是命题者不会放过的检测目标。例如第四册第2课注释5出现了短语 bring sb.around 意为 change sb's mind 之意。1992年精(2)试卷出现了这样一则考题：要求根据四个选项选出近义词组：do you think it will be easy to bring her around ? a、persuade her b、encourage her c、control her d、believe her此题答案为 a，若不看注释，这道题就会感到困难。有时考题会出得很偏，你认为没有必要考到的东西却会在试卷上出现。第四册第3课，海明威谈到如何成功地在野外露营时为了对付害虫，他建议在任何一家药店买上25美分的香茅油，即使在蚊蝇最猖獗的地方也可用上两周(two bits' worth of this purchased at any pharmacist's will be enough to last for two weeks in the woust fly and mosquito－ridden country.)针对这个注释，1994年精(2)考卷上出现了这样一道题：the food only cost him two bits.四个选项分别为：a、five cents b、ten cents c、fifteen cents d、twenty－five cents 答案为d。如果留心该课第54页注释10，这道题也就迎刃而解了。从以上分析可以看出注释也应细读，有价值的还应记忆，而不应成为“被遗忘的角落”。(二)语法。

应该说专科段的语法主要集中在综合英语(二)上，主要以第三册的语法项目为主。本科段没有专门语法项目讲解。这样，学习好专科段的语法对学好其它科目乃至为更高一级的学习奠定了基础。语法学习应注意以下几个步骤：

1、弄清定义，找出异同

非谓语动词可以说是语法项目中的难点，要正确地使用它，首先搞清它们在句中所能充当的功能。(为了叙说的方便，这里还以传统的语法称呼分别称之为不定式、动名词和分词)。不定式的功能相当于名词、形容词和副词，在句中可以充当主、表、宾、宾补、定、状语等；动名词相当于名词，可充当主语、表语、定语等，不能用作状语；分词(包含过去分词和现在分词)相当于形容词和副词，因此不能充当主语和宾语。这三种非谓语动词形式的某些语法功能有相似之处，又如何区分使用，这是我们应进一步搞清楚的问题。例如不定式，动名词都可以做定语，具体请看下面一组句子：

① the hospital____(build)next month will be open to the public next year.② the hospital____(build)last year is open to the public now.③ the hospital____(build)now will be open to the public.④ the____(build)material used in the hospital is of high quality.四题的答案分别为①to be built②built③being built④building 从这四句可归纳出： 不定式做定语往往表示动作将来发生。过去分词往往表示完成或被动概念，现在分词表示 正在进行或含主动概念。动名词做定语则说明该名词的用途(building material =material for building)。通过这样的总结对比，就会对非谓语动词有比较深刻的认识。

2、掌握一般，抓住特殊

每次考题中都会出现一些“怪题”、“偏题”，其实这些题目只是语法中的特殊情况而已。例1997年上半年自考精(2)试卷中第一部分第一项第7题：the teacher explained the sentence patiently to the students to make himself____.a、understood b、understand c、understanding d、understands 正常情况下，使役动词(have，make, let)之后接动词不定式做宾补“to”要省去。那是宾语是宾补这个动作的执行者的缘故。此句宾语是宾补这个动作的承受者，亦即老师(的话)被学生理解，故答案应选 a。象这样的特殊例子还有很多，再如： why didn't you go ? i'd rather you______,too ? a、had gone b、went c、go d、would go 通常情况下，would rather 可表示宁愿，后续动词原形，但是 would 还可以组成 would sooner , would prefer , would just as soon 构成虚拟语气，意为“倒希望”、“宁愿”，例如：i would rather they came tomorrow.我宁愿他们明天来。所以此题选 a。

应该说每一个语法项目中都有特殊情况，我们只有掌握着普遍规律，对特殊情况做到心中有数，才能以不变应万变。

3、举一反三，反复练习

语法的学习光了解规则还不够，学习者必须加强训练，才能发现词与词，句与句之间的细微差别，也才会得心应手，应用自如。第4册书的第39页上的练习要求添加反意问句，此项看似容易，大多数人做了题目，就认为完成了任务，其实这远远不够，请看第18题： i mast go there ,____? 答案是mustn't i。此处 must 为“必须”之意。但 must 还有“有必要”。附加疑问句用need，如 all of them must learn english ,needn't they ? 了解这些还不够，陈述句中的 must 表示推测时，附加疑问句不能用情态动词而必须与陈述句的谓语相呼应。

例：you must be hungry ,aren't you ? 你一定饿了，是不是? you must have waited for a long time ,haven't you ? 你一定等了好久，是不是? you must have met him yesterday ,didn't you ? 你昨天一定见到了他，是不是? 像这样的例子不胜枚举，学习者要细心、勤奋，多思考、勤总结，做起题来才能得心应手。(三)练习三、四册每单元之后都设计了大量的练习。做题时可以进行适当的取舍。有些练习必须重点做，有些练习可以一带而过，还有些甚至可以不做。语言结构：这部分的练习是为了强化课文的语言点和每单元设计的语法项目而设计的。像第三册每课之后的最后一项练习。第四册中的grammar 和 vocabulary 栏目中的练习，不但要做而且要弄懂记住。词型转换、句型转换、同义词、反义词、释义选择、动词的适当时态填空等都是实用性、针对性很强的题目，每一个都必须做。如何备考

综合英语(2)考试一般包括两部分，分为客观与主观题。考生们经过艰苦的学习，能否通过考试，正确地备考方法显得非常重要。下面笔者就如何准备，提几点看法：

1、全面细致，条理系统

复习的过程实际是对所学知识的总结概括，加深理解的过程。可以说考试的内容来自几个方面：一是完全是书上的内容，由命题者稍加组合而成。如试卷上的部分翻译题，像97年精(二)的78题，选自第四册114页最后一行的一句话。但我们在答题时，必须将句子补充完整。the greater the fear is ,the heavier the wall is built.79题：“又到夏天了，孩子们玩起了战争游戏，他们喜欢赤身裸体，因为不穿衣服，他们的动作更加敏捷”。则是将第四册第八单元 text a 中第一节的第一句与第156页第二节中的一些句子合并起来，构成了一个翻译句。但中间要稍作变化。when it was summer again ,the children began to play war games.they liked to be naked because they were swifter without clothes.而97年的第77题翻译：“这所学校有两名从南京师范大学毕业的英语教师”。则选自第三册第10课课后语法(p175)ⅲ非限定定语从句4中原原本本的一句。94年自考试卷中的句型转换要求将 the old lady always prides herself on being different 改成 the old lady is。这一句选自第四册第一单元：练习第17页的ⅲ/3题。从这些分析不难看出考查的内容不仅限于课文，还会检查注释、语法、练习等方面的掌握情况。我们只有全面复习才能在考试中取胜。

2、有的放矢，抓住重点

3、讲究方法，以巧取胜

综合英语(2)考试中有些项目是根本无法复习的，靠硬攻无法成功，只有讲究方法，取胜才有把握。“完型填空”每次必考，但这项失分率也是较高，原因是多方面的。除了“完型填空”留下了许多空格导致信息破坏较多给做题带来很多困难外，与各人的综合语言能力，做题技巧有很大联系。下面简略介绍一些做题方法供考生参考。

②上下联系，前后贯通。尽管完型填空设置了许多空格，造成了信息的缺失，但是整个文章是一个完整的统一体。词与词、句与句、段与段之间都存在着一定的联系。例如句子之中可以表现为因果、转折或条件等内在的逻辑关系。做题者应联系上下文，抓住传递语言信息的联词，理顺句与句间的关系，从字里行间推测文章大意，找出正确的答案。

③借助语法，形意结合。运用自己所学到的语法知识，从人称、性、数、语态和时态上着手寻找正确答案。以87年完形填空第二小段为例：

when you listen to people 35 a foreign language that you understand ,have you noticed that the 36 speakers of that language use words and phrases in a manner different from 37 you are used to ?

35、a、say b、speak

c、talk d、tell

36、a、national b、natural

c、nave d、native

37、a、that b、what

c、when d、where ④仔细推敲，复看全文。填完了所有空格后，做题者还应该将全文通读几遍，从上下文中判断每一个答案的正确性。有些答案从局部看似乎合情合理，但是从整体看就不一定正确。这是因为补充残缺的信息后，做题者对全文的含义和结构也有了较为清晰的了解，有能力把握答案的准确性。所以时间再紧也要挤出时间来通览检查。这样才能保证做题的准确性。以上简略地讨论了综合英语(2)的重要位置，自学过程中所要注意的重点、难点，并提出了备考策略。笔者认为，这些只是就目前现行教材提出的应注意的基本点，实践中有条件的自学者，还可以把听、说、写三个方面一起做起来，这才算达到了综合英语课的要求，只有这样也才能真正达到一个英语专业专科生的水平。

注：① ② ③ 《高等学校英语专业基础阶段英语教学大纲》，上海外语教育出版社，1989年版。

④《江苏省高等教育自学考试英语专业考试计划》1998年。

⑤郝振益、高维正《英语自学教程》(三)，黑龙江人民出版社出版，1991年版，234页。

第五篇：英语课文（模版）

Unit1 One way of summarizing the American position is to state that we value originality and independence more than the Chinese do.The contrast between our two cultures can also be seen in terms of the fears we both harbor.Chinese teachers are fearful that if skills are not acquired early, they may never be acquired;there is, on the other hand, no comparable hurry to promote creativity.American educators fear that unless creativity has been acquired early, it may never emerge;on the other hand, skills can be picked up later.However, I do not want to overstate my case.There is enormous creativity to be found in Chinese scientific, technological and artistic innovations past and present.And there is a danger of exaggerating creative breakthroughs in the West.When any innovation is examined closely, its reliance on previous achievements is all too apparent(the “Standing on the shoulders of giants” phenomenon).But assuming that the contrast I have developed is valid, and that the fostering of skills and creativity are both worthwhile goals, the important question becomes this:

Can we gather, from the Chinese and American extremes, a superior way to approach education, perhaps striking a better balance between the poles of creativity and basic skills? Unit2 Yet I feel nothing more than a passing whim to attain the material things so many other people have.My 1999 car shows the wear and tear of 105,000 miles.But it is still dependable.My apartment is modest, but quiet and relaxing.My clothes are well suited to my work, which is primarily outdoors.My minimal computer needs can be met at the library.In spite of what I don’t have, I don’t feel poor.Why? I’ve enjoyed exceptionally good health for 53 years.It’s not just that I’ve been illness-free, it’s that I feel vigorous and spirited.Exercising is actually fun for me.I look forward to long, energizing walks.And I love the “can do” attitude that follows.I also cherish the gift of creativity.When I write a beautiful line of poetry, or fabricate a joke that tickles someone, I feel rich inside.I’m continually surprised at the insights that come through my writing process.And talking with so many interesting writer friends is one of my main sources of enjoyment.Unit4 I’d never realized how important daily routine is: dressing for work, sleeping normal hours.I’d never thought I relied so much on co-workers for company.I began to understand why long-term unemployment can be so damaging, why life without an externally supported daily plan can lead to higher rates of drug abuse, crime, suicide.To restore balance to my life, I force myself back into the real world.I call people, arrange to meet with the few remaining friends who haven’t fled New York City.I try to at least get to the gym, so as to set apart the weekend from the rest of my week.I arrange interviews for stories, doctor’s appointments — anything to get me out of the house and connected with others.But sometimes being face to face is too much.I see a friend and her ringing laughter is intolerable — the noise of conversation in the restaurant, unbearable.I make my excuses and flee.I re-enter my apartment and run to the computer as though it were a place of safety.I click on the modem, the once-annoying sound of the connection now as pleasant as my favorite tune.I enter my password.The real world disappears.Unit5 The runway felt different this time.It startled him for a brief moment.Then it all hit him like a wet bale of hay.The bar was set at nine inches higher than his personal best.That’s only one inch off the National record, he thought.The intensity of the moment filled his mind with anxiety.He began shaking the tension.It wasn’t working.He became more tense.Why was this happening to him now, he thought.He began to get nervous.Afraid would be a more accurate description.What was he going to do? He had never experienced these feelings.Then out of nowhere, and from the deepest depths of his soul, he pictured his mother.Why now? What was his mother doing in his thoughts at a time like this? It was simple.His mother always used to tell him when you felt tense, anxious or even scared, take deep breaths.So he did.Along with shaking the tension from his legs, he gently laid his pole at his feet.He began to stretch out his arms and upper body.The light breeze that was once there was now gone.He carefully picked up his pole.He felt his heart pounding.He was sure the crowd did, too.The silence was deafening.When he heard the singing of some distant birds in flight, he knew it was his time to fly.Unit6 Why are we so quick to limit ourselves? I’m not denying that most little girls love dolls and most little boys love videogames, and it may be true that some people favor the right side of their brain, and others the left.But how relevant is that to me, or to anyone，as

an

individual?

Instead of translating our differences into hard and fast conclusions about the human brain, why can’t we focus instead on how incredibly flexible we are? Instead of using what we know as a reason why women can’t learn physics, maybe we should consider the possibility that our brains are more powerful than we imagine.Here’s a secret: math and science don’t come easily to most people.No one was ever born knowing calculus.A woman can learn anything a man can, but first she needs to know that she can do it, and that takes a leap of faith.It also helps to have selective hearing.Unit7 Two centuries ago an English judge in India noticed that several words in Sanskrit closely resembled some words in Greek and Latin.A systematic study revealed that many modern languages descended from a common parent language, lost to us because nothing was written down.Identifying similar words, linguists have come up with what they call an Indo-European parent language, spoken until 3500 to 2000 B.C.These people had common words for snow, bee and wolf but no word for sea.So some scholars assume they lived somewhere in north-central Europe, where it was cold.Traveling east, some established the languages of India and Pakistan, and others drifted west toward the gentler climates of Europe.Some who made the earliest move westward became known as the Celts, whom Caesar’s armies found in Britain.New words came with the Germanic tribes — the Angles, the Saxons, etc.— that slipped across the North Sea to settle in Britain in the 5th century.Together they formed what we call Anglo-Saxon society.The Anglo-Saxons passed on to us their farming vocabulary, including sheep, ox, earth, wood, field and work.They must have also enjoyed themselves because they gave us the word laughter Unit8 There was once a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in harmony with its surroundings.The town lay in the midst of a checkerboard of prosperous farms, with fields of grain and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom drifted above the green fields.In autumn, oak and maple and birch set up a blaze of colour that flamed and flickered across a backdrop of pines.Then foxes barked in the hills and deer silently crossed the fields, half hidden in the mists of the autumn mornings.Along the roads, laurel, viburnum and alder, great ferns and wild flowers, delighted the traveller’s eye through much of the year.Even in winter the roadsides were places of beauty, where countless birds came to feed on the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising above the snow.The countryside was, in fact, famous for the abundance and variety of its bird life, and when the flood of migrants was pouring through in spring and autumn people travelled from great distances to observe them.Others came to fish the streams，which flowed clear and cold out of the hills and contained shady pools where trout lay.So it had been from the days many years ago when the first settlers raised their houses, sank their wells and built their barns.