加拿大学生文学读本（第3册）(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：加拿大教育部

出版社：天津人民出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

加拿大学生文学读本（第3册）试读：

LESSON 1 TODAY

LESSON 2 FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR

ONE day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. He carried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for a few cents to buy something to eat. As he was grumbling at his lot, he kept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were never satisfied but were always wanting more.

“Here,” said he, “is the master of this house——I know him well. He was always a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a long time ago. Had he been wise he would have stopped then. He would have turned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spent the rest of his life in ease. But what did he do instead? He built ships and sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He thought he would get mountains of gold.”

“But there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, and his riches were swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes lie at the bottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished.”

“There are many such cases. Men seem to be never satisfied unless they gain the whole world.”

“As for me, if I had only enough to eat and to wear, I would not want anything more.”

Just at that moment Fortune came down the street. She saw the beggar and stopped. She said to him:

“Listen! I have long wished to help you. Hold your wallet and I will pour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls into the wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon the ground shall become dust. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes, I understand,” said the beggar.

“Then have a care,” said Fortune. “Your wallet is old, so do not load it too heavily.”

The beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. He quickly opened his wallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The wallet grew heavy.

“Is that enough?” asked Fortune.

“Not yet.”

“Isn't it cracking?”

“Never fear.”

The beggar's hands began to tremble. Ah, if the golden stream would only pour for ever!

“You are the richest man in the world now!”

“Just a little more, add just a handful or two.”

“There, it's full. The wallet will burst.”

“But it will hold a little, just a little more!”

Another piece was added, and the wallet split. The treasure fell upon the ground and was turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The beggar had now nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. He was as poor as before.—— IVAN KIRLOFF

LESSON 3 THE LARK AND THE ROOK

“GOOD-NIGHT, Sir Rook!” said a little lark,

“The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;

I’ve bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;

I’ve sung my hymn to the parting day;

So now I haste to my quiet nook

In yon dewy meadow——good-night, Sir Rook!”

“Good-night, poor Lark,” said his titled friend

With a haughty toss and a distant bend;

“I also go to my rest profound,

But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground.

The fittest place for a bird like me

Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree.”

“I opened my eyes at peep of day

And saw you taking your upward way,

Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,

An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams,

Soaring too high to be seen or heard;

And I said to myself: ‘What a foolish bird!’”

“I trod the park with a princely air;

I filled my crop with the richest fare;

I cawed all day ’mid a lordly crew,

And I made more noise in the world than you!

The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;

I looked and wondered——good-night, poor thing!”

“Good-night, once more,” said the lark's sweet voice,

“I see no cause to repent my choice;

You build your nest in the lofty pine,

But is your slumber more sweet than mine?

You make more noise in the world than I,

But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?”

WHAT stronger breast plate than a heart untainted?

Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just;

And he but naked, though locked up in steel,

Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.—— SHAKESPEARE

LESSON 4 WILD LIFE IN ALGONQUIN PARK

ALMOST the first thing we noticed about camping in Algonquin was how quickly our tent and its inmates, catching the tone and colour of the woods, seemed to melt into the wild life about them. We were a part of all we saw, and it thrilled us with delight——the dawning knowledge that even the wild creatures themselves had admitted us into the goodly fellowship of wood folk.

The loons that had their home on the narrow reach of water beyond our bay would come floating in to feed within a boat's length of the shore; the big mink that lived among the driftwood took up his daily fishing-post on the butt of the floating pine log. Even a pair of beaver, time and again, at sundown, swam over from the little cove on the opposite shore to enjoy their evening repast among our lily pads. The very deer resumed their wonted paths, moving right by the tent; often in the night or at dawn we would hear their footfalls as they passed down to drink their fill at the bay; occasionally one would snuff uneasily as it caught the tainted air. Even in broad daylight they would come browsing to the edge of the clearing; and once, on emerging from the tent, we saw a few paces away, just back of an old moss-grown log, two does and a fawn quietly cropping the leaves from a little clump of hazel.

It was a great delight to stand perfectly still and watch the deer; they would often look full at us in a prolonged stare, and then turn to feed again, from time to time raising the head or turning it somewhat sharply to see that we were not trying to take advantage of them. We might even speak to a companion, and, if we used level tones and did not raise the voice excitedly, they showed no alarm. It would almost seem that the sense impressions of eye and ear allowed the creatures to think for themselves in independent judgment; but once they scent a person, reason goes overboard, and they stamp and blow in blind panic; like Falstaff, they become cowards on instinct. Their sense of smell is an age-long heritage that has both preserved the race and made it what it is; years, even generations of protection in a forest sanctuary will not appreciably modify this guiding principle of the animal's life.

The second season revealed a fresh charm; it taught us the delight of greeting old friends, in flower and insect, bird and beast, about the camp, the island, and the lake. Paddle with what speed we might to open camp, our eager spirits left us far astern; and, once on the island, we could hardly wait to stretch the canvas and unpack, before making some favourite round, perhaps of ferns and flowers, perhaps down the western bay to watch the Waxwings hawk after insects, or up the Madawaska to hear the Olive-sided Flycatchers and see the deer come down at dusk from the woods.

We were soon so used to sleeping under canvas that, instead of sitting up tensely listening to every little rustling sound, we lay secure. It became even a luxury of the night to keep awake for the call of the owls under the August moon; sometimes the sonorous note of the Horned Owl; oftener the twice-repeated four-fold cry of the Barred Owl. Hardly ever did it fail of an answering call from afar; gradually the birds would draw closer and closer together. When, as often, they met in the forest canopy over our heads, it was wonderful to hear the deep gurgling tones of soft endearment, like the crooning of doves or brooding rooks, but fuller, more guttural, and far more melodious.

In the second season we built a cedar float for a wharf. This raft-like object in the little bay somewhat alarmed our guests the beaver, but not for long; and it was accepted by the bolder spirits the very day after its completion. That morning I happened to be out trolling for bass soon after daylight and presently saw a muskrat reconnoitring about the float. In a little while it dived, and, uprooting some aquatic herbage, proceeded to drag a load of it under the wharf, having evidently decided to begin building on this highly desirable site.

It worked away vigorously for nearly a quarter of an hour, when it was spied by the big mink at the pine log. Your rodent is no match for a weasel, and it was soon forced to beat a retreat, while the mink returned to his log cabin. In about ten minutes the muskrat swam cautiously back, found the coast apparently clear, and at once resumed operations. Again the mink returned to the charge, and this time dived under the float and fairly routed the intruder from its position among the cedar stringers. He then mounted the float, and, standing erect, watched the rat round the bend, to see that it really did double the point instead of trying to sneak back under water.

It was delightful indeed to note this fearlessness among the wild animals. Jerry Muskrat was obviously far more afraid of Billy Mink than he was of me. This was plainly the golden harvest of sanctuary, for in settled parts the muskrat is cautious.

The mink, of course, is proverbially bold. One day, as we were paddling back to camp, we noticed a mink standing on a little rock, marooned, as it were, in mid-channel behind our island. Taking a quiet stroke in its direction, we allowed the canoe to drift up to the rock, expecting the mink to beat a hasty retreat and escape by diving. To our surprise, even consternation, it deliberately rose up, snuffed the breeze with inquiring nostril, and then, crawling down the stone, plunged into the water and swam straight toward us. On reaching the canoe, it actually tried to clamber up the smooth side and get over the gunwale. I had been fishing the day before, and the smell of the bass was evidently still perceptible to this sharp-nosed fisherman of our native waters. In fact, though it serves a different purpose in the two creatures, the sense of smell is no less imperious in the mink than in the deer and leads to just as unreasonable action.

Another day a baby beaver, apparently deserted, was brought into our camp, and for a fortnight we tried to rear it. Unfortunately it had been badly injured and did not long survive. But it was an affectionate pet, with quaint little ways of its own, and the daintiest slip of a paddle tail that it trailed along behind it. It was scrupulously clean, and, after dining, would always wash its face and smooth its fur with tongue and paws. It was curious to see the beaver traits coming out in it; it would crawl about the floor of the boathouse, and when it came to anything resembling a stump (my foot for instance), it would raise itself up on its hind legs, and, balancing with paddle tail below and forepaws above, stand there resting like a pigmy kangaroo.—— F. J. A. MORRIS

LESSON 5 TUBAL CAIN

OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might,

In the days when earth was young;

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,

The strokes of his hammer rung:

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,

As he fashioned the sword and spear.

And he sang—— “Hurrah for my handiwork!

Hurrah for the spear and sword!

Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well,

For he shall be king and lord!”

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire;

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,

As the crown of his desire;

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,

Till they shouted loud for glee;

And they gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of the forest free.

And they sang—— “Hurrah for Tubal Cain,

Who hath given us strength anew!

Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire,

And hurrah for the metal true!”

But a sudden change came o'er his heart,

Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done:

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind,

That the land was red with the blood they shed,

In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said—— “Alas! that I ever made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,

The spear and the sword for men whose joy

Is to slay their fellow-man!”

And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,

And his furnace smouldered low.

But he rose at last with a cheerful face,

And a bright courageous eye,

And bared his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high.

And he sang—— “Hurrah for my handiwork!”

And the red sparks lit the air;

“Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,”

And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands;

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands:

And sang—— “Hurrah for Tubal Cain!

Our stanch good friend is he;

And for the ploughshare and the plough,

To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord;

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We'll not forget the sword!”—— CHARLES MACKAY

LESSON 6 PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE

BOBBY was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyes there was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it, the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, the glint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. Presently Bobby heard voices talking softly.

“This is a good specimen,” said one voice. “See how stout and strong he looks!”

“I wonder who that is, and what he has found,” thought Bobby. “I wish it wasn't such hard work to keep my eyes open.” He made a great effort, however, and raised his heavy lids. At first he could see nothing. Then he caught a glimpse of a mossy log, with a row of frogs and toads sitting upon it. They were looking solemnly at him. Bobby felt a little uncomfortable under that steady gaze.

“The toads are making their spring visit to the pond to lay their eggs,” thought the boy. “I forgot that they were due this week.”

“He must have done a good deal of mischief in his day,” said an old bull-frog, gravely. A chill crept over Bobby. “In his day.” ——What did that mean?

A toad hopped out from the line and came so close to Bobby that he could have touched her but for the strange spell which held him fast.

“Yes,” said she; “this is one of the species. We are very fortunate to have caught him. Now we shall be ready to listen to Professor Rana's remarks.”

Still Bobby could not move. What were they going to do? In a moment there was a rustling among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and toads were seen hurrying towards the pine tree. Among them was a ponderous frog, carrying a roll of manuscript under his arm. He wore huge goggles, and looked so wise that Bobby did not dare to laugh.

“I am very sleepy,” murmured a portly toad near Bobby's left ear. “I laid over eight thousand eggs last night, and I have a long journey before me. But I must stay to hear this. We may never have such a chance again.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the professor, in a sonorous tone that was easily heard for several feet, “this is a specimen of the creature known to us as the human tadpole. You will kindly observe his long legs. They were doubtless given to him for the purpose of protection. Being possessed of a most mischievous and reckless spirit, the species is always getting into difficulties, and would probably become extinct if it had not the power to run away.”

“Nonsense!” said Bobby under his breath. There was a murmur of interest and curiosity among the crowd. Bobby felt his legs twitch nervously, but his power over them was gone.

“Otherwise,” went on the lecturer, “he is not at all adapted to his surroundings. Observe how carefully we are dressed. The frogs have the green and brown tints of their homes by the water-side. The toads look like lumps of dirt, so that they may not be too readily snapped up by birds of prey. But the Boy——to call him by his scientific name——has no such protection. Look at this red shirt and these white trousers, and this hat as big as a trout pool! Could anything be more ridiculous? Even a giraffe does not look so absurd as this.”

A red flush mounted to Bobby's freckled cheeks, but this time he did not try to speak.

“Now,” said the professor, “as far as we have been able to learn, the human tadpole is absolutely useless. We are, therefore, doing no harm in experimenting upon this specimen. There are plenty of them, and this one will not be a serious loss.”

“Stop!” said Bobby, so unexpectedly that everybody jumped. “What are you going to do with me?”

“You will be so kind as to lie still,” said the professor severely. “At present you are only a specimen.”

There was no help for it. Bobby found it impossible to move hand or foot. He could wriggle a little, ——but that was all.

“Not only is the Boy entirely useless,” went on the professor, “but he is often what might be called a pest, even to his own kind. He is endured in the world for what he may become when he is full-grown, and even then he is sometimes disappointing. You are familiar with many of his objectionable ways towards the animal world, but I am sure you would be surprised if you knew what a care and trouble he frequently is to his own people. He can be trusted to do few kinds of work. It is difficult to keep him clean. He doesn't know how to get his own dinner. He has a genius for making weaker things miserable. He likes fishing, and he longs for a gun; he collects birds’ eggs; he puts butterflies on pins; he teases his little sisters.”

“Why isn't the species exterminated?” asked another frog angrily.

Then the toad near Bobby's ear spoke timidly: “I think you are a little unjust, Professor. I have known boys who were comparatively harmless.”

“It is true there may be a few, Mrs. Bufo,” said the professor with great politeness, “but as a class they may be fairly set down as of very doubtful value. Speak up, Tadpole, and say if I have made any false statements so far.”

Bobby fairly shouted in his eagerness to be heard.

“We do work,” he said. “We have to go to school every day.”

“What a help that must be to your parents and to the world at large!” said the frog with sarcasm. “I am surprised that we never see the results of such hard labour. Do you know how useful even our smallest tadpoles are? Without them this pond would be no longer beautiful, but foul and ill-smelling. As for what we do when we are grown up, modesty forbids me to praise the frogs, but you know what a toad is worth to mankind?”

“No,” said Bobby. “About two cents, I guess.” Bobby didn't intend to be rude. He thought this a liberal valuation.

“Twenty dollars a year, as estimated by the Department of Agriculture!” cried the frog triumphantly. “What do you think of that?”

“I should like to know why,” said Bobby, looking as if he thought Professor Rana was making fun of him.

“What are the greatest enemies of mankind?” asked the professor, peering over his goggles at poor Bobby.

“Tigers,” said Bobby, promptly; “or wolves.”

“Wrong,” said the lecturer. “Insects. Insects destroy property on this continent to the amount of over four hundred million dollars annually. Insects destroy the crops upon which man depends for his food. Going to school hasn't made you very wise, has it? Well, the toads are insect destroyers. That's their business. If the state only knew enough to make use of them, millions of dollars might be saved every year. Does it seem to you that the human animal is as clever as it might be, when it allows such numbers of toads to be destroyed?”

“It's a shame!” chimed in a voice from the front seats. “We keep out of the way as much as we can; we eat every kind of troublesome worm and insect, ——the cutworm, canker-worm, tent caterpillar, army-worm, rose-beetle, and the common house-fly; we ask for no wages or food or care, ——and what do we get in return? Not even protection and common kindness. If we had places where we could live in safety, who could tell the amount of good we might do? Yet I would not have this poor boy hurt if a word of mine could prevent it.”

“This is a scientific meeting,” observed the professor; “and benevolent sentiments are quite out of place. We will now proceed to notice the delicate nervous system of the creature. Stand closer, my

试读结束[说明：试读内容隐藏了图片]

下载完整电子书