为您找到与掩耳盗铃的故事英文版简短相关的共200个结果:
相信掩耳盗铃的故事大家小时候是再熟悉不过的了,那么你看过英文版的掩耳盗铃吗,今天读文网小编在这里为大家介绍英语故事双语版掩耳盗铃,欢迎大家阅读!
Covering One’s Ears While Stealing a Bell
Mr. Wang thinks he is clever, but he always does foolish things.
One day he sees a beautiful bell at the top of a door. “Oh! How nice! I will take it home.” He thinks, “What can I do?” After a while he has a “good” idea. “Aha! I have an idea now. I can plug my ears. Then I will not hear the ring when I take off the bell.”
Then he does so. But as soon as he takes off the bell, the owner opens the door. “What ate you doing?” the owner says angrily.
掩耳盗铃
王先生总以为自己很聪明,实际上他总干傻事。
一天,他看见一户人家的门头有个很漂亮的铃铛。“啊,真漂亮啊!我要把它拿回家去。”他自言自语道:“我该怎么做呢?”过了一会儿他想到了一个“好”主意。“啊哈!我有办法了!我把耳朵堵上,拿铃铛的时候就听不见铃声了。”
于是他就这样做了。可是他刚拿下铃铛,屋子的主人就打开门,怒气冲冲地说:“你在干什么?”
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狼来了的故事相信大家不不会陌生,这是一则很有意思的寓言故事,下面读文网小编在这里整理了狼来了英语故事阅读给大家,希望大家会喜欢这些英文故事!
Many years since in a small territory, there was not one of the inhabitants who did not stutter when he spoke, and halt in walking; both these defects, moreover, were considered accomplishments.
很多年前,在一个很小的地方,住在那里的所有居民都有口吃且瘸着腿走路,而这两种缺陷居然还被视为才能。
A stranger saw the evil, and thinking how they would admire his walking, went about without halting, after the usual manner Of our race.
一个外地人到了那里,看到了这样的缺陷,以为那里的居民会羡慕他的走姿。于是,他没有跛脚,而是按照正常人的走姿走来走去。
Every one stopped to look at him, and all those who looked, laughed, and holding their sides to repress their merriment, shouted,
当地人都停下来看他,都哈哈大笑起来。最后,他们好不容易忍住笑喊道:
"Teach the strenger how to walk properly! " The stranger considered it his duty to cast the reproach from himself. "
“来教教这个外地人怎样正确地走路吧” 这个外地人觉得自己有责任反驳他们:你们才是瘸子,
You halt, he cried, "It is not I, you must accustom yourselves to leave off so awkward a habit!"
他高声喊道:“不是我,你们必须改掉这种难看的走姿!”
This only increased the uproars, when they heard him speak; he did not even stammer; this was sufficient to disgrace him, and he was laughed at throughout the country.
这使当地人更加哗然大笑。因为他们听他说话居然还不口吃!这真让人觉得丢脸啊。他所到之处,都会遭到别人的嘲笑。
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孟姜女哭长城的故事相信大家都是很熟悉的,那么你看过英文版的孟姜女哭长城吗,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享孟姜女哭长城经典故事,欢迎大家阅读!
seeking her husband at the great wall
a han folktale
a little over two hundred years before our era, the first emperor of the chin dynasty ascended the throne under the name of shih huang. this emperor was very cruel towards his subjects, forcing people from every part of the country to come and build the great wall to protect his empire. work never stopped, day or night, with the people carrying heavy loads of earth and bricks under the overseers' whips, lashes, and curses. they received very little food; the clothes they wore were threadbare. so it was scarcely to be wondered at that large numbers of them died every day.
there was a young man, named wan hsi-liang, among those who had been pressed into the service of building emperor shih huang's great wall. this wan hsi-liang had a beautiful and virtuous wife, whose name was meng chiang-nu. for a long, long time after her husband was forced to leave her, meng chiang-nu had no news of him, and it saddened her to think what he must be suffering, toiling for the accursed emperor. her hatred of the wicked ruler grew apace with her longing for the husband he had torn from her side. one spring, when the flowers were in bloom and the trees budding, when the grass was a lush green, and the swallows were flying in pairs in the sky, her sorrow seemed to deepen as she walked in the fields, so she sang:
in march the peach is blossom-dressed;
swallows, mating, build their nest.
two by two they gaily fly....
left all alone, how sad am i!
but even when autumn came round, there still was no news about wan hsi-liang. it was rumored that the great wall was in building somewhere way up north where it was so cold that one would hardly dare stick one's hands out of one's sleeves. when meng chiang-nu heard this, she hurriedly made cotton-padded clothes and shoes for her husband. but who should take these to him when it was such a long way to the great wall? pondering the matter over and over, she finally decided she would take the clothes and shoes to wan hsi-liang herself.
it was rather cold when she started out. the leaves had fallen from the trees and, as the harvest had been gathered in, the fields were empty and forlornly dismal. it was very lonely for meng chiang-nu to walk all by herself, especially since she had never been away from home in her life, and did not know the way and had to ask for directions every now and then.
one evening she failed to reach a town she was going to, so she put up for the night in a little temple in a grove beside the road. having walked the whole day, she was very tired and fell asleep as soon as she lay down on a stone table. she dreamed her husband was coming towards her, and a feeling of great happiness enveloped her. but then he told her that he had died, and she cried bitterly. when she woke up in the morning, she was overwhelmed by doubts and sadness as she remembered this dream. with curses on the emperor who had torn so many families asunder, meng chiang-nu continued on her way.
one day, she came to a small inn by the side of the hilly road. the inn was kept by an old woman who, when she saw meng chiang-nu's hot face and dusty clothes, asked where she was going. when meng chiang-nu told her, she was deeply moved.
"aya!" she sighed, "the great wall is still far away from here, there are mountains and rivers to cross before you. how can a weak young woman like yourself get there?" but meng chiang-nu told the old woman she was determined to get the clothes and shoes to her husband, no matter what the difficulty. the old woman was as much touched by the younger one's willpower as she was concerned about her safety. the next day she accompanied meng chiang-nu over a distance to show her sympathy.
and so, meng chiang-nu walked on and on and on till, one day, she came to a deep valley between the mountains. the sky was overcast with gray clouds, a strong wind was blowing that chilled the air. she walked quite a long time through the valley without, however, finding a single house. all she could see were weeds, brambles and rocks. it was getting so dark that she could no longer see the road. at the foot of the mountains there was a river, running with water of a murky color. where should she go? being at her wit's end, she decided to spend the night among some bushes. as she had not eaten anything for the whole day, she shivered all the more violently in the cold. thinking of how her husband must be suffering in this icy cold weather, her heart contracted with a pain as sharp as a knife. when meng chiang-nu opened her eyes the next morning, she found to her amazement the whole valley and her own body covered with a blanket of snow. how was she to continue her travel?
while she was still quite at a loss as to what to do, a crow suddenly alighted before her. it cawed twice and flew on a short distance, then sat down again in front of her and cawed again twice. meng chiang-nu decided that the bird was inviting her to follow its direction and so she resumed her travel, a little cheered because of the company of this living thing, and she began to sing as she walked along:
thick and fast swirl round the winter snows:
i, meng chiang-nu, trudge, bearing winter clothes,
a starveling crow, alas, my only guide,
the great wall far, and i far from his side!
thus she walked past mountain ranges, crossing big rivers as well as small streams.
and thus many a dreary day had passed before she at last reached the great wall. how excited she was when she caught sight of it, meandering like a huge serpent over the mountains before her. the wind was piercingly cold and the bare mountains were covered with dry grass only, without a single tree anywhere. clusters of people were huddling against the great wall; these were the people who had been driven here to build it.
meng chiang-nu walked along the great wall, trying to find her husband among those who were toiling here. she asked after her husband, but nobody knew anything about him, so she had to go on and on inquiring.... she saw what sallow faces the toilers had, their cheekbones protruding through the skin, and she saw many dead lying about, without anybody paying any attention. her anguish over her husband's unknown fate increased, so that she shed many bitter tears as she continued her search.
at last she learned the sad truth. her husband had died long ago because of the unbearably hard toil, and his body had been put underground where he fell, under the great wall. hearing this tragic news, meng chiang-nu fell into a swoon. some of the builders tried to revive her, but it was a long while before she regained consciousness. when she did, she burst into a flood of tears, for several days on end, so that many of the toilers wept with her. so bitter was her lament that, suddenly, a length of over two hundred miles of the great wall came crumbling down, while a violent storm made the sand and bricks whirl about in the air.
"it was meng chiang-nu who, by her tears, caused the great wall to crumble!" the people along the edifice told one another with amazement, at the same time filled with hatred of the cruel emperor, who caused nothing but misery to his subjects.
when the emperor heard how meng chiang-nu had brought part of his great wall down, he immediately went to see for himself what sort of person she was. he found that she was as beautiful as a fairy, so he asked her to become his concubine. meng chiang-nu who hated him so deeply for his cruel ways would, of course, not consent to this. but she felt a ruse would serve her purpose better than frankness, so she answered amiably: "yes, i will, if you do three things for me." the emperor then asked what these three things were and meng chiang-nu said: "the first is that you bury my husband in a golden coffin with a silver lid on it; the second is that all your ministers and generals go into mourning for my husband and attend his funeral; the third is that you attend his funeral yourself, wearing deep mourning as his son would do." being so taken with her beauty, the emperor consented to her requests at once. everything was, therefore, arranged accordingly. in funeral procession, emperor shih huang walked closely behind the coffin, while a cortege of all his courtiers and generals followed him. the emperor anticipated happily the enjoyment the beautiful, new concubine would give him.
but meng chiang-nu, when she saw her husband properly buried, kowtowed before his tomb in homage to the deceased, crying bitterly for a long time. then, all of a sudden, she jumped into the river that flowed close by the tomb. the emperor was infuriated at being thwarted in his desires. he ordered his attendants to pull her out of the water again. but before they could seize her, meng chiang-nu had turned into a beautiful, silvery fish and swam gracefully out of sight, deep down into the green-blue water.
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百顺孝为先,这是中国的传统美德之一,而中国民间有着二十四孝经典故事,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享一些二十四孝经典民间故事,欢迎大家阅读!
Shun, a legendary ancient emperor and one of the Five Emperors, had a surname of Yao and a last name of Chonghua. He was also known as Yushi or called as Yushun in Chinese history.
舜,传说中的远古帝王,五帝之一,姓姚,名重华,号有虞氏,史称虞舜。
According to the legend, his father Gusou (literally the blind old-man), stepmother and half brother Xiang plotted to kill him for many times:
相传他的父亲瞽叟及继母、异母弟象,多次想害死他:
They let Shun revamp the roof of granary and set fire under the barn, Shun jumped to escape with two bamboo hats in hand; they also let Shun dig a well, but Gusou and Xiang filled soil to the well while the digging, Shun then dug underground tunnel to escape.
让舜修补谷仓仓顶时,从谷仓下纵火,舜手持两个斗笠跳下逃脱;让舜掘井时,瞽叟与象却下土填井,舜掘地道逃脱。
Afterwards, Shun didn't resent and was still humble to his father and loved his younger brother.
事后舜毫不嫉恨,仍对父亲恭顺,对弟弟慈爱。
His conducts of filial piety moved the King of Heaven. When Shun cultivated in Mount Li, elephants ploughed for him while birds weeded for him.
他的孝行感动了天帝。舜在厉山耕种,大象替他耕地,鸟代他锄草。
Emperor Yao heard that Shun was a filial son with the talents of dealing with political affairs, and married off his two daughters, Ehuang and Nvying, to Shun.
帝尧听说舜非常孝顺,有处理政事的才干,把两个女儿娥皇和女英嫁给他
Through years of observation and tests, Emperor Yao selected Shun as his successor. After Shun ascended the throne as the Son of Heaven, he still called on his father respectfully, and granted the leud title to Xiang.
经过多年观察和考验,选定舜做他的继承人。舜登天子位后,去看望父亲,仍然恭恭敬敬,并封象为诸侯。
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下面是读文网小编整理的简短的英语童话故事,欢迎大家阅读!
《狼和小羊》
Aesop’s Fables
The Wolf and the Lamb
Once upon a time a Wolf was lapping at a spring on a hillside, when, looking up, what should he see but a Lamb just beginning to drink a little lower down. ‘There’s my supper,’ thought he, ‘if only I can find some excuse to seize it.’ Then he called out to the Lamb, ‘How dare you muddle the water from which I am drinking?’
‘Nay, master, nay,’ said Lambikin; ‘if the water be muddy up there, I cannot be the cause of it, for it runs down from you to me.’
‘Well, then,’ said the Wolf, ‘why did you call me bad names this time last year?’
‘That cannot be,’ said the Lamb; ‘I am only six months old.’
‘I don’t care,’ snarled the Wolf; ‘if it was not you it was your father;’ and with that he rushed upon the poor little Lamb and .WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA .ate her all up. But before she died she gasped out .’Any excuse will serve a tyrant.’
see her every year.
<狼和小羊>
狼来到小溪边,看见小羊在那儿喝水。
狼想吃小羊,就故意找碴儿,说:“你把我喝的水弄脏了!你安地什么心?”
小羊吃了一惊,温和地说:“我怎么会把您喝的水弄脏呢?您站在上游,水是从您那儿流到我这儿来的,不是从我这儿流到您那儿去的。”
狼气冲冲地说:“就算这样吧,你总是个坏家伙!我听说,去年你在背地里说我的坏话!”
可怜的小羊喊道:“啊,亲爱的狼先生,那是不可能的,去年我还没有生下来哪!”
狼不想再争辩了,龇着牙,逼近小羊,大声嚷道:“你这个小坏蛋!说我坏话的不是你就是你爸爸,反正都
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龟兔赛跑,是一则寓言故事,相信大家从小就很熟悉了。下面是读文网小编整理的英语版龟兔赛跑小故事,希望大家会喜欢这些英文版的龟兔赛跑!
The Rabbit and the Tortoise 龟兔赛跑
It is a bright spring morning. A Tortoise walks by and meets a Rabbit.
Tortoise: Hi there, Mr. Rabbit. Beautiful day, isn’t it?
Rabbit: Aren’t you “the Slow Tortoise”?
The Tortoise is a little mad, but he doesn’t show it. The Tortoise still tries to be nice to the Rabbit.
Tortoise: Yes, I’m Mr. Tortoise. I’m happy to meet you. Let’s be friends.
Rabbit: No, thank you. I don’t want to be your friend.
Tortoise: How come?
Rabbit: Your legs are too short. You can’t jump. And you are too slow.
Tortoise: My legs may be short. And I may be slow. But I can still beat you in a race.
Rabbit: Ha!Ha!Ha! That’s funny! How can you beat me? I am much faster.
Tortoise: I can beat you for sure.
Rabbit: No, you can’t!
Tortoise: Yes, I can!
Rabbit: No, you can’t!
Tortoise: Yes, I can! Let’s have a race now. Then you’ll see.
Rabbit: Now? Okay! Why not? I will win for sure.
Tortoise: Let’s make a bet. If I win, you must carry me on your back.
Rabbit: I promise. But if I win, you must carry me.
Tortoise: Fine.
The other animals in the forest hear about the race and gather to see the Tortoise and the Rabbit run. The race is about to start.
Tortoise: See the mountain top?
Rabbit: Yes.
Tortoise: The first one to reach there, wins. Okay?
Rabbit: Okay.
The Fox is the starter.
Fox: Stand behind this line. Are you both ready?
Tortoise: Yes
Rabbit: Me too.
Fox: Okay. I’ll start the race. One! Two! Three! Go!
The Fox drops the white handkerchief and the race starts.The Rabbit is very fast and is already way ahead. The tortoise walks very slowly. The other animals are all cheering for the Tortoise. The Fox is worried about the Tortoise.
Fox: Poor Mr. Tortoise. He will lose for sure.
Goat: How do you know? Maybe he will win.
The Rabbit is already half way up the mountain. He is out of breath. He stops to look behind.
Rabbit: Where is the Tortoise? I can’t even see him. He is too slow for me. This is too easy.
The Rabbit decides to take a nap before the Tortoise comes.
Rabbit: I am a little tired. And I have a lot of time. So, I will take a nap here.
The Rabbit takes a nap. Even though the Tortoise is still far behind, he doesn’t stop or give up. He just walks and walks and walks.
Tortoise: I am tired, but I must go on. I must win the race. One, two. One, two.
The Rabbit falls asleep and continues to sleep for hours. The Tortoise is now at the middle of the mountain. He sees the Rabbit sleeping.
Tortoise: It’s Mr. Rabbit! Why is he sleeping here? He must be very tired. I am tired, too. But I must go on. One, two. One, two.
The mountain top is not too far away. The Tortoise is almost at the finish line. All the other animals are surprised.
Goat: Look! It’s the Tortoise!
Fox: Where’s the Rabbit?
Goat: Who knows? Come on, Mr. Tortoise! Go! Go! Go!
The tortoise takes one step, and another step, and another.
Tortoise: One, two. One, two. I’m almost there.
Just then, the Rabbit wakes up from his nap and is surprised. He realizes that he has slept too long. He sees the Tortoise near the mountain top. He runs, and runs, and runs, but it’s no use.
Rabbit: Faster! Faster! I must run faster!
Finally, the Tortoise reaches the mountain top first and wins the race.
Goat: Hooray! Hooray for Mr. Tortoise!
Fox: Congratulations, Mr. Tortoise! You won the race!
Tortoise: Thank you, thank you, everyone!
The Rabbit is too late. He feels ashamed.
Rabbit: Oh, no! I lost. Now I have to carry the Tortoise on my back.
The Rabbit goes to shake hands with the Tortoise.
Rabbit: Good race. Congratulations, Mr. Tortoise. You won the race.
Tortoise: I told you, I would win.
Rabbit: But how did you do it?
Tortoise: It wasn’t too hard. Just take one step after another. It may be slow, but you will get there for sure.
Rabbit: Oh…Now, I will keep my promise. Climb up on my back.
Tortoise: That’s okay. Let’s just be friends.
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许多人让自己的孩子从幼儿园就开始接触英语,这个时候多阅读一些英语的寓言故事是很不错的,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享英语寓言小故事6篇,欢迎大家阅读!
The Ass and the Grasshopperan
Ass having heard some Grasshoppers chirping, was highly enchanted; and, desiring to possess the same charms of melody, demanded what sort of food they lived on, to give them such beautiful voices. They replied, "The dew." The Ass resolved that he would only live upon dew, and in a short time died of hunger.
驴和蚱蜢
一只驴听到几只蚱蜢在叫,便觉得很有趣;于是也想得到同样有趣的音调,便问蚱蜢吃什么东西过活,以致于能有这样优美的声音。蚱蜢说:「露水。」驴子听了,从此以后也单吃露水过活,不久便饿死了。
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一些有趣的英语故事,能够吸引少儿阅读英语的兴趣,从而提高英语的阅读能力,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享一些少儿英语简短小故事,欢迎大家阅读!
Jake was always sick. He repeatedly got infections—mostly colds or the flu—from patients. He considered himself lucky to be alive, considering what he’d read about deadly bacteria and viruses that were developing immunity to all the latest drugs. A hospital is a dangerous place. He wanted out of the hospital, but he had nowhere to go. He was no spring chicken. The pay, benefits, and hours were good. His schedule regularly included three- or four-day weekends.
But, he was just going through the same motions, day after day. He was at the top of the ladder for an orderly. There were no other jobs that he could qualify for, unless he wanted to go to school for several years to become a tech or a registered nurse. But those jobs would mean working in a hospital. He wanted out.
He wished he had stayed with his old job as an assistant pro at Brookside Golf Course. The pay was low and the benefits were few, but the game of golf was his passion. He loved teaching the game to others. He was a happy man when he worked at the golf course—the freshly mowed green grass, the blue sky, the white clouds. Not a sick person in sight—only healthy people, enjoying themselves. Why had he quit that job, he wondered over and over. Ten years ago, he must have had a good reason, but he sure couldn’t remember what it was now. His life was now a constant regret about the poorest decision he had ever made.
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《安妮日记》是安妮·弗兰克遇难前两年藏身密室时写下的生活和情感的记录。今天读文网小编为大家带来安妮日记英文版摘抄,欢迎大家阅读!
MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942
I had my birthday party on Sunday afternoon. The Rin Tin Tin movie was a big hit with my classmates. I got two brooches, a bookmark and two books. I'll start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students.
Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street in West Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but that's because she works so hard, not because she's so smart. She's pretty quiet.
Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but I've never had a real friend. At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken.
D.Q.* [* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl who's always forgetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. She's very kind, especially to G.Z.
E.S. talks so much it isn't funny. She's always touching your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she can't stand me, but I don't care, since I don't like her much either.
Henny Mets is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud voice and is really childish when we're playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy who's a bad influence on her because she's dirty and vulgar.
J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks she's so grown-up. She's really got Jacque under her spell, and that's a shame. J. is easily offended, bursts into tears at the slightest thing and, to top it all off, is a terrible show-off. Miss J. always has to be right. She's very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks she's gorgeous, but she's not. J. and I can't stand each other.
Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but she's extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. She's very smart, but lazy.
Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as she's called at school, is a bit on the strange side. She's usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people. She blabs whatever you tell her to her mother. But she says what she thinks, and lately I've corne to appreciate her a great deal.
Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think she's nice. She's pretty smart. There isn't much else you can say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though she's only twelve, she's quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. She's also very helpful, and I like her.
G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think they're going to hold her back a year, but of course I haven't told her that.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE AT A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z. wasn't held back a year after all.
And sitting next to G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me.
There's a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all.
Maurice Coster is one of my many admirers, but pretty much of a pest. Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that he's gone all the way. Still, I think he's terrific, because he's very funny.
Emiel Bonewit is G.Z.'s admirer, but she doesn't care. He's pretty boring. Rob Cohen used to be in love with me too, but I can't stand him anymore. He's an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.
Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but eminently suitable, as Margot would say.
Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, who's a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy.
Leo Blom is Jopie de Beer's best friend, but has been ruined by his dirty mind.
Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. He's really smart.
Leo Slager came from the same school, but isn't as smart.
Ru Stoppelmon is a short, goofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year.
C.N. does whatever he's not supposed to.
Jacques Kocernoot sits behind us, next to C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly.
Harry Schaap is the most decent boy in our class. He's nice.
Werner Joseph is nice too, but all the changes taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems boring. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!)
Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too.
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《假如给我三天光明》是作者海伦·凯勒的自传,被誉为“世界文学史上无与伦比的杰作”。她以自己的经历告诫人们应珍惜生命,珍惜造物主赐予的一切。如果你想欣赏一下这篇经典名作的话,那么就不要错过下面读文网小编为大家带来假如给我三天光明完整英文版及中文翻译,希望大家喜欢!
All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours.
But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and them I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who hadjust returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
The First Day
On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that "Window of the soul", the eye. I can only "see" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.
How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friends or acquaintance/ Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbandsdo not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.
The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one.
I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs - the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender , and playful friendships are so comforting to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.
In the afternoon of that first seeing day. I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field 9perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.
When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.
In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.
The Second Day
The next day - the second day of sight - I should arisewith the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.
This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day? Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, butI have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there - animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic presentations of the processes of development in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.
I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made use of it. there, indeed, is a place to use your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.
My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here , in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile-land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged Victory of Samothrace are friends of my finger tips. The gnarled, bearded features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.
My hands have lingered upon the living marble of roman sculpture as well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant to be
seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but its figured decorations are lost to me.
So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul of man through this art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of E1 Greco, catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!
Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that fordeep and true appreciation of art one must educated the eye. One must learn through experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark night,unexplored and unilluminated.
It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty -- a beauty so neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a metropolitan to find this key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the greatest treasures in the shortest time.
The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts, but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion. But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color , grace, and movement?
I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a Pavlowa, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.
One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch thus a meager glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in mymind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.
So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great fingers of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes.
The Third Day
The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.
This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings; there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities and conditions of men as in New York? So the city becomes my destination.
I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long Island. Here , surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boasts chug and scurry about the river - racy speed boat, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity upon the river.
I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an awe-inspiring sight, these glittering spires. these vast banks of stone and steel-structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day.
How many, I wonder, give it so much as a seconds glance? Very few, I fear, Their eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.
I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State Building, for there , a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me it would be a vision of another world.
Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their live. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud, I see suffering, and I am compassionate.
I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of colors. I am certain that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be like most other women -- too interested in styles and the cut of individual dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on display.
From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city-to Park Avenue, to the slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add to my understanding of how people work and live. my heart is full of the images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life. To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.
My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the theater, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones of comedy in the human spirit.
At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a glowing memory of how that object looked.
Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight does not agree with the program you would set for yourself if you knew that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.
I who am blind can give one hint to those who see -- one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind.
And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow.
Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never s
mell and taste again. Make the most of every sense: glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.#p#副标题#e#
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小红帽是德国童话作家格林的童话《小红帽》中的人物,故事版本多达一百多个,是如今家户喻晓的经典童话故事,成了不少小朋友最喜欢的睡前故事之一。下面读文网小编为大家带来小红帽童话故事双语版,欢迎大家阅读。
Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her a little cap made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Cap.
One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Cap. Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlor, don't forget to say 'Good morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."
"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Cap, shaking her mother's hand.
The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red Cap entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal he was, and was not afraid of him.
"Good day to you, Little Red Cap."
"Thank you, wolf."
"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"
"To grandmother's."
"And what are you carrying under your apron?"
"Grandmother is sick and weak, and I am taking her some cake and wine. We baked yesterday, and they should be good for her and give her strength."
"Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?"
"Her house is good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place," said Little Red Cap.
The wolf thought to himself, "Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both."
He walked along a little while with Little Red Cap, then he said, "Little Red Cap, just look at the beautiful flowers that are all around us. Why don't you go and take a look? And I don't believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along as though you were on your way to school. It is very beautiful in the woods."
Little Red Cap opened her eyes and when she saw the sunbeams dancing to and fro through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers, she thought, "If a take a fresh bouquet to grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still early, and I'll be home on time." And she ran off the path into the woods looking for flowers. Each time she picked one she thought that she could see an even more beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the woods. But the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?"
"Little Red Cap. I'm bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door."
"Just press the latch," called out the grandmother. "I'm too weak to get up."
The wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened. He stepped inside, went straight to the grandmother's bed, and ate her up. Then he put on her clothes, put her cap on his head, got into her bed, and pulled the curtains shut.
Little Red Cap had run after the flowers. After she had gathered so many that she could not carry any more, she remembered her grandmother, and then continued on her way to her house. She found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the parlor, and everything looked so strange that she thought, "Oh, my God, why am I so afraid? I usually like it at grandmother's."
She called out, "Good morning!" but received no answer.
Then she went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Grandmother was lying there with her cap pulled down over her face and looking very strange.
"Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!"
"All the better to grab you with!"
"Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!"
"All the better to eat you with!"
The wolf had scarcely finished speaking when he jumped from the bed with a single leap and ate up poor Little Red Cap. As soon as the wolf had satisfied his desires, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly.
A huntsman was just passing by. He thought, "The old woman is snoring so loudly. You had better see if something is wrong with her."
He stepped into the parlor, and when he approached the bed, he saw the wolf lying there. "So here I find you, you old sinner," he said. "I have been hunting for you a long time."
He was about to aim his rifle when it occurred to him that the wolf might have eaten the grandmother, and that she still might be rescued. So instead of shooting, he took a pair of scissors and began to cut open the wolf's belly. After a few cuts he saw the red cap shining through., and after a few more cuts the girl jumped out, crying, "Oh, I was so frightened! It was so dark inside the wolf's body!"
And then the grandmother came out as well, alive but hardly able to breathe. Then Little Red Cap fetched some large stones. She filled the wolf's body with them, and when he woke up and tried to run away, the stones were so heavy that he immediately fell down dead.
The three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the pelt. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cap had brought. And Little Red Cap thought, "As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by myself if mother tells me not to."
They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother another time, when another wolf spoke to her and wanted her to leave the path. But Little Red Cap took care and went straight to grandmother's. She told her that she had seen the wolf, and that he had wished her a good day, but had stared at her in a wicked manner. "If we hadn't been on a public road, he would have eaten me up," she said.
"Come," said the grandmother. "Let's lock the door, so he can't get in."
Soon afterward the wolf knocked on the door and called out, "Open up, grandmother. It's Little Red Cap, and I'm bringing you some baked things."
They remained silent, and did not open the door. Gray-Head crept around the house several times, and finally jumped onto the roof. He wanted to wait until Little Red Cap went home that evening, then follow her and eat her up in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what he was up to. There was a large stone trough in front of the house.
"Fetch a bucket, Little Red Cap," she said to the child. "Yesterday I cooked some sausage. Carry the water that I boiled them with to the trough." Little Red Cap carried water until the large, large trough was clear full. The smell of sausage arose into the wolf's nose. He sniffed and looked down, stretching his neck so long that he could no longer hold himself, and he began to slide. He slid off the roof, fell into the trough, and drowned. And Little Red Cap returned home happily, and no one harmed her.
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英国的教育体系经过几百年的沿革,相当的完善和复杂,这里就有它的英文版介绍。下面读文网小编为大家带来英国教育体系英文简介,希望对你有所帮助!
英国教育体系总体来说分为三个阶段: 义务教育(Compulsory Education),延续教育(Further Education)和高等教育(Higher Education)。
一、义务教育 (Compulsory Education)
英国的学生从四岁开始接受义务教育,享受全免费的国家福利,学校甚至还提供免费的午餐,所有的家长必须把自己的孩子送到学校读书。小学教育一般持续到11岁,然后进入中学。英国的中学不分初中高中,从中一(Form 1)到中五(Form 5)共五年的时间。
二、延续教育(Further Education)
延续教育是英国教育体系中最有特色也最精彩的部分,它是继小学(Primary)中学(Secondary)教育之后的“第三级教育”(Tertiary)。为进入高等教育或者就业打下基础。也是中国的高中学生留学英国的关键阶段。一般来说接受延续教育的学生介于16和18岁之间。它分为两种体系:学业路线(Academic Route)和职业路线(Vocational Route)。学业路线着重于培养学术研究方面的人才,职业路线则结合社会各层面的职业需要,培养在各种行业中具有专门技能和知识的人才。这两种体系在英国受到同等的重视。
三、高等教育(Higher Education)
顾名思义,高等教育是英国教育体系中的高级阶段,它包括:
本科(Bachelor Degree)
研究生(Master Degree)
博士生(Doctorial Degree)
高级国家文凭(HND-Higher National Diploma)。
高等教育通常都是由大学(University)提供,但许多学院(College)也提供Bachelor和HND课程。
看了英国教育体系英文版介绍这篇文章
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《丑小鸭》是安徒生的经典童话故事之一,写了一只天鹅蛋在鸭群中破壳后,因相貌怪异,让同类鄙弃,历经千辛万苦、重重磨难之后长成了白天鹅。下面读文网小编为大家带来丑小鸭童话故事英文版及翻译,欢迎大家阅读欣赏!
It was so beautiful out on the country, it was summer- the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked. There the stork minced about on his red legs, clacking away in Egyptian, which was the language his mother had taught him. Round about the field and meadow lands rose vast forests, in which deep lakes lay hidden. Yes, it was indeed lovely out there in the country.
In the midst of the sunshine there stood an old manor house that had a deep moat around it. From the walls of the manor right down to the water's edge great burdock leaves grew, and there were some so tall that little children could stand upright beneath the biggest of them. In this wilderness of leaves, which was as dense as the forests itself, a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was becoming somewhat weary, because sitting is such a dull business and scarcely anyone came to see her. The other ducks would much rather swim in the moat than waddle out and squat under the burdock leaf to gossip with her.
But at last the eggshells began to crack, one after another. "Peep, peep!" said the little things, as they came to life and poked out their heads.
"Quack, quack!" said the duck, and quick as quick can be they all waddled out to have a look at the green world under the leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they pleased, because green is good for the eyes.
"How wide the world is," said all the young ducks, for they certainly had much more room now than they had when they were in their eggshells.
"Do you think this is the whole world?" their mother asked. "Why it extends on and on, clear across to the other side of the garden and right on into the parson's field, though that is further than I have ever been. I do hope you are all hatched," she said as she got up. "No, not quite all. The biggest egg still lies here. How much longer is this going to take? I am really rather tired of it all," she said, but she settled back on her nest.
"Well, how goes it?" asked an old duck who came to pay her a call.
"It takes a long time with that one egg," said the duck on the nest. "It won't crack, but look at the others. They are the cutest little ducklings I've ever seen. They look exactly like their father, the wretch! He hasn't come to see me at all."
"Let's have a look at the egg that won't crack," the old duck said. "It's a turkey egg, and you can take my word for it. I was fooled like that once myself. What trouble and care I had with those turkey children, for I may as well tell you, they are afraid of the water. I simply could not get them into it. I quacked and snapped at them, but it wasn't a bit of use. Let me see the egg. Certainly, it's a turkey egg. Let it lie, and go teach your other children to swim."
"Oh, I'll sit a little longer. I've been at it so long already that I may as well sit here half the summer."
"Suit yourself," said the old duck, and away she waddled.
At last the big egg did crack. "Peep," said the young one, and out he tumbled, but he was so big and ugly.
The duck took a look at him. "That's a frightfully big duckling," she said. "He doesn't look the least like the others. Can he really be a turkey baby? Well, well! I'll soon find out. Into the water he shall go, even if I have to shove him in myself."
Next day the weather was perfectly splendid, and the sun shone down on all the green burdock leaves. The mother duck led her whole family down to the moat. Splash! she took to the water. "Quack, quack," said she, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water went over their heads, but they came up in a flash, and floated to perfection. Their legs worked automatically, and they were all there in the water. Even the big, ugly gray one was swimming along.
"Why, that's no turkey," she said. "See how nicely he uses his legs, and how straight he holds himself. He's my very own son after all, and quite good-looking if you look at him properly. Quack, quack come with me. I'll lead you out into the world and introduce you to the duck yard. But keep close to me so that you won't get stepped on, and watch out for the cat!"
Thus they sallied into the duck yard, where all was in an uproar because two families were fighting over the head of an eel. But the cat got it, after all.
"You see, that's the way of the world." The mother duck licked her bill because she wanted the eel's head for herself. "Stir your legs. Bustle about, and mind that you bend your necks to that old duck over there. She's the noblest of us all, and has Spanish blood in her. That's why she's so fat. See that red rag around her leg? That's a wonderful thing, and the highest distinction a duck can get. It shows that they don't want to lose her, and that she's to have special attention from man and beast. Shake yourselves! Don't turn your toes in. A well-bred duckling turns his toes way out, just as his father and mother do-this way. So then! Now duck your necks and say quack!"
They did as she told them, but the other ducks around them looked on and said right out loud, "See here! Must we have this brood too, just as if there weren't enough of us already? And-fie! what an ugly-looking fellow that duckling is! We won't stand for him." One duck charged up and bit his neck.
"Let him alone," his mother said. "He isn't doing any harm."
"Possibly not," said the duck who bit him, "but he's too big and strange, and therefore he needs a good whacking."
"What nice-looking children you have, Mother," said the old duck with the rag around her leg. "They are all pretty except that one. He didn't come out so well. It's a pity you can't hatch him again."
"That can't be managed, your ladyship," said the mother. "He isn't so handsome, but he's as good as can be, and he swims just as well as the rest, or, I should say, even a little better than they do. I hope his looks will improve with age, and after a while he won't seem so big. He took too long in the egg, and that's why his figure isn't all that it should be." She pinched his neck and preened his feathers. "Moreover, he's a drake, so it won't matter so much. I think he will be quite strong, and I'm sure he will amount to something."
"The other ducklings are pretty enough," said the old duck. "Now make yourselves right at home, and if you find an eel's head you may bring it to me."
So they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling who had been the last one out of his egg, and who looked so ugly, was pecked and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the chickens as well. "He's too big," said they all. The turkey gobbler, who thought himself an emperor because he was born wearing spurs, puffed up like a ship under full sail and bore down upon him, gobbling and gobbling until he was red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where he dared stand or where he dared walk. He was so sad because he was so desperately ugly, and because he was the laughing stock of the whole barnyard.
So it went on the first day, and after that things went from bad to worse. The poor duckling was chased and buffeted about by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters abused him. "Oh," they would always say, "how we wish the cat would catch you, you ugly thing." And his mother said, "How I do wish you were miles away." The ducks nipped him, and the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him with her foot.
So he ran away; and he flew over the fence. The little birds in the bushes darted up in a fright. "That's because I'm so ugly," he thought, and closed his eyes, but he ran on just the same until he reached the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. There he lay all night long, weary and disheartened.
When morning came, the wild ducks flew up to have a look at their new companion. "What sort of creature are you?" they asked, as the duckling turned in all directions, bowing his best to them all. "You are terribly ugly," they told him, "but that's nothing to us so long as you don't marry into our family."
Poor duckling! Marriage certainly had never entered his mind. All he wanted was for them to let him lie among the reeds and drink a little water from the marsh.
There he stayed for two whole days. Then he met two wild geese, or rather wild ganders-for they were males. They had not been out of the shell very long, and that's what made them so sure of themselves.
"Say there, comrade," they said, "you're so ugly that we have taken a fancy to you. Come with us and be a bird of passage. In another marsh near-by, there are some fetching wild geese, all nice young ladies who know how to quack. You are so ugly that you'll completely turn their heads."
Bing! Bang! Shots rang in the air, and these two ganders fell dead among the reeds. The water was red with their blood. Bing! Bang! the shots rang, and as whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the reeds another volley crashed. A great hunt was in progress. The hunters lay under cover all around the marsh, and some even perched on branches of trees that overhung the reeds. Blue smoke rose like clouds from the shade of the trees, and drifted far out over the water.
The bird dogs came splash, splash! through the swamp, bending down the reeds and the rushes on every side. This gave the poor duckling such a fright that he twisted his head about to hide it under his wing. But at that very moment a fearfully big dog appeared right beside him. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his wicked eyes glared horribly. He opened his wide jaws, flashed his sharp teeth, and - splash, splash - on he went without touching the duckling.
"Thank heavens," he sighed, "I'm so ugly that the dog won't even bother to bite me."
He lay perfectly still, while the bullets splattered through the reeds as shot after shot was fired. It was late in the day before things became quiet again, and even then the poor duckling didn't dare move. He waited several hours before he ventured to look about him, and then he scurried away from that marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across field and meadows. The wind was so strong that he had to struggle to keep his feet.
Late in the evening he came to a miserable little hovel, so ramshackle that it did not know which way to tumble, and that was the only reason it still stood. The wind struck the duckling so hard that the poor little fellow had to sit down on his tail to withstand it. The storm blew stronger and stronger, but the duckling noticed that one hinge had come loose and the door hung so crooked that he could squeeze through the crack into the room, and that's just what he did.
Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called "Sonny," could arch his back, purr, and even make sparks, though for that you had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had short little legs, so she was called "Chickey Shortleg." She laid good eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she had been her own child.
In the morning they were quick to notice the strange duckling. The cat began to purr, and the hen began to cluck.
"What on earth!" The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. "That was a good catch," she said. "Now I shall have duck eggs-unless it's a drake. We must try it out." So the duckling was tried out for three weeks, but not one egg did he lay.
In this house the cat was master and the hen was mistress. They always said, "We and the world," for they thought themselves half of the world, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought that there might be more than one way of thinking, but the hen would not hear of it.
"Can you lay eggs?" she asked
"No."
"Then be so good as to hold your tongue."
The cat asked, "Can you arch your back, purr, or make sparks?"
"No."
"Then keep your opinion to yourself when sensible people are talking."
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling most despondent. Then he remembered the fresh air and the sunlight. Such a desire to go swimming on the water possessed him that he could not help telling the hen about it.
"What on earth has come over you?" the hen cried. "You haven't a thing to do, and that's why you get such silly notions. Lay us an egg, or learn to purr, and you'll get over it."
"But it's so refreshing to float on the water," said the duckling, "so refreshing to feel it rise over your head as you dive to the bottom."
"Yes, it must be a great pleasure!" said the hen. "I think you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat, who's the wisest fellow I know, whether he likes to swim or dive down in the water. Of myself I say nothing. But ask the old woman, our mistress. There's no one on earth wiser than she is. Do you imagine she wants to go swimming and feel the water rise over her head?"
"You don't understand me," said the duckling.
"Well, if we don't, who would? Surely you don't think you are cleverer than the cat and the old woman-to say nothing of myself. Don't be so conceited, child. Just thank your Maker for all the kindness we have shown you. Didn't you get into this snug room, and fall in with people who can tell you what's what? But you are such a numbskull that it's no pleasure to have you around. Believe me, I tell you this for your own good. I say unpleasant truths, but that's the only way you can know who are your friends. Be sure now that you lay some eggs. See to it that you learn to purr or to make sparks."
"I think I'd better go out into the wide world," said the duckling.
"Suit yourself," said the hen.
So off went the duckling. He swam on the water, and dived down in it, but still he was slighted by every living creature because of his ugliness.
Autumn came on. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind took them and whirled them about. The heavens looked cold as the low clouds hung heavy with snow and hail. Perched on the fence, the raven screamed, "Caw, caw!" and trembled with cold. It made one shiver to think of it. Pity the poor little duckling!
One evening, just as the sun was setting in splendor, a great flock of large, handsome birds appeared out of the reeds. The duckling had never seen birds so beautiful. They were dazzling white, with long graceful necks. They were swans. They uttered a very strange cry as they unfurled their magnificent wings to fly from this cold land, away to warmer countries and to open waters. They went up so high, so very high, that the ugly little duckling felt a strange uneasiness come over him as he watched them. He went around and round in the water, like a wheel. He craned his neck to follow their course, and gave a cry so shrill and strange that he frightened himself. Oh! He could not forget them-those splendid, happy birds. When he could no longer see them he dived to the very bottom. and when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what birds they were or whither they were bound, yet he loved them more than anything he had ever loved before. It was not that he envied them, for how could he ever dare dream of wanting their marvelous beauty for himself? He would have been grateful if only the ducks would have tolerated him-the poor ugly creature.
The winter grew cold - so bitterly cold that the duckling had to swim to and fro in the water to keep it from freezing over. But every night the hole in which he swam kept getting smaller and smaller. Then it froze so hard that the duckling had to paddle continuously to keep the crackling ice from closing in upon him. At last, too tired to move, he was frozen fast in the ice.
Early that morning a farmer came by, and when he saw how things were he went out on the pond, broke away the ice with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling revived, but when the children wished to play with him he thought they meant to hurt him. Terrified, he fluttered into the milk pail, splashing the whole room with milk. The woman shrieked and threw up her hands as he flew into the butter tub, and then in and out of the meal barrel. Imagine what he looked like now! The woman screamed and lashed out at him with the fire tongs. The children tumbled over each other as they tried to catch him, and they laughed and they shouted. Luckily the door was open, and the duckling escaped through it into the bushes, where he lay down, in the newly fallen snow, as if in a daze.
But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardships and wretchedness he had to endure during this cruel winter. When the warm sun shone once more, the duckling was still alive among the reeds of the marsh. The larks began to sing again. It was beautiful springtime.
Then, quite suddenly, he lifted his wings. They swept through the air much more strongly than before, and their powerful strokes carried him far. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself in a great garden where apple trees bloomed. The lilacs filled the air with sweet scent and hung in clusters from long, green branches that bent over a winding stream. Oh, but it was lovely here in the freshness of spring!
From the thicket before him came three lovely white swans. They ruffled their feathers and swam lightly in the stream. The duckling recognized these noble creatures, and a strange feeling of sadness came upon him.
"I shall fly near these royal birds, and they will peck me to bits because I, who am so very ugly, dare to go near them. But I don't care. Better be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked about by the hen-yard girl, or suffer such misery in winter."
So he flew into the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him, and swept down upon him with their rustling feathers raised. "Kill me!" said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down over the water to wait for death. But what did he see there, mirrored in the clear stream? He beheld his own image, and it was no longer the reflection of a clumsy, dirty, gray bird, ugly and offensive. He himself was a swan! Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan's egg.
He felt quite glad that he had come through so much trouble and misfortune, for now he had a fuller understanding of his own good fortune, and of beauty when he met with it. The great swans swam all around him and stroked him with their bills.
Several little children came into the garden to throw grain and bits of bread upon the water. The smallest child cried, "Here's a new one," and the others rejoiced, "yes, a new one has come." They clapped their hands, danced around, and ran to bring their father and mother.
And they threw bread and cake upon the water, while they all agreed, "The new one is the most handsome of all. He's so young and so good-looking." The old swans bowed in his honor.
Then he felt very bashful, and tucked his head under his wing. He did not know what this was all about. He felt so very happy, but he wasn't at all proud, for a good heart never grows proud. He thought about how he had been persecuted and scorned, and now he heard them all call him the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. The lilacs dipped their clusters into the stream before him, and the sun shone so warm and so heartening. He rustled his feathers and held his slender neck high, as he cried out with full heart: "I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling."#p#副标题#e#
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如何上好英语的故事课,相信是很多小学英语教师的疑问,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享一些小学英语故事教育教学反思,希望能帮助到大家!
英语教学中进行故事教学的价值加以阐述,并就如何进行故事选择,如何进行故事教学,如何进行教学后的提升,以及故事教学中会出现的一些问题加以讨论。希望能给正在从事小学高段英语教学的老师以及有意于从事英语故事教学的同行们一些参考。
故事教学要以发展学生综合语言运用能力为宗旨,全面提高学生听说读写的英语技能,应该精心设计,精心施教。
(一)如何选择故事
1. 根据学生年龄特征选择
故事教学的一个重要功用就是提高学生的学习兴趣,选择一个好的故事将是学生和老师共同学习的兴奋点。在选择故事时,教师可以考虑以下几个问题:(1)故事是否符合学生的年龄与兴趣特点?(2)故事中所使用的语言是否适合学生英语语言知识掌握的程度和理解能力?(3)文句节奏与韵律感能否吸引学生仿读?学生接受能力范围内的材料才能真正起到教学效果,教师要根据学生学习情况认真选择。否则,教学和教育的效果就要大打折扣。
2. 根据学习要求选择
故事教学使复杂的语言简单化。通过学生熟悉的材料教学,可帮助学生理解、掌握新的语言知识,提高学生运用语言的能力。因此,在小学高段英语教学中教师应该尽量选择知识点集中、会话内容适中,同时能给人以启示的语言内容,学生才能够集中学习和运用相关语言知识。比如在学习动词过去时这一语言点时,最好选择学生耳熟能详并且用过去式描述的故事,如《狼来了》等。在根据学习要求进行故事选择时,不妨考虑以下问题:1)故事中所使用的语言与情节,是否具备重复及可预测的特性?在课堂教学中,教师可通过重复的语句与学生互动,也可运用发问技巧让学生对某些情节进行讨论和猜测,提高参与感。2)故事是否有清晰的情节和强烈的角色对比,且寓教于乐?故事内容情节清晰,角色对比强烈,能使学生专注于故事的发展。同时,好的故事能让学习者自然领略其中的深意。3)故事中所使用的语言与反映的文化是否真实与恰当?教师要能够判断故事中所使用的语言与反映的文化是否真实、恰当,而不至于因文化的隔阂造成认知偏差,传递错误信息。
(二)如何实施故事教学
教学过程无疑是最重要的环节。在故事教学中可以采取以下一些步骤:
1. 背景铺路
故事的背景知识有助于学生了解故事,减少学习障碍。
2. 听力开道
听力是学生英语能力中一项重要内容,故事教学不能离开对这一技能的训练。教师采用讲述或播放磁带、VCD等方法整体呈现故事,要求学生大概听出故事发生的时间地点、主要人物及故事内容,以强化学生听力技能。
3. 提问深化
整体感知故事后,学生可自主选择适合自己的方法,或者朗读、默读,或者分角色读,也可以单独完成。这是学生深入理解并细化学习的过程,阅读时要求学生用笔勾画出不能认读的词句或不能理解的内容,教师鼓励学生根据自己勾画的内容进行提问。同时,教师要整理出故事线索,在图片或关键词、句的提示下,根据故事发展的顺序对需要掌握的知识点进行提问和操练,帮助学生更深入地理解故事,掌握语言。
4. 线索回顾
通过自主阅读和提问扫清了学生对故事的理解和诵读的障碍,这时,教师可以辅助学生对故事进行回顾。教师提供一些关键词句,或者出示几组相关图片,请学生给图片排序并讲述故事,或者请学生根据出示的关键词和句进行拓展讲述。这样,既能检验学生是否理解故事,同时也能锻炼学生讲述故事、运用语言的能力。
(三)故事表演
表演故事是帮助学生内化并产出新内容的过程。根据学生的不同情况,教师要提供多种方式让学生选择,每一种选择都可得到相应的激励。
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英语少儿故事是英语教学中很好的教学材料,下面读文网小编为大家带来小学英语教学小故事,欢迎大家阅读!
It looked like rain. The sky was gray. It was almost noon, but the sun was hidden by a gray blanket. It was cool. There were no birds flying anywhere. A couple of birds sat on the telephone wire. Bob was standing outside talking to Bill. They both had their hands in their pockets. They knew that it was probably going to rain shortly. A sudden breeze blew some leaves off a tree onto the sidewalk.
A young woman wearing a dark blue coat and jeans walked by. She was walking a small dog. It was pure white, and pretty. It sniffed at a tree trunk. The woman waited patiently. Finally, the dog lifted its leg.
Bob said that he liked the rain. It was a nice change from the usual hot Los Angeles weather. And the plants could always use the extra water. Bill said the only thing he didn’t like about rain was that all the motor oil on the streets would get washed into the ocean, and so would all the trash.
"But that never stops the surfers," Bob said. "They don’t seem to care what’s in the water, as long as there are waves to surf on."
小学英语教学故事相关
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想找一些简单又有个性的英文句子来做qq签名吗?下面读文网小编为大家带简单个性英文签名,希望大家喜欢!
Life is a on return journey.
人生是一段没有退路的旅程。
Home is where the heart is.
心在的地方就是家。
Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.
生活很艰难,但是宝贝,你也很坚强。
When it has is lost, brave to give up.
当拥有已经是失去,就勇敢的放弃。
Don't let the fear for losing keep you from trying.
别因为害怕失败而停止尝试。
Real dream is the other shore of reality.
真正的梦就是现实的彼岸。
Sometimes you have to give up on someone in order to respect yourself.
有时候我们必须放弃一些人,来成全自己的自尊。
There is no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs.
成功没有电梯,只有一步一个脚印。
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想找一些比较简短的英文句子来做QQ签名吗?下面读文网小编为大带来简短个性英文签名,希望对你有所帮助!
Reality is reality too.
是现实太现实。
Keep you close at heart.
靠近你的内心。
Laugh eyes and lie face.
会笑的眼和说谎的脸。
In my dream,you are my love.
在我的梦里你是爱我的。
I let go you'll never look back.
我放手你就不会回头。
The person I no love.
愿我再无所爱之人。
Lonely are the free.
孤独是免费的。
You are I wait less than passers-by.
甜蜜爱情签名:你是我等不到的路人。
You will shine but hurt my heart.
你会发光却刺痛了我的心。
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