章节正文
She puts on a yellow cloak and a green hat, and coming in at another
door says she is a lady from the country, and does he want a
keeper" target="_blank" title="n.主妇，女管家">housekeeper?
Having lost his beloved wife, and feeling that there is no one now to
keep the children quiet, he engages her. She puzzles him a good deal,
this new keeper" target="_blank" title="n.主妇，女管家">housekeeper. There is something about her that strangely
reminds him of his darling Nell--maybe her boots and dress, which she
has not had time to change.
Sadly the slow acts pass away until one day, as it is getting near
closing-time, she puts on the blue ulster and the red bonnet again and
comes in at the old original door.
Then he recognizes her and asks her where she has been all these cruel
years.
Even the bad people, who as a rule do possess a little sense--indeed,
they are the only persons in the play who ever pretend to any--are
deceived by singularly thin disguises.
The detective comes in to their secret councils, with his hat drawn
down over his eyes, and followed by the hero speaking in a squeaky
voice; and the villains mistake them for members of the band and tell
them all their plans.
If the villains can't get themselves found out that way, then they go
into a public tea-garden and recount their crimes to one another in a
loud tone of voice.
They evidently think that it is only fair to give the detective a
chance.
The detective must not be confounded with the policeman. The stage
policeman is always on the side of the villain; the detective backs
virtue.
The stage detective is, in fact, the earthly agent of a discerning and
benevolent Providence. He stands by and allows vice to be triumphant
and the good people to be persecuted for awhile without interference.
Then when he considers that we have all had about enough of it (to
which conclusion, by the bye, he arrives somewhat late) he comes
forward, handcuffs the bad people, sorts out and gives back to the
good people all their various estates and wives, promises the chief
villain twenty years' penal servitude, and all is joy.
THE SAILOR.
He does suffer so with his trousers. He has to stop and pull them up
about twice every minute.
One of these days, if he is not careful, there will be an accident
happen to those trousers.
If the stage sailor will follow our advice, he will be warned in time
and will get a pair of braces.
Sailors in real life do not have nearly so much trouble with their
trousers as sailors on the stage do. Why is this? We have seen a
good deal of sailors in real life, but on only one occasion, that we
can remember, did we ever see a real sailor pull his trousers up.
And then he did not do it a bit like they do it on the stage.
The stage sailor places his right hand behind him and his left in
front, leaps up into the air, kicks out his leg behind in a gay and
bird-like way, and the thing is done.
The real sailor that we saw began by saying a bad word. Then he
leaned up against a brick wall and undid his belt, pulled up his
"bags" as he stood there (he never attempted to leap up into the air),
tucked in his jersey, shook his legs, and walked on.
It was a most unpicturesque performance to watch.
The thing that the stage sailor most craves in this life is that
somebody should shiver his timbers.
"Shiver my timbers!" is the request he makes to every one he meets.
But nobody ever does it.
His chief desire with regard to the other people in the play is that
they should "belay there, avast!" We do not know how this is done;
but the stage sailor is a good and kindly man, and we feel convinced
he would not recommend the exercise if it were not conducive to piety
and health.
The stage sailor is good to his mother and dances the hornpipe
beautifully. We have never found a real sailor who could dance a
hornpipe, though we have made extensive inquiries throughout the
profession. We were introduced to a ship's steward who offered to do
us a cellar-flap for a pot of four-half, but that was not what we
wanted.
The stage sailor is gay and rollicking: the real sailors we have met
have been, some of them, the most worthy and single-minded of men, but
they have appeared sedate rather than gay, and they haven't rollicked
much.
The stage sailor seems to have an easy time of it when at sea. The
hardest work we have ever seen him do then has been folding up a rope
or dusting the sides of the ship.
But it is only in his very busy moments that he has to work to this
extent; most of his time is occupied in chatting with the captain.
By the way, speaking of the sea, few things are more remarkable in
their behavior than a stage sea. It must be difficult to navigate in
a stage sea, the currents are so confusing.
As for the waves, there is no knowing how to steer for them; they are
so tricky. At one moment they are all on the larboard, the sea on the
other side of the vessel being perfectly calm, and the next instant
they have crossed over and are all on the starboard, and before the
captain can think how to meet this new dodge, the whole ocean has slid
round and got itself into a heap at the back of him.
Seamanship is useless against such very unprofessional conduct as
this, and the vessel is wrecked.
A wreck at (stage) sea is a truly awful sight. The thunder and
lightning never leave off for an instant; the crew run round and round
the mast and scream; the heroine, carrying the stage child in her arms
and with her back hair down, rushes about and gets in everybody's way.
The comic man alone is calm!
The next instant the bulwarks fall down flat on the deck and the mast
goes straight up into the sky and disappears, then the water reaches
the powder magazine and there is a terrific explosion.
This is followed by a sound as of linen sheets being ripped up, and
the passengers and crew hurry downstairs into the cabin, evidently
with the idea of getting out of the way of the sea, which has climbed
up and is now level with the deck.
The next moment the vessel separates in the middle and goes off R.
and L., so as to make room for a small boat containing the heroine,
the child, the comic man, and one sailor.
The way small boats are managed at (stage) sea is even more wonderful
than the way in which ships are sailed.
To begin with, everybody sits sideways along the middle of the boat,
all facing the starboard. They do not attempt to row. One man does
all the work with one scull. This scull he puts down through the
water till it touches the bed of the ocean, and then he shoves.
"Deep-sea punting" would be the technical term for the method, we
presume.
In this way do they toil--or rather, to speak correct{y, does the one
man toil--through the awful night, until with joy they see before them
the light-house rocks.
The light-house keeper comes out with a lantern. The boat is run in
among the breakers and all are saved.
And then the band plays.
THE END.
door says she is a lady from the country, and does he want a
keeper" target="_blank" title="n.主妇，女管家">housekeeper?
Having lost his beloved wife, and feeling that there is no one now to
keep the children quiet, he engages her. She puzzles him a good deal,
this new keeper" target="_blank" title="n.主妇，女管家">housekeeper. There is something about her that strangely
reminds him of his darling Nell--maybe her boots and dress, which she
has not had time to change.
Sadly the slow acts pass away until one day, as it is getting near
closing-time, she puts on the blue ulster and the red bonnet again and
comes in at the old original door.
Then he recognizes her and asks her where she has been all these cruel
years.
Even the bad people, who as a rule do possess a little sense--indeed,
they are the only persons in the play who ever pretend to any--are
deceived by singularly thin disguises.
The detective comes in to their secret councils, with his hat drawn
down over his eyes, and followed by the hero speaking in a squeaky
voice; and the villains mistake them for members of the band and tell
them all their plans.
If the villains can't get themselves found out that way, then they go
into a public tea-garden and recount their crimes to one another in a
loud tone of voice.
They evidently think that it is only fair to give the detective a
chance.
The detective must not be confounded with the policeman. The stage
policeman is always on the side of the villain; the detective backs
virtue.
The stage detective is, in fact, the earthly agent of a discerning and
benevolent Providence. He stands by and allows vice to be triumphant
and the good people to be persecuted for awhile without interference.
Then when he considers that we have all had about enough of it (to
which conclusion, by the bye, he arrives somewhat late) he comes
forward, handcuffs the bad people, sorts out and gives back to the
good people all their various estates and wives, promises the chief
villain twenty years' penal servitude, and all is joy.
THE SAILOR.
He does suffer so with his trousers. He has to stop and pull them up
about twice every minute.
One of these days, if he is not careful, there will be an accident
happen to those trousers.
If the stage sailor will follow our advice, he will be warned in time
and will get a pair of braces.
Sailors in real life do not have nearly so much trouble with their
trousers as sailors on the stage do. Why is this? We have seen a
good deal of sailors in real life, but on only one occasion, that we
can remember, did we ever see a real sailor pull his trousers up.
And then he did not do it a bit like they do it on the stage.
The stage sailor places his right hand behind him and his left in
front, leaps up into the air, kicks out his leg behind in a gay and
bird-like way, and the thing is done.
The real sailor that we saw began by saying a bad word. Then he
leaned up against a brick wall and undid his belt, pulled up his
"bags" as he stood there (he never attempted to leap up into the air),
tucked in his jersey, shook his legs, and walked on.
It was a most unpicturesque performance to watch.
The thing that the stage sailor most craves in this life is that
somebody should shiver his timbers.
"Shiver my timbers!" is the request he makes to every one he meets.
But nobody ever does it.
His chief desire with regard to the other people in the play is that
they should "belay there, avast!" We do not know how this is done;
but the stage sailor is a good and kindly man, and we feel convinced
he would not recommend the exercise if it were not conducive to piety
and health.
The stage sailor is good to his mother and dances the hornpipe
beautifully. We have never found a real sailor who could dance a
hornpipe, though we have made extensive inquiries throughout the
profession. We were introduced to a ship's steward who offered to do
us a cellar-flap for a pot of four-half, but that was not what we
wanted.
The stage sailor is gay and rollicking: the real sailors we have met
have been, some of them, the most worthy and single-minded of men, but
they have appeared sedate rather than gay, and they haven't rollicked
much.
The stage sailor seems to have an easy time of it when at sea. The
hardest work we have ever seen him do then has been folding up a rope
or dusting the sides of the ship.
But it is only in his very busy moments that he has to work to this
extent; most of his time is occupied in chatting with the captain.
By the way, speaking of the sea, few things are more remarkable in
their behavior than a stage sea. It must be difficult to navigate in
a stage sea, the currents are so confusing.
As for the waves, there is no knowing how to steer for them; they are
so tricky. At one moment they are all on the larboard, the sea on the
other side of the vessel being perfectly calm, and the next instant
they have crossed over and are all on the starboard, and before the
captain can think how to meet this new dodge, the whole ocean has slid
round and got itself into a heap at the back of him.
Seamanship is useless against such very unprofessional conduct as
this, and the vessel is wrecked.
A wreck at (stage) sea is a truly awful sight. The thunder and
lightning never leave off for an instant; the crew run round and round
the mast and scream; the heroine, carrying the stage child in her arms
and with her back hair down, rushes about and gets in everybody's way.
The comic man alone is calm!
The next instant the bulwarks fall down flat on the deck and the mast
goes straight up into the sky and disappears, then the water reaches
the powder magazine and there is a terrific explosion.
This is followed by a sound as of linen sheets being ripped up, and
the passengers and crew hurry downstairs into the cabin, evidently
with the idea of getting out of the way of the sea, which has climbed
up and is now level with the deck.
The next moment the vessel separates in the middle and goes off R.
and L., so as to make room for a small boat containing the heroine,
the child, the comic man, and one sailor.
The way small boats are managed at (stage) sea is even more wonderful
than the way in which ships are sailed.
To begin with, everybody sits sideways along the middle of the boat,
all facing the starboard. They do not attempt to row. One man does
all the work with one scull. This scull he puts down through the
water till it touches the bed of the ocean, and then he shoves.
"Deep-sea punting" would be the technical term for the method, we
presume.
In this way do they toil--or rather, to speak correct{y, does the one
man toil--through the awful night, until with joy they see before them
the light-house rocks.
The light-house keeper comes out with a lantern. The boat is run in
among the breakers and all are saved.
And then the band plays.
THE END.
- beloved [bi´lʌvd]
a.为....所爱的 n.爱人 (初中英语单词) - darling [´dɑ:liŋ] n.爱人 a.亲爱的 (初中英语单词)
- pretend [pri´tend] v.假装；借口；妄求 (初中英语单词)
- detective [di´tektiv] n.侦探 a.侦探的 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- policeman [pə´li:smən] n.警察 (初中英语单词)
- awhile [ə´wail] ad.少顷；片刻 (初中英语单词)
- conclusion [kən´klu:ʒən] n.结束；结论；推论 (初中英语单词)
- trousers [´trauzəz] n.裤子，长裤 (初中英语单词)
- jersey [´dʒə:zi] n.毛织运动衫；毛线衫 (初中英语单词)
- performance [pə´fɔ:məns] n.履行；行为；工作 (初中英语单词)
- shiver [´ʃivə] v.&n.(使)颤抖；碎片 (初中英语单词)
- recommend [,rekə´mend] vt.推荐；使受欢迎 (初中英语单词)
- extensive [ik´stensiv] a.广阔的；大量的 (初中英语单词)
- worthy [´wə:ði] a.有价值的；值得的 (初中英语单词)
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl] a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- vessel [´vesəl] n.容器；船；脉管 (初中英语单词)
- useless [´ju:sləs] a.无用的，无价值的 (初中英语单词)
- thunder [´θʌndə] n.雷 vi.打雷 vt.吼出 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- scream [skri:m] v.&n.尖叫(声) (初中英语单词)
- downstairs [,daun´steəz] ad.在楼下 a.楼下的 (初中英语单词)
- keeper [´ki:pə] n.管理人；看守；保管人 (初中英语单词)
- housekeeper [´haus,ki:pə] n.主妇，女管家 (高中英语单词)
- bonnet [´bɔnit] n.无边女帽；童帽 (高中英语单词)
- earthly [´ə:θli] a.地球的；世俗的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- steward [´stju:əd] n.管家；服务员 (高中英语单词)
- behavior [bi´heiviə] n.举止，行为 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- terrific [tə´rifik] a.可怕的；极大的 (高中英语单词)
- technical [´teknikəl] a.技术的；专门性的 (高中英语单词)
- lantern [´læntən] n.灯笼；提灯 (高中英语单词)
- recount [ri´kaunt] vt.描述；列举 n.重计 (英语四级单词)
- villain [´vilən] n.坏人；恶棍；反面角色 (英语四级单词)
- providence [´prɔvidəns] n.天意，天命，上帝 (英语四级单词)
- heroine [´herəuin] n.女英雄；女主人公 (英语四级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- servitude [´sə:vitju:d] n.奴隶状态；苦役 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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