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Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow-Part8_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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I bought one and found that he was quite correct. It did open and



shut itself. I had no control over it whatever. When it began to

rain, which it did that season every alternate five minutes, I used to



try and get the machine to open, but it would not budge; and then I

used to stand and struggle with the wretched thing, and shake it, and



swear at it, while the rain poured down in torrents. Then the moment

the rain ceased the absurd thing would go up suddenly with a jerk and



would not come down again; and I had to walk about under a bright blue

sky, with an umbrella over my head, wishing that it would come on to



rain again, so that it might not seem that I was insane.

When it did shut it did so unexpectedly and knocked one's hat off.



I don't know why it should be so, but it is an undeniable fact that

there is nothing makes a man look so supremely ridiculous as losing



his hat. The feeling of helplessmisery that shoots down one's back

on suddenly becoming aware that one's head is bare is among the most



bitter ills that flesh is heir to. And then there is the wild chase

after it, accompanied by an excitable small dog, who thinks it is a



game, and in the course of which you are certain to upset three or

four innocent children--to say nothing of their mothers--butt a fat



old gentleman on to the top of a perambulator, and carom off a ladies'

seminary into the arms of a wet sweep.



After this, the idiotic hilarity of the spectators and the

disreputable appearance of the hat when recovered appear but of minor



importance.

Altogether, what between March winds, April showers, and the entire



absence of May flowers, spring is not a success in cities. It is all

very well in the country, as I have said, but in towns whose



population is anything over ten thousand it most certainly ought to be

abolished. In the world's grim workshops it is like the children--out



of place. Neither shows to advantage amid the dust and din. It seems

so sad to see the little dirt-grimed brats try to play in the noisy



courts and muddy streets. Poor little uncared-for, unwanted human

atoms, they are not children. Children are bright-eyed, chubby, and



shy. These are dingy, screeching elves, their tiny faces seared and

withered, their baby laughtercracked and hoarse.



The spring of life and the spring of the year were alike meant to be

cradled in the green lap of nature. To us in the town spring brings



but its cold winds and drizzling rains. We must seek it among the

leafless woods and the brambly lanes, on the heathy moors and the



great still hills, if we want to feel its joyousbreath and hear its

silent voices. There is a gloriousfreshness in the spring there.



The scurrying clouds, the open bleakness, the rushing wind, and the

clear bright air thrill one with vague energies and hopes. Life, like



the landscape around us, seems bigger, and wider, and freer--a rainbow

road leading to unknown ends. Through the silvery rents that bar the



sky we seem to catch a glimpse of the great hope and grandeur that

lies around this little throbbing world, and a breath of its scent is



wafted us on the wings of the wild March wind.

Strange thoughts we do not understand are stirring in our hearts.



Voices are calling us to some great effort, to some mighty work. But

we do not comprehend their meaning yet, and the hidden echoes within



us that would reply are struggling, inarticulate and dumb.

We stretch our hands like children to the light, seeking to grasp we



know not what. Our thoughts, like the boys' thoughts in the Danish

song, are very long, long thoughts, and very vague; we cannot see



their end.

It must be so. All thoughts that peer outside this narrow world



cannot be else than dim and shapeless. The thoughts that we can

clearly grasp are very little thoughts--that two and two make



four-that when we are hungry it is pleasant to eat--that honesty is

the best policy; all greater thoughts are undefined and vast to our



poor childish brains. We see but dimly through the mists that roll

around our time-girt isle of life, and only hear the distant surging



of the great sea beyond.

ON CATS AND DOGS.



What I've suffered from them this morning no tongue can tell. It

began with Gustavus Adolphus. Gustavus Adolphus (they call him



"Gusty" down-stairs for short) is a very good sort of dog when he is

in the middle of a large field or on a fairly extensive common, but I



won't have him indoors. He means well, but this house is not his

size. He stretches himself, and over go two chairs and a what-not.



He wags his tail, and the room looks as if a devastating army had

marched through it. He breathes, and it puts the fire out.



At dinner-time he creeps in under the table, lies there for awhile,




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