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第23章

the story of a bad boy(顽童故事)-第23章

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daily   modicum  of   oats。   In   my   prayer   at   night   I   never   forgot   to   mention 

Gypsy with the rest of the family…generally setting forth her claims first。 

     Whatever relates to Gypsy belongs properly to this narrative; therefore 

I offer no apology for rescuing from oblivion; and boldly printing here a 

short composition which I wrote in the early part of my first quarter at the 

Temple Grammar School。 It is my maiden effort in a difficult art; and is; 

perhaps;   lacking   in   those   graces   of   thought   and   style   which   are   reached 

only after the severest practice。 

     Every     Wednesday        morning;     on   entering     school;    each    pupil   was 

expected   to   lay   his   exercise   on   Mr。   Grimshaw's   desk;   the   subject   was 

usually selected by Mr。 Grimshaw himself; the Monday previous。 With a 

humor characteristic of him; our teacher had instituted two prizes; one for 

the best   and the   other for   the worst   composition of the month。 The   first 

prize consisted of a penknife; or a pencil…case; or some such article dear to 

the heart of youth; the second prize entitled the winner to wear for an hour 

or two a sort of conical paper cap; on the front of which was written; in tall 

letters; this modest admission: I AM A DUNCE! The competitor who took 

prize No。 2。 wasn't generally an object of envy。 

     My     pulse    beat   high   with    pride   and    expectation     that   Wednesday 

morning; as I laid my essay; neatly folded; on the master's table。 I firmly 

decline to say which prize I won; but here's the composition to speak for 

itself。 

     It is no small…author vanity that induces me to publish this stray leaf of 

natural history。 I lay it before our young folks; not for their admiration; but 

for their criticism。 Let each reader take his lead…pencil and remorselessly 

correct    the   orthography;     the   capitalization;    and   the  punctuation      of  the 



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essay。 I shall not feel hurt at seeing my treatise cut all to pieces; though I 

think highly  of   the   production;  not   on   account   of its   literary  excellence; 

which   I   candidly   admit   is   not   overpowering;   but   because   it   was   written 

years and years ago about Gypsy; by a little fellow who; when I strive to 

recall him; appears to me like a reduced ghost of my present self。 

     I am confident that any reader who has ever had pets; birds or animals; 

will forgive me for this brief digression。 



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                         CHAPTER Twelve 



                                 Winter at Rivermouth 



     〃I guess we're going to have a regular old…fashioned snowstorm;〃 said 

Captain Nutter; one bleak December morning; casting a peculiarly nautical 

glance skyward。 

     The    Captain    was   always    hazarding     prophecies    about   the   weather; 

which somehow never turned out according to his prediction。 The vanes 

on the church…steeples seemed to take fiendish pleasure in humiliating the 

dear old gentleman。 If he said it was going to be a clear day; a dense sea… 

fog was pretty certain to set in before noon。 Once he caused a protracted 

drought by assuring us every morning; for six consecutive weeks; that it 

would   rain   in   a   few   hours。   But;   sure   enough;   that   afternoon   it   began 

snowing。 

    Now I had not seen a snow…storm since I was eighteen months old; and 

of course remembered nothing about it。 A boy familiar from his   infancy 

with   the   rigors   of   our   New   England   winters   can   form   no   idea   of   the 

impression   made   on      me   by   this   natural   phenomenon。   My   delight   and 

surprise were as boundless as if the heavy gray sky had let down a shower 

of pond lilies and white roses; instead of snow…flakes。 It happened to be a 

half…holiday;     so  I  had   nothing    to  do  but   watch    the  feathery    crystals 

whirling   hither   and   thither   through   the   air。   I   stood   by   the   sitting…room 

window gazing at the wonder until twilight shut out the novel scene。 

     We had had several slight flurries of hail and snow before; but this was 

a regular nor'easter。 

     Several inches of snow had already fallen。 The rose…bushes at the door 

drooped with the weight of their magical blossoms; and the two posts that 

held    the  garden    gate  were   transformed      into  stately  Turks;   with   white 

turbans; guarding the entrance to the Nutter House。 

     The    storm    increased     at  sundown;     and    continued     with   unabated 

violence through the night。 The next morning; when I jumped out of bed; 

the sun was shining brightly; the cloudless heavens wore the tender azure 

of June; and the whole earth lay muffled up to the eyes; as it were; in a 



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thick mantle of milk…white down。 

     It was a very deep snow。 The Oldest Inhabitant (what would become 

of    a  New     England     town     or  village    without    its  oldest   Inhabitant?) 

overhauled his almanacs; and pronounced it the deepest snow we had bad 

for twenty years。 It couldn't have been much deeper without smothering us 

all。 Our street was a sight to be seen; or; rather; it was a sight not to be 

seen; for very little street was visible。 One huge drift completely banked 

up our front door and half covered my bedroom window。 

     There     was    no   school    that   day;   for   all  the   thoroughfares      were 

impassable。      By   twelve    o'clock;   however;     the  great   snowploughs;       each 

drawn by  four   yokes of oxen; broke   a wagon…path through the principal 

streets;   but   the   foot…passengers   had   a   hard   time   of   it   floundering   in   the 

arctic drifts。 

     The Captain and I cut a tunnel; three feet wide and six feet high; from 

our front door to the sidewalk opposite。 It was a beautiful cavern; with its 

walls and roof inlaid with mother…of…pearl and diamonds。 I am sure the ice 

palace of the Russian Empress; in Cowper's poem; was not a more superb 

piece of architecture。 

     The thermometer began falling shortly before sunset and we had the 

bitterest    cold   night   I  ever   experienced。     This   brought     out   the  Oldest 

Inhabitant again the next day…and what a gay old boy he was for deciding 

everything! Our tunnel was turned into solid ice。 A crust thick enough to 

bear men and horses had formed   over the snow   everywhere; and the   air 

was alive with merry sleigh…bells。 Icy stalactites; a yard long; bung from 

the eaves of the house; and the Turkish sentinels at the gate looked as if 

they had given up all hopes of ever being relieved from duty。 

     So the winter set in cold and glittering。 Everything out…of…doors was 

sheathed   in   silver   mail。   To   quote   from   Charley   Marden;   it   was   〃cold 

enough      to  freeze   the   tail  off  a  brass  monkey;〃…an       observation     which 

seemed to me extremely happy; though I knew little or nothing concerning 

the endurance of brass monkeys; having never seen one。 

     I   had   looked     forward     to  the   advent    of   the   season    with   grave 

apprehensions; nerving myself to meet dreary nights and monotonous days; 

but summer   itself   was not   more   jolly  than winter   at   Rivermouth。  Snow… 



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balling at school; skating on the Mill Pond; coasting by moonlight; long 

rides   behind   Gypsy   in   a   brand…new   lit

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