现代大学英语精读第六册 的第四课和第九课课文 原文

Leｓｓon one1.Vｉrtuｅｉs, indeed mｕsｔbｅ, ｓｅlｆ－centered.(paｒa4)正确的行动就是,确实也必须就是以自我为中心的。

By rigｈｔactioｎ,we ｍｅan it mｕsｔheｌp promotｅpeｒsonａl iｎtｅrest、2.Ｔｈｅeｓsenｔｉａｌs are ｆamｉliar: tｈe poｖeｒty of thｅｐoor was ｔhe faｕlt of the poｏr、Aｎdｉｔwas bｅcauｓe iｔｗas proｄuｃｔoｆｔheir excｅsｓi ｖｅｆｅcunｄitｙ…、、(paｒa５)她的基本观点为人熟知:穷人的贫穷就是她们咎由自取,贫穷就是热门过度生育的结果The poverｔy of ｔhe pooｒwａs caｕseｄbｙtheiｒhaving toｏmanｙcｈｉldren.3.Ｐoｖertｙbｅing cａusｅd iｎthe ｂed mｅａnｔthat the rich were nｏt ｒeｓｐonsible foｒeiｔher its ｃreation or itsａｍelｉoｒaｔｉon. (ｐara６)贫穷源于过度生育意味着富人不应该为产生贫穷与解决贫穷承担责任Tｈe riｃhｗerｅnot to blamｅfoｒthe eｘisteｎcｅoｆｐoｖeｒｔy so theｙsｈould not be ａsked to unｄｅrｔａke the ｔasｋof ｓolviｎg ｔhe ｐroblem.4.It is meｒelｙｔhe woｒｋing out ofａlaw ofｎature aｎd a laｗof Gｏd(para8) 这就是自然规律与上帝的意志在起作用。

Itｉs onlｙthe rｅsulｔｏr efｆeｃt ｏｆthｅｌaw of theｓurviｖａl of the ｆittesｔａpplied tｏnatｕre or to human sｏcｉeｔy、5.Ｉｔdeclｉｎeｄin populariｔy, ａnd rｅfeｒenｃe tｏit acquiｒed a ｃondemnａｔory tone、(para9)然而在２0世纪,人们认为社会学中的达尔文进化论有点过于残酷,遭到了普遍的质疑,人们提及它都带有谴责的口吻。

现代大学英语精读6课文翻译《1（10课》）-4. 我的猪舍设在房屋后面一座旧果园的最南端。

我养的猪就住在一座破败的屋子里，原先是一座冰窖。

那屋有个可以让猪自由活动的十分可爱的院子，院子低矮的栅栏边上长着一棵苹果树，苹果树伞盖遮蔽着院落。

作为猪，它不可能再有奢求了——无论如何，不能再有非分之想了。

木屑铺垫在地上，可供猪用鼻子拱地，暖暖地躺着睡觉。

然而，当猪病了，这木屑的作用就存有疑问了。

我的一位邻居说，猪要是生活在新地上，也许会更好些——其道理与种土豆是一样的。

他说，也许木屑含有什么有害的东西，他对木屑从来就没有好感。

5. 下午四点钟光景，我开始发现猪有点不对劲儿。

它没来食槽吃晚餐。

当有猪(或孩子)拒绝用餐，那一家人或者说一冰窖的人就会担忧万分。

猪伸腿躺在屋子的木屑里，我检查了它之后，就去摇了四次电话。

达默隆先生来接的电话。

我问，“猪病了，该怎么办？”(在乡间电话上，从来不用报名道姓；从声音和问题的性质上便能明白打电话的人是谁。

)“我不知道。

我从来没诊治过病猪，”达默隆先生说，“但是我很快就可以知道。

你挂上电话。

我给亨利打电话。

”6. 达默隆先生五分钟之后便打来电话。

“亨利说，让猪仰面躺着，给它灌两盎司的篦麻油或橄榄油，要是那不管用，给它打一针肥皂水。

他说，他肯定猪囤食了，即使他错了，对猪也没害处。

”7. 我感谢了达默隆先生。

但我没有径直前往猪那里去。

我跌坐进一张椅子里，****了好几分钟，默想我遭遇的麻烦。

然后，我站起来，向猪舍走去，瞧瞧那儿还需要我做些什么。

我于不知不觉中推迟了一小时去做那将正式宣告我养猪失败的事；我不想在日常喂养中，在发育成长中，甚至在日复一日的连续性中发生中断现象。

我不想要中断，不想要篦麻油，不想有任何节外生枝的事。

我只想将猪饲养下去，一顿一顿地喂养它，从春天直到夏日和秋季。

我甚至不知道家中是否有两盎司的篦麻油。

8. 五点过后不久，我想起那晚有人邀我们赴晚宴，要是我给猪喂药，就没有时间了。

Book 4-Unit 5Text AThe TelephoneAnwar F. Accawi1.When I was growing up in Magdaluna, a small Lebanese village in theterraced, rocky mountains east of Sidon, time didn't mean much toanybody, except maybe to those whowere dying. In those days, there was no real need for a calendar or awatch to keep track of the hours, days, months, and years. We knewwhat to do and when to do it, just as the Iraqi geese knew when to flynorth, driven by the hot wind that blew in from the desert. The onlytimepiece we had need of then was the sun. It rose and set, and theseasons rolled by and we sowed seed and harvested and ate and playedand married our cousins and had babies who got whooping cough andchickenpox—and those children who survived grew up and marriedtheir cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox.We lived and loved and toiled and died without ever needing to knowwhat year it was, or even the timeof day.2.It wasn't that we had no system for keeping track of time and of the importantevents in ourlives. But ours was a natural or, rather, a divine — calendar, because itwas framed by acts of God: earthquakes and droughts and floods andlocusts and pestilences. Simple as our calendar was, it worked just finefor us.3.Take, for example, the birth date of Teta Im Khalil, the oldestwoman in Magdaluna and all the surrounding villages. When Iasked Grandma, "How old is Teta Im Khalil?"4.Grandma had to think for a moment; then she said, "I've been toldthat Teta was born shortly after the big snow that caused the roof onthe mayor's house to cave in."5."And when was that?" I asked.6."Oh, about the time we had the big earthquake that cracked the wall in the eastroom."7.Well, that was enough for me. You couldn't be more accurate than that, now,could you?8.And that's the way it was in our little village for as far back as anybodycould remember. One of the most unusual of the dates was when awhirlwind struck during which fish and oranges fell from the sky.Incredible as it may sound, the story of the fish and oranges was true,because men who would not lie even to save their own souls told andretold that story untilit was incorporated into Magdaluna's calendar.9.The year of the fish-bearing whirlpool was not the last remarkable year.Many others followed in which strange and wonderful things happened.There was, for instance, the yearof the drought, when the heavens were shut for months and the springfrom which the entire village got its drinking water slowed to a trickle.The spring was about a mile from the village, in a ravine that opened atone end into a small, flat clearing covered with fine gray dust and hard,marble-sized goat droppings. In the year of the drought, that littleclearingwas always packed full of noisy kids with big brown eyes and stickyhands, and their mothers —sinewy, overworked young women withcracked, brown heels. The children ran around playing tag or hide-and-seek while the women talked, shooed flies, and awaited their turns to fillup their jars with drinking water to bring home to their napping menand wet babies. There were days when we had to wait from sunup untillate afternoon just to fill a small clay jar with precious, cool water.10.S ometimes, amid the long wait and the heat and the flies and the smellof goat dung, tempers flared, and the younger women, anxious abouttheir babies, argued over whose turnit was to fill up her jar. And sometimes the arguments escalated intofull-blown, knockdown-dragout fights; the women would grab eachother by the hair and curse and scream and spit and call each othernames that made my ears tingle. We little brown boys who went withour mothers to fetch water loved these fights, because we got to see thewomen's legs and their colored panties as they grappled and rolledaround in the dust. Oncein a while, we got lucky and saw much more, because some of thewomen wore nothing at all under their long dresses. God, how I usedto look forward to those fights. I remember the rush, the excitement,the sun dancing on the dust clouds as a dress ripped and a youngwhite breast was revealed, then quickly hidden. In my calendar, thatyear of drought will always be one of the best years of my childhood.11.B ut, in another way, the year of the drought was also one of the worstof my life, because that was the year that Abu Raja, the retired cook,decided it was time Magdaluna got its own telephone. Every civilizedvillage needed a telephone, he said, and Magdaluna was not going toget anywhere until it had one. A telephone would link us with theoutside world. A fewmen—like the retired Turkish-army drill sergeant, and the vineyard keeper —did all they couldto talk Abu Raja out of having a telephone brought to the village. But they were outshoutedand ignored and finally shunned by the other villagers for resisting progress and trying tokeep a good thing from coming to Magdaluna.12. O ne warm day in early fall, many of the villagers were out in theirfields repairing walls or gathering wood for the winter when the shoutwent out that the telephone-company truckhad arrived at Abu Raja's dikkan, or country store. When the truckcame into view, everybody dropped what they were doing and ran toAbu Raja's house to see what was happening.13.I t did not take long for the whole village to assemble at Abu Raja'sdikkan. Some of the rich villagers walked right into the store andstood at the elbows of the two important-lookingmen from the telephone company, who proceeded with utmost gravity, like priests atCommunion, to wire up the telephone. The poorer villagers stoodoutside and listened carefully to the details relayed to them by the not-so-poor people who stood in the doorway and could see inside.14."The bald man is cutting the blue wire," someone said.15."He is sticking the wire into the hole in the bottom of the black box," someoneelse added.16."The telephone man with the mustache is connecting two pieces ofwire. Now he is twisting the ends together," a third voice chimed in.17.B ecause I was small, I wriggled my way through the dense forest oflegs to get a firsthand look at the action. Breathless, I watched asthe men in blue put together a black machinethat supposedly would make it possible to talk with uncles, aunts, andcousins who lived more than two days' ride away.18.I t was shortly after sunset when the man with the mustache announced thatthe telephonewas ready to use. He explained that all Abu Raja had to do was lift thereceiver, turn the crank on the black box a few times, and wait for anoperator to take his call. Abu Raja grabbed the receiver and turned thecrank forcefully. Within moments, he was talking withhis brother in Beirut. He didn't even have to raise his voice or shout to be heard.19.A nd the telephone, as it turned out, was bad news. With its coming, the face ofthe villagebegan to change. One of the fast effects was the shifting of the village'scenter. Before the telephone's arrival, the men of the village used togather regularly at the house of Im Kaleem, a short, middle-aged widowwith jet-black hair and a raspy voice that could be heard all over thevillage, even when she was only whispering. She was a devout Catholicand also the village whore. The men met at her house to argue aboutpolitics and drink coffee and play cards or backgammon. Im Kaleemwas not a true prostitute, however, because she did not charge for herservices —not even for the coffee and tea that she served the men. Shedid not need the money; her son, who was overseas in Africa, sent hermoney regularly. Im Kaleem loved all the men she entertained, and theyloved her, every one of them. In a way, she was married to all the menin the village. Everybody knew it but nobody objected. Actually I suspect the women did not mind their husbands'visits to Im Kaleem. Oh, theywrung their hands and complained to one another about their men'sunfaithfulness, but secretly they were relieved, because Im Kaleem tooksome of the pressure off them and kept the men outof their hair while they attended to their endless chores. Im Kaleem wasalso a kind of confessor and troubleshooter, talking sense to those menwho were having family problems, especially the younger ones.20.B efore the telephone came to Magdaluna, Im Kaleem's house was bustling atjust about anytime of day, especially at night, when the loud voices of the men talking, laughing, and arguing could be heard in the street below —a reassuring, homey sound. Her house was an island of comfort, an oasis for theweary village men, exhausted from having so little to do.21.B ut it wasn't long before many of those men —the younger onesespecially—started spending more of their days and evenings at AbuRaja's dikkan. There, they would eat and drink and talk and playcheckers and backgammon, and then lean their chairs back against thewall —the signal that they were ready to toss back and forth, like a ball,the latest rumors going around the village. And they were alwayslooking up from their games and drinks and talk to glance at the phonein the corner, as if expecting it to ring any minute and bring news thatwould change their lives and deliver them from their aimless existence.In the meantime,they smoked cheap, hand-rolled cigarettes, dug dirt out from undertheir fingernails with big pocketknives, and drank lukewarm sodasthat they called Kacula, Seffen-Ub, and Bebsi.22. T he telephone was also bad news for me personally. It took away mylucrative business —a source of much-needed income. Before, I used tohang around Im Kaleem's courtyard and play marbles with the otherkids, waiting for some man to call down from a window and askme to run to the store for cigarettes or liquor, or to deliver a message to his wife, such aswhat he wanted for supper. There was always something in it for me: aten or even a twenty-five-piaster piece. On a good day, I ran nine or tenof those errands, which assured a steady supply of marbles that Iusually lost to other boys. But as the days went by fewer and fewer mencame to Im Kaleem's, and more and more congregated at Abu Raja's towait bythe telephone. In the evenings, the laughter and noise of the mentrailed off and finally stopped.23.A t Abu Raja's dikkan, the calls did eventually come, as expected, andmen and women started leaving the village the way a hailstorm begins:first one, then two, then bunches.24.T he army took them. Jobs in the cities lured them. And ships andairplanes carried them to such faraway places as Australia and Braziland New Zealand. My friend Kameel, his cousin Habeeb, and theircousins and my cousins all went away to become ditch diggers andmechanics and butcher-shop boys and deli owners who wore dirtyaprons sixteen hours a day, all looking for a better life than the onethey had left behind. Within a year, only the sick, the old, and themaimed were left in the village. Magdaluna became a skeleton of itsformer self, desolate and forsaken, like the tombs, a place to get away from.25.F inally, the telephone took my family away, too. My father got a callfrom an old army buddy who told him that an oil company in southern Lebanon was hiring interpreters and instructors. My father applied for a job and got it, and we moved to Sidon, where I went to aPresbyterian missionary school and graduated in 1962. Three yearslater, having won a scholarship, I left Lebanon for the United States.Like the others who left Magdaluna before me, I am still looking for that better life. (2121 words)。

大学英语精读第六册 Unit 01Phrase & Expressionson the job: while working; at work 在上班,在工作岗位上,忙碌break down into: separate into different kinds; divide into types分为………项,分类a variety (of): a number or collection of different sorts of the same general type多种多样的,品种多样的make up : form as a whole; constitute 组成, 构成as a whole:普遍说来, 一般地说,整体来看under consideration: being discussed; begin given thoughtful attention在考虑中,考虑中as such: as being what is indicated or suggested; in itself or in themselves依其身份、资格或名义等; 本身,take on: begin to have; assume 具有(特征等),呈现，呈现某种特性write up: rewrite in a fuller, better organized way; give a full written account of 整理好写成文章, 全部写出, 详细描写get down: write, record (usu. quickly or with difficulty) 写下; 记下,记录下live by：make a living from(sth．or doing sth．) 靠……谋生live for：have as a reason for living；give most attention to为…而生活, 以…为生活目的,极注意live on：have as one’s only food；live at the cost of(sb．else)靠………为生live out：live till the end of 活过,活到live through：remain alive in spite of or through the time of(sth．)经历过; 经历…而未死,经受过,经历过,熬过live up to： act according to；do(what is expected or promised)根据………做live with：learn to accept(sth．unpleasant)；put up with学会接受,忍受get across：(cause to)become understood or accepted 使理解,接受get along：advance；form or have a friendly relationship(with sb．)进展,相处得好,相处融洽get around／round：(of news)spread；move freely，travel传播开,自由移动,走动,旅行get around／round to： find time for(sth．or doing sth．)有时间做get at： mean；reach and discover 意味着,意思是,够得着,发现get by：pass；continue to live，often in spite of difficulties经过,度日, 继续存在get down： record(sth．)in writing 写下; 记下,记录下get down to： begin to give serious attention to 开始认真注意get over： recover from；deal with；control 痊愈,处理,解决,控制get through： reach(sb．)by telephone；finish 接通电话,完成TranslationTranslate the following sentences into English：1．当你面临的某项任务显得太大时，将其分解成若干项较小的、更容易对付的任务也许会有所助益。

精品文档NettlesOur farm was small-nine acres. It was small enough for me to have explored every part of it. Each of the trees on the place had an attitude and a presence-the elm looked serene and the oak threatening, the maples friendly, the hawthorn old and crabby. Even the pits on the river flats had their flats had their distinct character.The girls as well as the boys were divided into two sides. Each girl had her own pile of balls and was working for paticular soldiers, and when a soldier fell wounded he would call out a girl 's name, so that she could drag him away and dress his wounds as quickly as possible. I made weapons for Mike, and mine ws the name he called. There was a keen alarm when the cry came, a wire zinging through your whole body, a fanatic feeling of devotion. When Mike was wounded he never opened his eyes. He lay limp and still while I pressed slimy large leaves to his forehead and throat and-pulling out his shirt-to his pale tender stomach, with its sweet and vulnerable belly button.One morning, of course, the job was all finished, the well capped, the pump reinstated, the fresh water marvelled at. And the truck did not come. There were two fewer chairs at the table for the noon meal. Mike and I had barely looked at each other during those meals. He liked to put ketcup on his bread. His father talked to my father, and the talk was mostly about well, accidents, water tables. A serious man. All work, my father said. Yet- he-Mike 's father-ended nearly every speech with a laugh. The laugh had a lonely boom in it, as if he were still down the well.Sunny and I had been friends in Vancouver years before. Our pregnancies had dovetailed, so that we had managed with one set of maternity clothes. In my kitchen or in hers, once a week or so, distracted by our children and sometimes reeling for lack of sleep, we stoked ourselves up on strong coffee and cigarettes and launched out on a rampage of talk about our marriages, our personal deficiencies, our interesting and discreditable motives, and our forgone ambitions. We read Jung at the same time and tried to keep track of our dreams. During that time of life that is supposed to be a reproductive daze, with the woman 's mind all swamped by maternal juices, we were still compelled to discuss Simone de Beauvoir and Arthur Koestler and “The Cocktail Party ”.He had slept in the guest bedroom the night before but tonight he 'd moved downstairs to the fold-out sofa in the front room. Sunny had given him fresh sheets rather than unmarking and making up again the bed he had left for me.Lying in those same sheets did not make for a peaceful night. I knew that he wouldn 't come to see, no matter how small the risk was. It would be a sleazy thing to do, in the house of his friends. And how could he be sure that it was what I wanted? Or that it was what he really wanted? Even I was not sure of it. Up till now, I had always been able to think of myself as a woman who was faithful to the person who she was sleeping with at any given time. My sleep was shallow, my dreams monotonously lustful, with irritating and unpleasant subplots. All night-or at least whenener I woke up-the crickets wre singing outside my windows. At first I thought it was birds. I had lived in cities long enough to have forgotten how crickets can make a perfect waterfall of noise.The bushes right at the edge of the grass looked impenetrable, but close up there were little openings, the narrow paths that animals or people looking for golf balls had made. The ground sloped slightly downward, and we could see a bit of the river. The water was steel gray, and lookedto be rolling. Between it and us there was a meadow of weeds, all in bloom-goldenrod, jewelweed with its red-and-yellow bells, and what I thought were flowering nettles with精品文档pinkish-purple clusters, and wild asters. Even the most frail-stemmed, delicate-looking plants had grown up almost as high as, or higher than, our heads. When we stopped and looked up through them we could see something coming, from the direction of the midnight clouds. It was the real rain, coming at us behind the splatter we were getting. It looked as if a large portion of the sky had detached itself and was bearing down, bustling and resolute, taking a not quite recognizable but animate shape. Curtains of rain-not veils but really thick and wildly slapping curtains-were deiven ahead of it. We could see them distinctly, when all we were feeling were light were light, lazy drops. It was almost as if we were looking through a window, and not quite believing that the window would shatter, until it did, and rain and wind hit us, all together, and my hair was lifted an fanned out above my head. I felt as if my skin might do that next.We remained like this until the wind passed over. That could not have been more than five minutes, perhaps onlu two or three. Tain still fell, but now it was ordinary heavy rain. He took his hands away, and we stood up, shakly. Our shirts and slacks were stuck fast to our bodie. We tried to simle, but had hardly the strength for it. Then we kissed and pressed together briefly. This was more of a ritual, a recognition of survival rather than of our bodies'inclinations. Our lips slid against each other, slick and cool, and the pressure of the embrace made us slightly chilly, as fresh water was squished out of our clothing.The bluest eyeThey have the eyes of people who can tell what time it is by the color of the sky. Such girls live in quiet black neighborhoods where everybody is gainfully employed. Where there are porch swings hanging from chains. Where the grass is cut with a scythe, where the grass is cut with a scythe, where rooster combs and sunflowers grow in the yards and pots of bleeding hearts, ivy, and mother-in-law tongue line the steps and windowsills. Such girls have bought watermelon and snap beans from the fruit man 's wagon. They have put in the window the cardboard sigh that has a pound measure prin ted on each of three edges-qo lbs., 25lbs., 50ibs. ~and NO ICE on the fourth. These paticular brown girls from Mobil and Ailen are not like some of their sisters. They are not fretful, nervous, or shrill; they do not have lovely black necks that stretch as though against and invisible collar; their eyes do not bite. These sugar-brown Mobil girls move through the streets without a stir. They are as sweet and plain as buttercake.They go to land-grant colleges, normal schools, and learn how to do the white man 's work with refinement: home economics to prepare his food; teacher education to instruct black children in obedience; music to soothe the weary master and entertain his blunted soul. Here they learn the rest of the lesson begun in those soft houses with porch swings and pots of bleeding heart: how to behave. The careful development of thrift, patience, high morals, and good manners. In short, how to get rid of the funkiness. The dreadful funkiness of passion, the funkiness of nature, the funkiness of the wide range of human emotions.What they do not know is that this plain brown girl will build her nest stick by stick, make it her own inviolable world, and stand guard over its every plant, weed, and doily, even against him. In silence will she return the lamp to where she put it in the first place; remove the dishes from the table as soon as the last bite is taken; wipe the doornob after a greasy hand has torched it. A sidelong look will be enough to tell him to smoke on the back porch. Children will sense instantly that they cannot come into her yard to retrieve a ball. But the men do not know these things. Nor do they know that she will give him her body sparingly and partially.The cat will settle quietly on the windowsill and earess her with his eyes. She can hold him in精品文档her arms, letting his back paws stuggle for footing on her breast and his forepaws cling to her shoulder. She can rub the smooth fur and feel the unresisting flesh underneath. At her gentlest touch he will preen, stretch, and open his mouth. And she will accept the strangely pleasant sensation that comes when he writhes beneath her hand and flattens his eyes with a surfeit of sensual delight. When she stands cooking at the table, he will circle about her fingers tremble a little in the pie dough.Junior used to long to play with the black boys. More than anything in the world he wanted to play King of the Mountain and have them pish him down th mound of dirt and roll over him. He wanted to feel their hardness pressing on him. Smell their wild blackness, and say “Fuck you ” with that lovely casualness. He wanted to sit with them on curbstones and compare the shapeness of jackknives, the distance and crcs of spitting. In the toilet he wanted to share with them the laurels of being able to pee far and long.He oulled her into another room, even more beautiful than the first. More doilies, a big lamp with green-and-gold base and white shade. There was even a rug on the floor, with enormous dark-red flowers. She was deep in admiration of the flowers when Junior said, “here! ”Pecola turned. “Here is your kitten! ”he screeched. And he threw a big black cat right in her face. She sucked in her breath in fear and surprise and felt fur in her mouth. The cat clawed her face and chest in an effort to right itself, then leaped nimbly to the floor.。

Lesson one1.Virtue is, indeed must be, self-centered.(para4)正确的行动是，确实也必须是以自我为中心的。

By right action, we mean it must help promote personal interest.The essentials are familiar: the poverty of the poor was the fault of the poor. And it was because it was pr oduct of their excessive fecundity…..(para5)他的基本观点为人熟知：穷人的贫穷是他们咎由自取，贫穷是热门过度生育的结果The poverty of the poor was caused by their having too many children.Poverty being caused in the bed meant that the rich were not responsible for either its creation or its amelioration. (para6)贫穷源于过度生育意味着富人不应该为产生贫穷和解决贫穷承担责任The rich were not to blame for the existence of poverty so they should not be asked to undertake the task of solving the problem.It is merely the working out of a law of nature and a law of God(para8)这是自然规律和上帝的意志在起作用。

It is only the result or effect of the law of the survival of the fittest applied to nature or to human society.It declined in popularity, and reference to it acquired a condemnatory tone.(para9)然而在20世纪，人们认为社会学中的达尔文进化论有点过于残酷，遭到了普遍的质疑，人们提及它都带有谴责的口吻。

大学英语精读第6册全文课文翻译THE QUEST FOR EXTRATERRESTRIALINTELLIGENCEThrough all of our history we have pondered the stars and mused whether humanity is unique or if, somewhere else in the dark of the night sky, there are other beings who contemplate and wonder as we do, fellow thinkers in the cosmos. Such beings might view themselves and the universe differently. Somewhere else there might be very exotic biologies and technologies and societies. In a cosmic setting vast and old beyond ordinary human understanding, we are a little lonely; and we ponder the ultimate significance, if any, of our tiny but exquisite blue planet.The search for extraterrestrial intelligence is the search for a generally acceptable cosmic context for the human species. In the deepest sense, the search for extraterrestrial intelligence is a search for ourselves.In the last few years -- in one-millionth the lifetime of our species on this planet -- we have achieved an extraordinary technological capability which enables us to seek out unimaginably distant civilizations even if they are no more advanced than we. That capability is called radio astronomy and involves single radio telescopes, collections or arrays of radio telescopes, sensitive radio detectors, advanced computers for processing received date, and the imagination and skill of dedicated scientists. Radio astronomy has in the last decade opened a new window on the physical universe. It may also, if we are wise enough to make the effort, cast a profound light on the biological universe.Some scientists working on the question of extraterrestrial intelligence, myself among them, have attempted to estimate the number of advanced technical civilizations -- defined operationally as societies capable of radio astronomy -- in the Milky Way Galaxy. Such estimates are little better than guesses. They require assigning numerical values to quantities such as the numbers and ages of stars; the abundance of planetary systems and the likelihood of the origin of life, which we know less well; and the probability of the evolution of intelligent life and the lifetime of technical civilizations, about which we know very little indeed.When we do the arithmetic, the sorts of numbers we come up with are, characteristically, around a million technical civilizations. A million civilizations is a探寻外星人自从人类有历史记载以来，我们一直在思索着星星，反复考虑是否只有人类存在，或者说在太空深处的某个地方是否存在其他同我们一样在不停地思索着的生命，也就是宇宙中跟我们一起思考的人。

大学英语精读第六册 Unit 01Phrase & Expressionson the job: while working; at work 在上班,在工作岗位上,忙碌break down into: separate into different kinds; divide into types分为………项,分类a variety (of): a number or collection of different sorts of the same general type多种多样的,品种多样的make up : form as a whole; constitute 组成, 构成as a whole:普遍说来, 一般地说,整体来看under consideration: being discussed; begin given thoughtful attention在考虑中,考虑中as such: as being what is indicated or suggested; in itself or in themselves依其身份、资格或名义等; 本身,take on: begin to have; assume 具有(特征等),呈现，呈现某种特性write up: rewrite in a fuller, better organized way; give a full written account of 整理好写成文章, 全部写出, 详细描写get down: write, record (usu. quickly or with difficulty) 写下; 记下,记录下live by：make a living from(sth．or doing sth．) 靠……谋生live for：have as a reason for living；give most attention to为…而生活, 以…为生活目的,极注意live on：have as one’s only food；live at the cost of(sb．else)靠………为生live out：live till the end of 活过,活到live through：remain alive in spite of or through the time of(sth．)经历过; 经历…而未死,经受过,经历过,熬过live up to： act according to；do(what is expected or promised)根据………做live with：learn to accept(sth．unpleasant)；put up with学会接受,忍受get across：(cause to)become understood or accepted 使理解,接受get along：advance；form or have a friendly relationship(with sb．)进展,相处得好,相处融洽get around／round：(of news)spread；move freely，travel传播开,自由移动,走动,旅行get around／round to： find time for(sth．or doing sth．)有时间做get at： mean；reach and discover 意味着,意思是,够得着,发现get by：pass；continue to live，often in spite of difficulties经过,度日, 继续存在get down： record(sth．)in writing 写下; 记下,记录下get down to： begin to give serious attention to 开始认真注意get over： recover from；deal with；control 痊愈,处理,解决,控制get through： reach(sb．)by telephone；finish 接通电话,完成TranslationTranslate the following sentences into English：1．当你面临的某项任务显得太大时，将其分解成若干项较小的、更容易对付的任务也许会有所助益。

现代大学英语精读6（1-10课）课文翻译现代大学英语精读6课文翻译1如何使我们不为穷人的存在而内疚约翰·肯尼斯·高伯瑞(加尔布雷斯)1. 我很愿意严肃地考虑一种人类最古老的活动，这项活动持续了多年，实际上已经超过了几个世纪，那就是尝试怎样使我们不为穷人的存在而内疚。

2. 贫穷和富有从一开始就共生在一起，彼此很不愉快有时还充满危险。

普鲁塔克曾说，“贫富失衡乃共和政体最致命的宿疾。

”富有和贫穷持续共存产生的问题，特别是如何证明在其他人还贫穷时我们富有是有道理的这一问题，成为有思想有学问的人几百年来孜孜不倦地思考探索的问题。

直至当代状况依然如此。

3. 《圣经》提出了最初的解决之道，在现世遭受贫穷的人来世会得到更好的回报。

他们的贫穷是暂时的灾难，如果贫穷但却能顺从，他们将来就会成为世界的主人。

在某种程度上这就是最理想的解决办法。

由此，富人就可以一边嫉妒穷人的美好前途一边享受他们的财富。

4. 很长时间之后，即在1776年《国富论》发表的二三十年之后——在英国工业革命开始之后，贫富不均的问题及其解决办法开始具有了现代的形式。

杰罗米·边沁，这位与亚当·斯密几乎是同时代的人，提出了这样一种准则，在某种程度上，美国人认为这一准则在英国几乎50年来一直影响显著。

这就是实用主义学说。

“通过实用的原则，”边沁在1789年指出，“也就是通过这一原则来赞成或否定任何一种应运而生的看来似乎必定会增加或减少政党幸福的行为或做法，尽管政党的利益总是在讨论之中。

”实用，实际上一定是以自我为中心的。

然而，社会中只有少数人拥有大量财富，却有更多人没有财富。

只要遵循边沁的话——“最大的利益给最多的人”，就能够解决社会问题。

社会尽力满足更多的人，人们接受对于很多利益没被满足的人来说，结果极其不幸。

5. 在19世纪30年代，一种新的准则成为使我们不为穷人的存在感到内疚的有效办法，迄今为止它的影响也丝毫没有减弱。

Text Book 4Unit 1TextTwo college-age boys, unaware that making money usually involves hard work, are tempted by an advertisement that promises them an easy way to earn a lot of money. The boys soon learn that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. 一个大学男孩，不清楚赚钱需要付出艰苦的劳动，被一份许诺轻松赚大钱的广告吸引了。

男孩们很快就明白，如果事情看起来好得不像真的，那多半确实不是真的。

BIG BUCKS THE EASY WAY轻轻松松赚大钱John G. Hubbell"You ought to look into this," I suggested to our two college-age sons. "It might be a way to avoid the indignity of having to ask for money all the time." I handed them some magazines in a plastic bag someone had hung on our doorknob. “你们该看看这个，”我向我们的两个读大学的儿子建议道。

“你们若想避免因为老是向人讨钱而有失尊严的话，这兴许是一种办法。

”我将挂在我们门把手上的、装在一个塑料袋里的几本杂志拿给他们。

A message printed on the bag offered leisurely, lucrative work("Big Bucks the Easy Way!") of delivering more such bags. 塑料袋上印着一条信息说，需要招聘人投递这样的袋子，这活儿既轻松又赚钱。

Book 4-Unit 5Text AThe TelephoneAnwar F. Accawi1.When I was growing up in Magdaluna, a small Lebanese village in the terraced, rockymountains east of Sidon, time didn't mean much to anybody, except maybe to those who were dying. In those days, there was no real need for a calendar or a watch to keep track of the hours, days, months, and years. We knew what to do and when to do it, just as the Iraqi geese knew when to fly north, driven by the hot wind that blew in from the desert. The only timepiece we had need of then was the sun. It rose and set, and the seasons rolled by and we sowed seed and harvested and ate and played and married our cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox—and those children who survived grew up and married their cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox. We lived and loved and toiled and died without ever needing to know what year it was, or even the time of day.2.It wasn't that we had no system for keeping track of time and of the important events in ourlives. But ours was a natural or, rather, a divine—calendar, because it was framed by acts of God: earthquakes and droughts and floods and locusts and pestilences. Simple as our calendar was, it worked just fine for us.3.Take, for example, the birth date of Teta Im Khalil, the oldest woman in Magdaluna and allthe surrounding villages. When I asked Grandma, "How old is Teta Im Khalil?"4.Grandma had to think for a moment; then she said, "I've been told that Teta was born shortlyafter the big snow that caused the roof on the mayor's house to cave in."5."And when was that?" I asked.6."Oh, about the time we had the big earthquake that cracked the wall in the east room."7.Well, that was enough for me. You couldn't be more accurate than that, now, could you?8.And that's the way it was in our little village for as far back as anybody could remember. Oneof the most unusual of the dates was when a whirlwind struck during which fish and oranges fell from the sky. Incredible as it may sound, the story of the fish and oranges was true, because men who would not lie even to save their own souls told and retold that story until it was incorporated into Magdaluna's calendar.9.The year of the fish-bearing whirlpool was not the last remarkable year. Many othersfollowed in which strange and wonderful things happened. There was, for instance, the year of the drought, when the heavens were shut for months and the spring from which the entire village got its drinking water slowed to a trickle. The spring was about a mile from the village, in a ravine that opened at one end into a small, flat clearing covered with fine gray dust and hard, marble-sized goat droppings. In the year of the drought, that little clearing was always packed full of noisy kids with big brown eyes and sticky hands, and their mothers—sinewy, overworked young women with cracked, brown heels. The children ran around playing tag or hide-and-seek while the women talked, shooed flies, and awaited their turns to fill up their jars with drinking water to bring home to their napping men and wet babies. There were days when we had to wait from sunup until late afternoon just to fill a small clay jar with precious, cool water.10.Sometimes, amid the long wait and the heat and the flies and the smell of goat dung,tempers flared, and the younger women, anxious about their babies, argued over whose turn it was to fill up her jar. And sometimes the arguments escalated into full-blown, knockdown-dragout fights; the women would grab each other by the hair and curse and scream and spit and call each other names that made my ears tingle. We little brown boys who went with our mothers to fetch water loved these fights, because we got to see the women's legs and their colored panties as they grappled and rolled around in the dust. Once in a while, we got lucky and saw much more, because some of the women wore nothing at all under their long dresses. God, how I used to look forward to those fights. I remember the rush, the excitement, the sun dancing on the dust clouds as a dress ripped and a young white breast was revealed, then quickly hidden. In my calendar, that year of drought will always be one of the best years of my childhood.11.But, in another way, the year of the drought was also one of the worst of my life, becausethat was the year that Abu Raja, the retired cook, decided it was time Magdaluna got its own telephone. Every civilized village needed a telephone, he said, and Magdaluna was not going to get anywhere until it had one. A telephone would link us with the outside world. A few men—like the retired Turkish-army drill sergeant, and the vineyard keeper—did all they could to talk Abu Raja out of having a telephone brought to the village. But they were outshouted and ignored and finally shunned by the other villagers for resisting progress and trying to keep a good thing from coming to Magdaluna.12.One warm day in early fall, many of the villagers were out in their fields repairing walls orgathering wood for the winter when the shout went out that the telephone-company truck had arrived at Abu Raja's dikkan, or country store. When the truck came into view, everybody dropped what they were doing and ran to Abu Raja's house to see what was happening. 13.It did not take long for the whole village to assemble at Abu Raja's dikkan. Some of the richvillagers walked right into the store and stood at the elbows of the two important-looking men from the telephone company, who proceeded with utmost gravity, like priests at Communion, to wire up the telephone. The poorer villagers stood outside and listened carefully to the details relayed to them by the not-so-poor people who stood in the doorway and could see inside.14."The bald man is cutting the blue wire," someone said.15."He is sticking the wire into the hole in the bottom of the black box," someone else added.16."The telephone man with the mustache is connecting two pieces of wire. Now he is twistingthe ends together," a third voice chimed in.17.Because I was small, I wriggled my way through the dense forest of legs to get a firsthandlook at the action. Breathless, I watched as the men in blue put together a black machine that supposedly would make it possible to talk with uncles, aunts, and cousins who lived more than two days' ride away.18.It was shortly after sunset when the man with the mustache announced that the telephonewas ready to use. He explained that all Abu Raja had to do was lift the receiver, turn the crank on the black box a few times, and wait for an operator to take his call. Abu Raja grabbed the receiver and turned the crank forcefully. Within moments, he was talking with his brother in Beirut. He didn't even have to raise his voice or shout to be heard.19.And the telephone, as it turned out, was bad news. With its coming, the face of the villagebegan to change. One of the fast effects was the shifting of the village's center. Before the telephone's arrival, the men of the village used to gather regularly at the house of Im Kaleem,a short, middle-aged widow with jet-black hair and a raspy voice that could be heard all overthe village, even when she was only whispering. She was a devout Catholic and also the village whore. The men met at her house to argue about politics and drink coffee and play cards or backgammon. Im Kaleem was not a true prostitute, however, because she did not charge for her services—not even for the coffee and tea that she served the men. She did not need the money; her son, who was overseas in Africa, sent her money regularly. Im Kaleem loved all the men she entertained, and they loved her, every one of them. In a way, she was married to all the men in the village. Everybody knew it but nobody objected. Actually I suspect the women did not mind their husbands'visits to Im Kaleem. Oh, they wrung their hands and complained to one another about their men's unfaithfulness, but secretly they were relieved, because Im Kaleem took some of the pressure off them and kept the men out of their hair while they attended to their endless chores. Im Kaleem was also a kind of confessor and troubleshooter, talking sense to those men who were having family problems, especially the younger ones.20.Before the telephone came to Magdaluna, Im Kaleem's house was bustling at just about anytime of day, especially at night, when the loud voices of the men talking, laughing, and arguing could be heard in the street below—a reassuring, homey sound. Her house was an island of comfort, an oasis for the weary village men, exhausted from having so little to do. 21.But it wasn't long before many of those men—the younger ones especially—startedspending more of their days and evenings at Abu Raja's dikkan. There, they would eat and drink and talk and play checkers and backgammon, and then lean their chairs back against the wall—the signal that they were ready to toss back and forth, like a ball, the latest rumors going around the village. And they were always looking up from their games and drinks and talk to glance at the phone in the corner, as if expecting it to ring any minute and bring news that would change their lives and deliver them from their aimless existence. In the meantime, they smoked cheap, hand-rolled cigarettes, dug dirt out from under their fingernails with big pocketknives, and drank lukewarm sodas that they called Kacula, Seffen-Ub, and Bebsi.22.The telephone was also bad news for me personally. It took away my lucrative business—asource of much-needed income. Before, I used to hang around Im Kaleem's courtyard and play marbles with the other kids, waiting for some man to call down from a window and ask me to run to the store for cigarettes or liquor, or to deliver a message to his wife, such as what he wanted for supper. There was always something in it for me: a ten or even a twenty-five-piaster piece. On a good day, I ran nine or ten of those errands, which assured a steady supply of marbles that I usually lost to other boys. But as the days went by fewer and fewer men came to Im Kaleem's, and more and more congregated at Abu Raja's to wait by the telephone. In the evenings, the laughter and noise of the men trailed off and finally stopped.23.At Abu Raja's dikkan, the calls did eventually come, as expected, and men and womenstarted leaving the village the way a hailstorm begins: first one, then two, then bunches.24.The army took them. Jobs in the cities lured them. And ships and airplanes carried them tosuch faraway places as Australia and Brazil and New Zealand. My friend Kameel, his cousin Habeeb, and their cousins and my cousins all went away to become ditch diggers andmechanics and butcher-shop boys and deli owners who wore dirty aprons sixteen hours a day, all looking for a better life than the one they had left behind. Within a year, only the sick, the old, and the maimed were left in the village. Magdaluna became a skeleton of its former self, desolate and forsaken, like the tombs, a place to get away from.25.Finally, the telephone took my family away, too. My father got a call from an old army buddywho told him that an oil company in southern Lebanon was hiring interpreters and instructors. My father applied for a job and got it, and we moved to Sidon, where I went to a Presbyterian missionary school and graduated in 1962. Three years later, having won a scholarship, I left Lebanon for the United States. Like the others who left Magdaluna before me, I am still looking for that better life. (2121 words)。

NettlesOur farm was small-nine acres。

It was small enough for me to have explored every part of it。

Each of the trees on the place had an attitude and a presence—the elm looked serene and the oak threatening， the maples friendly， the hawthorn old and crabby。

Even the pits on the river flats had their flats had their distinct character。

The girls as well as the boys were divided into two sides. Each girl had her own pile of balls and was working for paticular soldiers， and when a soldier fell wounded he would call out a girl’s name, so that she could drag him away and dress his wounds as quickly as possible. I made weapons for Mike, and mine ws the name he called。

There was a keen alarm when the cry came, a wire zinging through your whole body, a fanatic feeling of devotion. When Mike was wounded he never opened his eyes. He lay limp and still while I pressed slimy large leaves to his forehead and throat and-pulling out his shirt—to his pale tender stomach, with its sweet and vulnerable belly button.One morning, of course, the job was all finished, the well capped, the pump reinstated， the fresh water marvelled at. And the truck did not come. There were two fewer chairs at the table for the noon meal。

现代大学英语精读4第四课正文lionsandtigersandbears课文原文带段落Lions and Tigers and BearsBill Buford1．So I thought I'd spend the night in Central Park, and, having stuffed my small rucksack with a sleeping bag, a big bottle of mineral water, a map, and a toothbrush, I arrived one heavy, muggy Friday evening in July to do just that: to walk around until I got so tired that I'd curl up under a tree and drop off to a peaceful, outdoorsy sleep. Of course, anybody who knows anything about New York knows the city's essential platitude—that you don't wander around Central Park at night—and in that, needless to say, was the appeal: it was the thing you don't do. And, from what I can tell, it has always been the thing you don't do, ever since the Park's founding commissioners, nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, decided that the place should be closed at night. Ogden Nash observed in 1961:If you should happen after darkTo find yourself in Central Park,Ignore the paths that beckon youAnd hurry, hurry to the zoo,And creep into the tiger's lair.Frankly, you'll be safer there.2．Even now, when every Park official, city administrator, and police officer tells us that the Park is safe during the day,they all agree in this: only a fool goes there at night.Or a purse snatcher, loon, prostitute, drug dealer, murderer—not to mention bully, garrotter, highway robber.3．I arrived at nine-fifteen and made for the only nocturnalspot I knew: the Delacorte Theatre.Tonight's show was The Taming of the Shrew.Lights out, applause, and the audience began exiting.So far, so normal, and this could have been an outdoor summer-stock Shakespeare production anywhere in America,except in one respect: a police car was now parked conspicuously in view, its roof light slowly rotating.The police were there to reassure the audience that it was being protected;the rotating red light was like a campfire in the wild, warning what's out there to stay away.4．During my first hour or so, I wandered around the Delacorte, reassured by the lights, the laughter,the lines of Shakespeare that drifted out into the summer night.I was feeling a certain exhilaration, climbing the steps of Belvedere Castle all alone,peeking through the windows of the Henry Luce Nature Observatory, identifying the herbs in the Shakespeare Garden,when, after turning this way and that, I was on a winding trail in impenetrable foliage, and, within minutes, I was lost.5．There was a light ahead, and as I rounded the corner I came upon five men, all wearing white T-shirts, huddled around a bench.I walked past, avoiding eye contact, and turned down a path, a narrow one, black dark, going down a hill, getting darker, very dark.Then I heard a great shaking of the bushes beside me and froze.Animal? Mugger? Whatever I was hearing would surely stop making that noise, I thought.But it didn't. How can this be?I'm in the Park less than an hour and already I'm lost, on an unlighted path,facing an unknown thing shaking threateningly in the bushes, and I thought, Shit! What am I doing here?And I bolted, not running, exactly, but no longer strolling—and certainly not looking back—turning left, turning right, all sense of direction obliterated,the crashing continuing behind me,louder even, left, another man in a T-shirt, right, another man,when finally I realized where I was—in the Ramble.As I turned left again, I saw the lake, and the skyline of Central Park South.I stopped. I breathed. Relax, I told myself. It's only darkness.6．About fifteen feet into the lake, there was a large boulder, with a heap of branches leading to it.I tiptoed across and sat, enjoying the picture of the city again, the very reassuring city.I looked around. There was a warm breeze, and heavy clouds overhead, but it was still hot, and I was sweating.Far out in the lake, there was a light—someone rowing a boat, a lantern suspended above the stem.I got my bearings. I was on the West Side, around Seventy-seventh.The far side of the lake must be near Strawberry Fields, around Seventy-second.It was where, I realized, two years ago, the police had found the body of Michael McMorrow, a forty-four-year-old man (my age),who was stabbed thirty-four times by a fifteen-year-old.After he was killed, he was disemboweled, and his intestines ripped out so that his body would sink when rolled into the lake—a detail that I've compulsively reviewed in my mind since I first heard it.And then his killers, with time on their hands and no witnesses, just went home.7．One of the first events in the park took place 140 years ago almost to the day: a band concert.The concert, pointedly, was held on a Saturday, still a working day, because the concert, like much of the Park then, was designed to keep the city's rougher elements out.The Park at night must have seemed luxurious and secluded—a giant evening garden party.The Park was to be strolled through, enjoyed as an aesthetic experience, like a walk inside a painting.George Templeton Strong, the indefatigablediarist, recognized, on his first visit on June 11, 1859, that the architects were building two different parks at once.One was the Romantic park, which included the Ramble, the carefully "designed" wilderness, wild nature re-created in the middle of the city.The other, the southern end of the Park, was more French: ordered, and characterized by straight lines.8．I climbed back down from the rock. In the distance, I spotted a couple approaching.Your first thought is: nutcase?But then I noticed, even from a hundred feet, that the couple was panicking:the man was pulling the woman to the other side of him, so that he would be between her and me when we passed.The woman stopped, and the man jerked her forward authoritatively.As they got closer, I could see that he was tall and skinny, wearing a plaid shirt and black horn-rimmed glasses;she was a blonde, and looked determinedly at the ground, her face rigid.When they were within a few feet of me, he reached out and grabbed her arm.I couldn't resist: just as we were about to pass each other, I addressed them, forthrightly: "Hello, good people!"I said. "And how are you on this fine summer evening?"At first, silence, and then the woman started shrieking uncontrollably—"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"—and they hurried away.9．This was an interesting discovery. One of the most frightening things in the Park at night was a man on his own.One of the most frightening things tonight was me.I was emboldened by the realization: I was no longer afraid; I was frightening.10．Not everyone likes the Park, but just about everyone feels he should.This was at the heart of Henry James's observations when he visited the Park, in 1904.The Park, in James's eyes, was a failure, but everyone, as he put it, felt the need to "keep patting the Park on the back."By then, the Park'sfounders had died, and the Park, no longer the domain of the privileged, had been taken over by immigrants.In fact, between James's visit and the nineteen-thirties, the Park might have been at its most popular, visited by ten to twenty million a year.The Park in fact was being destroyed by overuse, until 1934, when the legendary Robert Moses was appointed the Park's commissioner.Moses was responsible for the third design element in the Park—neither English nor French, neither Romantic nor classical,but efficient, purposeful, and unapologeticallyAmerican.He put in baseball diamonds, volleyball courts, and swimming pools.He even tried to turn the Ramble into a senior citizen's recreation center, but was stopped by the protesting bird-watchers.The irony was that by the end of the Moses era the Park was dangerous.11．In my new confidence I set out for the northern end of the Park.Near the reservoir, a gang of kids on bicycles zoomed across the Eighty-fifth Street Transverse, hooting with a sense of ominous power.A little later, there was another gang, this one on foot—about a dozen black kids, moving eastward, just by the running track.I kept my head down and picked up my pace, but my mind involuntarily called up the memory of the 1989 incident,in which a young investment banker was beaten and sexually assaulted by a group of kids on a rampage.12．Around Ninety-fifth Street, I found a bench and stopped.I had taken one of the trails that run alongside the Park's West Drive, and the more northern apartments of Central Park West were in view.I sat as residents prepared for bed: someone watching television, a woman doing yoga, a man stepping into the shower.Below me was the city, the top of the Empire StateBuilding peeking over the skyline.George Templeton Strong discovered the beauty of Central Park at night on July 30, 1869, on a "starlit drive" with his wife.But tonight, even if it weren't clouding over, there'd be no stars.T oo much glare. The Park is now framed, enveloped even, by the city,but there was no escaping the recognition that this city—contrived, man-made, glaringly obtrusive,consuming wasteful and staggering quantities of electricity and water and energy—was very beautiful.I'm not sure why it should be so beautiful; I don't have the vocabulary to describe its appeal.But there it was: the city at night, viewed from what was meant to be an escape from it, shimmering.13．I walked and walked. Around one-thirty, I entered the North Woods, and made my way down to what my map would later tell me was a stream called the Loch.The stream was loud, sounding more like a river than a stream.And for the first time that night the city disappeared: no buildings, no lights, no sirens.14．I was tired. I had been walking for a long time.I wanted to unroll my sleeping bag, out of view of the police, and fall asleep.I was looking forward to dawn and being awakened by birds.15．I made my way down a ravine. A dirt trail appeared on my left. This looked promising.I followed it, and it wound its way down to the stream.I looked back: I couldn't see the trail; it was blocked by trees.This was good. Secluded. I walked on. It flattened out and I could put a sleeping bag here.This was good, too. Yes: good. There were fireflies, even at this hour,and the place was so dark and so densely shrouded by the trees overhead that the light of the fireflies was hugely magnified;their abdomens pulsed like great yellow flashlights.16．I eventually rolled out my sleeping bag atop a little rise beside the bridle path by the North Meadow,and then I crawled inside my bag and closed my eyes.And then: snap! A tremendous cracking sound. I froze, then quickly whipped round to have a look: nothing.A forest is always full of noises.How did I manage to camp out as a kid? Finally, I fell asleep.17．I know I fell asleep because I was awake again.Another branch snapping, but this sound was different—as if I could hear the tissue of the wood tearing.My eyes still closed, I was motionless. Another branch, and then a rustling of leaves.No doubt: someone was there. I could tell I was being stared at; I could feel the staring. I heard breathing.18．I opened my eyes and was astonished by what I saw.There were three of them, all within arm's reach. They looked very big.At first I didn't know what they were, except that they were animals.Maybe they were bears, small ones.Then I realized; they were—what do you call them?Those animals that Daniel Boone made his hat out of.19．They weren't moving; I wasn't moving. They just stared, brown eyes looking blankly into my own.They were obviously very perplexed to find me here.Suddenly, I was very perplexed to find me here, too."Imagine this," one of them seemed to be saying. "A grown man sleeping out in Central Park!"20．"Obviously, not from New York."21．"Hi, guys," I muttered. I said this very softly.22．My voice startled them and they scurried up the tree in front of me.Then they stopped and resumed staring. And then, very slowly, they inched farther up.They were now about forty feet directly above me, and the tree was swaying slightly with their weight.23．It was starting to drizzle.I heard a helicopter, its searchlight crisscrossing the path only ten feet away.So maybe there were bad guys.24．I looked back at the raccoons. "Are there bad guys here?" I asked them.It was stupid to speak. My voice startled them and, directly overhead, one of them started peeing.And then, nature finding herself unable to resist, it started to pour.25．But not for long. The rain stopped. And I fell asleep.I know I fell asleep because the next thing I heard was birds. A natural, naturally beautiful sound.。

T e x t B o o k 4Unit 1TextTwo college-age boys, unaware that making money usually involves hard work, are tempted by an advertisement that promises them an easy way to earn a lot of money. The boys soon learn that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. 一个大学男孩，不清楚赚钱需要付出艰苦的劳动，被一份许诺轻松赚大钱的广告吸引了。

男孩们很快就明白，如果事情看起来好得不像真的，那多半确实不是真的。

BIG BUCKS THE EASY WAY轻轻松松赚大钱John G. Hubbell"You ought to look into this," I suggested to our two college-age sons. "It might be a way to avoid the indignity of having to ask for money all the time." I handed them some magazines in a plastic bag someone had hung on our doorknob.“你们该看看这个，”我向我们的两个读大学的儿子建议道。

“你们若想避免因为老是向人讨钱而有失尊严的话，这兴许是一种办法。

”我将挂在我们门把手上的、装在一个塑料袋里的几本杂志拿给他们。

A message printed on the bag offered leisurely, lucrative work ("Big Bucks the Easy Way!") of delivering more such bags.塑料袋上印着一条信息说，需要招聘人投递这样的袋子，这活儿既轻松又赚钱。