英语美文

A GentlemanIt is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarassed action of those about him,and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself.The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause ajar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast;---all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint,orsuspicion,or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at home.He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful,gentle towards the distant,and merciful towards the absurd; he can rocollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation,and neverwearisome. He makes light of favours while he does them and seems to be receiving when he is conferring.He never speaks of himself except when compelled,never defends himself by a mere retort,he has no ears for slander or gossip,iscrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him,and interprets everything for the best.He is never mean or little in his disputes,never takes unfair advantage,never mistakes personalities or sharp saying for arguments,or insinuates evil which he dare not sayout.From a long-sighted prudence,heovserves the maxim of the ancient sage,that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend.He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults,he is too well employed to remember injuries,and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient,forbearing, andresigned,onprinciples,he submits to pain,because it is inevitable,tobereavement,because it is irreparable,and to death,because it is destiny. If he engages in controversy ofany kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder.DatingNevertheless she returned to the beer and drank her share, and they went on their way. It was now nearly dark, and as soon as they had withdrawn from the lights of the town they walked closer together, till they touched each other. She wondered why he did not put his arm round her waist, but he did not; he merely said what to himself seemed a quite bold enough thing: "Take my arm."She took it, thoroughly, up to the shoulder. He felt the warmth of her body against his, and putting his stick under his other arm held with his right hand her right as it rested in its place."Now we are well together, dear, aren't we?" he observed."Yes," said she; adding to herself: "Rather mild!""How fast I have become!" he was thinking.Thus they walked till they reached the foot of the upland, where they could see the white highway ascending before them in the gloom. From this point the only way of getting to Arabella's was by going up the incline, and dipping again into her valley on the right. Before they had climbed far they were nearly run into by two men who had been walking on the grass unseen."These lovers--you find 'em out o' doors in all seasons and weathers-- lovers and homeless dogs only," said one of the men as they vanished down the hill.Arabella tittered lightly."Are we lovers?" asked Jude."You know best.""But you can tell me?"For answer she inclined her head upon his shoulder. Jude took the hint, and encircling her waist with his arm, pulled her to him and kissed her.They walked now no longer arm in arm but, as she had desired, clasped together. After all, what did it matter since it was dark, said Jude to himself. When they were half-way up the long hill they paused as by arrangement, and he kissed her again. They reached the top, and he kissed her once more."You can keep your arm there, if you would like to," she said gently.He did so, thinking how trusting she was.DespairIn the dull twilight of the winter afternoon she came to the end of the long road which had begun the night Atlanta fell. She had set her feet upon that road a spoiled, selfish and untried girl, full of youth, warm of emotion, easily bewildered by life. Now, at the end of the road, there wasnothing left of that girl. Hunger and hard labor, fear and constant strain, the terrors of war and the terrors of Reconstruction had taken away all warmth and youth and softness. About the core of her being, a shell of hardness had formed and, little by little, layer by layer, the shell had thickened during the endless months.But until this very day, two hopes had been left to sustain her. She had hoped that the war being over, life would gradually resume its old face. She had hoped that Ashley’s return would bring back some meaning into life. Now both hopes were gone. The sight of Jonas Wilkerson in the front walk of Tara had made her realize that for her, for the whole South, the war would never end. The bitterest fighting, the most brutal retaliations, were just beginning. And Ashley was imprisoned forever by words which were stronger than any jail.Peace had failed her and Ashley had failed her, both in the same day, and it was as if the last crevice in the shell had been sealed, the final layer hardened. She had become what Grandma Fontaine had counseled against, a woman who had seen the worst and so had nothing else to fear. Not life nor Mother nor loss of love nor public opinion. Only hunger and her nightmare dream of hunger could make her afraid.DisappointmentA gulf had opened between them over which they looked at each other with eyes that were on either side a declaration of the deception suffered. It was a strange opposition, of the like of which she had never dreamed---an opposition in which the vital principle of the one was a thing of contempt to the other. It was not her fault---she had practised no deception; she had only admired and believed. She had taken all the first steps in the purest confidence, and then she had suddenly found the infinite vista of a multiplied life to be a dark, narrow alley with adead wall at the end. Instead of leading to the high places if happiness, from which the world would seem to lie below one, so that one could look down with a sense of exaltation and advantage, and judge and choose and pity, it led rather downward and earth-ward, into realms of estriction and depression where the sound of other lives, easier and freer, was heard as from above, and where it served to deepen the feeling of failure.Extreme busyness, whether at school or college, church or market,is a symptom of deficient vitality; and a faculty for idleness impliesa catholic appetite and a strong sense of personal identity. There is a sort of dead-alive, hackneyed people about, who are scarcely consciousof living except in the exercise of some conventional occupation. Bring these fellows into the country, or set them aboard ship, and you willsee how they pine for their desk or their study. They have no curiosity;they cannot give themselves over to random provocations; they donot take pleasure in the exercise of their faculties of their faculties for its own sake; and unlessNecessity lays about them with stick, they will even stand still.It is no good speaking to such folk: they can not be idle, their natureis not generous enough; and they pass those hours in a sort of coma,which are not dedicated to furious moiling in the gold-mill. When they do not require to go to the office, when they are not hungry and have no mind to drink, the whole breathing world is a blank to then. If theyhave to wait an hour or so for a train, they fall into a stupid trancewith their eyes open. To see then, you would suppose there was nothing tolook at and no one to speak with; you would imagine they were paralyzedor alienated; and yet very possibly they are hard workers in their own way,and have good eyesight for a flaw in a deed or a turn of the market. Theyhave been to school and college, but all the time they had their eyes on the medal; they have gone about in the world and mixed with clever people, but all the time they were thinking of their own affairs. As if a man'ssoul were not too small to begin with, they have dwarfed and narrowedtheirs by a life of all work and no play; until here they are at forty,with a listless attention, a mind vacant of all material of amusement, andnot one thought to rub against another, while they wait for the train. Before he was breeched, he might have clambered on the boxes,when he was twenty, he would have stared at the girls; but nowthe pipe is smoked out, the snuff-box empty, and my gentleman sits boltupright upon a bench, with lamentable eyes. This does not appeal to me as begin Success in Life.Extreme busynessFlattery on WomenWomen have, in general, but one object, which is their beauty; upon which scarce any flattery is too gross for them to follow. Nature has hardly formed ?a woman ugly enough to be insensible to flattery upon her person; if her face ?is so shocking that she must, in some degree, be conscious of it, her face is so shocking that she must, in some degree, be conscious of it, her figure and air, she trusts, make ample amends for it. If they are both bad, she comforts herself that she has graces, a certain manner, a je ne sais ?quoi till more engaging than beauty. This truth is evident from the studied and elaborate dress of the ugloest woman jin the world. An undoubted, uncontested, conscious?beauty is of all women, the least sensible of flattery upon that head; she knows it is her due, and is therefore obliged to nobody for giving it her. She may possibly not doubt of herself, yet she suspects that men may distrust. ?Do not mistske me, and think that I mean to recommend to you abject and criminal flattery: no; flatter nobody's vices or crimes: on the contrary, abhor and discourage them. But there is no living in the world without a complaisant indulgence for people's weaknesses, and innocent, though ridiculous vanities. If a man has a mind to be thought woser, and a woman handsomer, ?than they reallu are, their error is acomfortble on to themselves, and ?an innocent one with regard to other people; and I would rather make them my friends by indulging them in it, than my wnemies by endeavoring (and that to no purpose) to undeceive them.。