51(y)(7)
用你喜欢的方式阅读你喜欢的小说
汤姆·索亚历险记 - Chapter 5
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  ABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring, and presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and occupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her -- Tom being placed next the aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife -- for they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair, smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much the most lavish in the matter of festivities that St. petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the belle of the village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a body -- for they had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were cut glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he had been "thrown up to them" so much. His white handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on Sundays -- accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who had as snobs.The congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more, to warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all through service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred, but I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago, and I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in some foreign country. The minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then plunged down as if from a spring-board:Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry beds of ease,Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' blood-y seas?He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church "sociables" he was always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and "wall" their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, "Words cannot express it; it is too beautiful, too beautiful for this mortal earth."After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a bulletin-board, and read off "notices" of meetings and societies and things till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of doom -- a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities, away here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid of it.And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the president; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good. Amen.There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down. The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it -- if he even did that much. He was restive all through it; he kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously -- for he was not listening, but he knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular route over it -- and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered additions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the body, and the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails; going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab for it they did not dare -- he believed his soul would be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the instant the "Amen" was out the fly was a prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod -- and yet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the discourse. However, this time he was really interested for a little while. The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of the world's hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a little child should lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed. presently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws -- a "pinchbug," he called it. It was in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach. Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and they eyed it too. presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it; made another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his stomach with the beetle between his paws, and continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent and absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin descended and touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards away, and lit on its back once more. The neighboring spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went behind fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too, and a craving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a wary attack on it again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting with his fore-paws within an inch of the creature, making even closer snatches at it with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped again. But he grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself with a fly but found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose close to the floor, and quickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot the beetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then there was a wild yelp of agony and the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and so did the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew down the other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up the home-stretch; his anguish grew with his progress, till presently he was but a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of light. At last the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang into its master's lap; he flung it out of the window, and the voice of distress quickly thinned away and died in the distance.By this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with suppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill. The discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all possibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of unholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson had said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to the whole congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was some satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in it. He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog should play with his pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in him to carry it off.
或许您还会喜欢:
零的焦点
作者:佚名
章节:13 人气:0
摘要:秋天,经人做媒,板根祯子和鹈原宪一订了婚。祯子二十六岁,鹈原三十六岁。年龄倒很相配,但社会上看来,结婚似乎晚了点。“三十六岁还打光棍,不知过去有过什么事?”提亲时,祯子的母亲最为介意。也许有过什么事,三十六岁还没有碰过女人,似乎说不过去。但媒人说绝对没有。好像是在撒谎。作为一男人,也太懦弱了。工作已经多年,置身于男人世界里的份子是这样想的。事实上,和女人完全没交往的男人,会叫人瞧不起。 [点击阅读]
霍乱时期的爱情
作者:佚名
章节:42 人气:0
摘要:第一章(一)这些地方的变化日新月异,它们已有了戴王冠的仙女。——莱昂德罗·迪亚斯这是确定无疑的:苦扁桃的气息总勾起他对情场失意的结局的回忆。胡维纳尔?乌尔比诺医生刚走进那个半明半暗的房间就悟到了这一点。他匆匆忙忙地赶到那里本是为了进行急救,但那件多年以来使他是心的事已经不可挽回了。 [点击阅读]
霍桑短篇作品选
作者:佚名
章节:28 人气:0
摘要:01牧师的黑面纱①①新英格兰缅因州约克县有位约瑟夫·穆迪牧师,约摸八十年前去世。他与这里所讲的胡珀牧师有相同的怪癖,引人注目。不过,他的面纱含义不同。年轻时,他因失手杀死一位好友,于是从那天直到死,都戴着面纱,不让人看到他面孔。——作者注一个寓言米尔福礼拜堂的门廊上,司事正忙着扯开钟绳。 [点击阅读]
霍比特人
作者:佚名
章节:50 人气:0
摘要:在地底洞穴中住着一名哈比人。这可不是那种又脏又臭又湿,长满了小虫,满是腐败气味的洞穴;但是,它也并非是那种空旷多沙、了无生气、没有家具的无聊洞穴。这是个哈比人居住的洞穴,也是舒舒服服的同义词。这座洞穴有个像是舷窗般浑圆、漆成绿色的大门,在正中央有个黄色的闪亮门把。 [点击阅读]
青年近卫军
作者:佚名
章节:69 人气:0
摘要:亚·法捷耶夫(1901年12月24日——1956年5月13日)全名亚历山德罗维奇·法捷耶夫。他是俄罗斯古典文学传亚·法捷耶夫统的继承者,是苏联社会主义现实主义文学的杰出代表之一。他的作品是在社会主义革命精神鼓舞下写成的;他笔下的主人公们是为建设新生活而斗争的英勇战士。 [点击阅读]
青春咖啡馆
作者:佚名
章节:14 人气:0
摘要:那家咖啡馆有两道门,她总是从最窄的那扇门进出,那扇门人称黑暗之门。咖啡厅很小,她总是在小厅最里端的同一张桌子旁落座。初来乍到的那段时光,她从不跟任何人搭讪,日子一长,她认识了孔岱咖啡馆里的那些常客,他们中的大多数人跟我们年纪相仿,我的意思是说,我们都在十九到二十五岁之间。有时候,她会坐到他们中间去,但大部分时间里,她还是喜欢坐她自己的那个专座,也就是说坐最里端的那个位子。她来咖啡馆的时间也不固定。 [点击阅读]
静静的顿河
作者:佚名
章节:66 人气:0
摘要:评论重读《静静的顿河》,那些久违了的又陌生又熟悉的人物,以及他们痛苦的思想和命运,又一次激起了我内心的热情。顿河这条伟大的河流所哺育的哥萨克民族通过战争,在痛苦和流血之后最终走向了社会主义。肖洛霍夫把拥护苏维埃、迈向社会主义称为伟大的人类真理,并把它作为作品的主题之一。肖洛霍夫对顿河无比热爱,书中经常出现作者对顿河发自内心的充满激*情的赞颂。顿河草原上散发出的青草和泥土的浓烈味道,让读者过目不忘。 [点击阅读]
面纱
作者:佚名
章节:8 人气:0
摘要:1她惊叫了一声。“怎么啦?”他问道。房间里的百叶窗关着,光线很暗,但还是能看清她脸上恐惧的表情。“刚才有人动了一下门。”“呃,八成是女佣人,要不就是哪个童仆。”“这个时候他们决不会来。他们都知道吃完午饭我要睡觉。”“那还会是谁?”“是瓦尔特。”她嘴唇颤抖着小声说道。她用手指了指他的鞋。他便去穿鞋,但他的神经多少也有点紧张,因而显得笨手笨脚,而鞋带偏偏又是系着的。 [点击阅读]
风流狂女的复仇
作者:佚名
章节:9 人气:0
摘要:1矮男子闯进来了。矮男子头上蒙着面纱。“不许动!动就杀死你们!”矮男子手中握着尖头菜刀,声调带有奇怪的咬舌音。房间里有六个男人。桌子上堆放着成捆的钱。六个人正在清点。一共有一亿多日元。其中大半已经清点完毕。六个人一起站起来。房间的门本来是上了锁的,而且门前布置了警备员。矮男子一定是一声不响地把警备员打倒或杀死了,不然的话,是不会进房间里来的。六个人不能不对此感到恐惧。 [点击阅读]
风葬之城
作者:佚名
章节:8 人气:0
摘要:雪江从早上开始心情就不好。要是平常的话,肯定会训斥浅见睡懒觉的,可是今天她看见小儿子,露出一副无奈的神情,转身就回自己的房里去了。听佣人须美子说,雪江连早饭也没吃。“我妈她怎么了?”“牙疼。”“是嘛?……”浅见似乎有点幸灾乐祸似地反问道。“是的,听夫人说,装的假牙不好,像针扎似地痛。”“哦,是那样啊,牙不好。 [点击阅读]