最后一片葉子 英文原文.doc

《最后一片葉子 英文原文.doc》由會員分享，可在線閱讀，更多相關《最后一片葉子 英文原文.doc（15頁珍藏版）》請在裝配圖網(wǎng)上搜索。

最后一片葉子 英文原文 　　In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account! 　　So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony." 　　At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted. 　　That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places." 　　Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house. 　　One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow. 　　"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?" 　　"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue. 　　"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?" 　　"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind." 　　"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten." 　　After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. 　　Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. 　　She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature. 　　As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside. 　　Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward. 　　"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together. 　　Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks. 　　"What is it, dear?" asked Sue. 　　"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now." 　　"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie." 　　"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?" 　　"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self." 　　"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too." 　　"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down." 　　"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly. 　　"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves." 　　"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves." 　　"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back." 　　Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above. 　　Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker. 　　Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings. 　　"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy." 　　"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet." 　　"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes." 　　Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock. 　　When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade. 　　"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper. 　　Wearily Sue obeyed. 　　But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground. 　　"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time." 　　"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?" 　　But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed. 　　The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves. 　　When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised. 　　The ivy leaf was still there. 　　Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove. 　　"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook." 　　And hour later she said: 　　"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples." 　　The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left. 　　"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable." 　　The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all." 　　And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all. 　　"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell." 基本簡介：　　真實姓名：威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter) 　 　 筆　名：歐·亨利(O.Henry) 　　 生卒年代：1862.9.11-1910.6.5 　　美國著名批判現(xiàn)實主義作家，世界三大短篇小說大師之一。（歐·亨利、莫泊桑、契訶夫） 　　原名威廉·西德尼·波特（William Sydney Porter），是美國最著名的短篇小說家之一，曾被評論界譽為曼哈頓桂冠散文作家和美國現(xiàn)代短篇小說之父。他出生于美國北卡羅來納州格林斯波羅鎮(zhèn)一個醫(yī)師家庭。 基本信息：他的一生富于傳奇性，當過藥房學徒、牧牛人、會計員、土地局辦事員、新聞記者、銀行出納員。當銀行出納員時，因銀行短缺了一筆現(xiàn)金，為避免審訊，離家流亡中美的洪都拉斯。后因回家探視病危的妻子被捕入獄，并在監(jiān)獄醫(yī)務室任藥劑師。他創(chuàng)作第一部作品的起因是為了給女兒買圣誕禮物，但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名，乃用一部法國藥典的編者的名字作為筆名。1901年提前獲釋后遷居紐約，專門從事寫作。 　　歐·亨利善于描寫美國社會尤其是紐約百姓的生活。他的作品構(gòu)思新穎，語言詼諧，結(jié)局總使人“感到在情理之中，又在意料之外”；又因描寫了眾多的人物，富于生活情趣，被譽為“美國生活的幽默百科全書”。代表作有小說集《白菜與國王》、《四百萬》、《命運之路》等。其中一些名篇如《愛的犧牲》、《警察與贊美詩》、《麥琪的禮物》（也稱作《賢人的禮物》）、《帶家具出租的房間》、《最后一片藤葉》等使他獲得了世界聲譽。 　　名 句：“這是一種精神上的感慨油然而生，認為人生是由啜泣、抽噎和微笑組成的，而抽噎占了其中絕大部分?！?《歐·亨利短篇小說選》) 作者簡介：　　1862年9月11日，美國最著名的短篇小說家之——歐·亨利（O.Henry）出生于美國北卡羅來納州有個名叫格林斯波羅的小鎮(zhèn)。曾被評論界譽為曼哈頓桂冠散文作家和美國現(xiàn)代短篇小說之父。1862年他出身于美國北卡羅來納州格林斯波羅鎮(zhèn)一個醫(yī)師家庭。父親是醫(yī)生。他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。他所受教育不多，15歲便開始在藥房當學徒，20歲時由于健康原因去德克薩斯州的一個牧場當了兩年牧牛人，積累了對西部生活的親身經(jīng)驗。1884年以后做過會計員、土地局辦事員、新聞記者。此后，他在德克薩斯做過不同的工作，包括在奧斯汀銀行當出納員。他還辦過一份名為《滾石》的幽默周刊，并在休斯敦一家日報上發(fā)表幽默小說和趣聞逸事。1887年，亨利結(jié)婚并生了一個女兒。 正當他的生活頗為安定之時，卻發(fā)生了一件改變他命運的事情。1896年，奧斯汀銀行指控他在任職期間盜用資金。他為了躲避受審，逃往洪都拉斯。1897年，后因回家探視病危的妻子被捕入獄，判處5年徒刑。在獄中曾擔任藥劑師，他創(chuàng)作第一部作品的起因是為了給女兒買圣誕禮物，但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名，乃用一部法國藥典的編者的名字作為筆名，在《麥克呂爾》雜志發(fā)表。1901年，因“行為良好”提前獲釋，來到紐約專事寫作。 正當他的創(chuàng)作力最旺盛的時候，健康狀況卻開始惡化，于1910年病逝。 名作 　　歐·亨利在大概十年的時間內(nèi)創(chuàng)作了短篇小說共有300多篇，收入《白菜與國王》(1904)[其唯一一部長篇，作者通過四五條并行的線索，試圖描繪出一幅廣闊的畫面，在寫法上有它的別致之處。不過從另一方面看，小說章與章之間的內(nèi)在聯(lián)系不夠緊密，各有獨立的內(nèi)容]、《四百萬》(1906)、《西部之心》(1907)、《市聲》(1908)、《滾石》(1913)等集子，其中以描寫紐約曼哈頓市民生活的作品為最著名。他把那兒的街道、小飯館、破舊的公寓的氣氛渲染得十分逼真，故有“曼哈頓的桂冠詩人”之稱。他曾以騙子的生活為題材，寫了不少短篇小說。作者企圖表明道貌岸然的上流社會里，有不少人就是高級的騙子，成功的騙子。歐·亨利對社會與人生的觀察和分析并不深刻，有些作品比較淺薄，但他一生困頓，常與失意落魄的小人物同甘共苦，又能以別出心裁的藝術手法表現(xiàn)他們復雜的感情。他的作品構(gòu)思新穎，語言詼諧，結(jié)局常常出人意外；又因描寫了眾多的人物，富于生活情趣，被譽為“美國生活的幽默百科全書”。因此，他最出色的短篇小說如《愛的犧牲》(A Service of Love)、《警察與贊美詩》(The Cop and the Anthem)、《帶家具出租的房間》(The Furnished Room)、《麥琪的禮物》(The Gift of the Magi)、《最后的常春藤葉》（The Last Leaf）等都可列入世界優(yōu)秀短篇小說之中。 　　他的文字生動活潑，善于利用雙關語、訛音、諧音和舊典新意，妙趣橫生,被喻為[含淚的微笑]。他還以準確的細節(jié)描寫，制造與再現(xiàn)氣氛，特別是大都會夜生活的氣氛。 手法 　　歐·亨利還以擅長結(jié)尾聞名遐邇，美國文學界稱之為“歐·亨利式的結(jié)尾”他善于戲劇性地設計情節(jié)，埋下伏筆，作好鋪墊，勾勒矛盾，最后在結(jié)尾處突然讓人物的心理情境發(fā)生出人意料的變化，或使主人公命運陡然逆轉(zhuǎn)，使讀者感到豁然開朗，柳暗花明，既在意料之外，又在情理之中，不禁拍案稱奇，從而造成獨特的藝術魅力。有一種被稱為“含淚的微笑”的獨特藝術風格。歐·亨利把小說的靈魂全都凝聚在結(jié)尾部分，讓讀者在前的似乎是平淡無奇的而又是詼諧風趣的娓娓動聽的描述中，不知不覺地進入作者精心設置的迷宮，直到最后，忽如電光一閃，才照亮了先前隱藏著的一切，仿佛在和讀者捉迷藏，或者在玩弄障眼法，給讀者最后一個驚喜。在歐·亨利之前，其他短篇小說家也已經(jīng)這樣嘗試過這種出乎意料的結(jié)局。但是歐·亨利對此運用得更為經(jīng)常，更為自然，也更為純熟老到。 小人物 　　描寫小人物是歐·亨利的短篇小說最引人矚目的內(nèi)容，其中包含了深厚的人道主義精神。歐·亨利長期生活在社會底層，深諳下層人民的苦難生活，同時也切身感受過統(tǒng)治階層制定的法律對窮人是如何無情。因此，他把無限的同情都放在窮人一邊。在他的筆下，窮人有著純潔美好的心靈，仁慈善良的品格，真摯深沉的愛情。但是他們卻命運多坎，弱小可憐，孤立無援，食不果腹，身無居所，茍延殘喘，往往被社會無情地吞噬。這種不公平的現(xiàn)象與繁華鼎盛的社會景象相映照，顯得格外刺目，其中隱含了作者的憤憤不平。 歐·亨利紀念獎 　　歐·亨利給美國的短篇小說帶來新氣息，他的作品因而久享盛名，并具有世界影響。美國自1918年起“歐·亨利紀念獎”，以獎勵每年度的最佳短篇小說，由此可見其聲望之卓著。 死因 　　在紐約，由于大量佳作出版，他名利雙收。他不僅揮霍無度，而且好賭，好酒貪杯。寫作的勞累與生活的無節(jié)制使他的身體受到嚴重損傷。1907年，歐·亨利再婚。可惜，第二次婚姻對他來說并沒有什么幸福可言。1910年6月3日，他病倒了。兩天后，即6月5日，與世長辭，死于肝硬化，年僅48歲。 創(chuàng)作特色：　　意料之外，情理之中 ；從題材的性質(zhì)來看，歐·亨利的作品大致可分為三類。 一類：　　以描寫美國西部生活為主。 二類：　　寫的是美國一些大城市的生活。 三類：　　則以拉丁美洲生活為對象。這些不同的題材，顯然與作者一生中幾個主要生活時期的不同經(jīng)歷，有著密切的關系。 　　而三類作品當中，無疑又以描寫城市生活的作品數(shù)量最多，意義最大。 思想和作品的弱點：　　歐·亨利思想的矛盾和他作品的弱點，與他的創(chuàng)作環(huán)境有極大關系。即使在他已經(jīng)成名，受到讀者廣泛歡迎的時候，他的生活也依然經(jīng)常處于拮據(jù)狀態(tài)。他曾經(jīng)直言不諱地說：我是為面包而寫作的”。 作品評價：　　歐·亨利因為他本身是一個窮苦的人，因此他的文章主人公大多是一些貧窮的勞動人民，充滿了對勞動人民的同情。我認為，歐·亨利的小說之所以讓我喜歡，是因為他的小說，我們往往猜不出結(jié)果是什么，而真正的結(jié)果會讓我們難以置信，這也說明了他豐富的想象力，歐?亨利的小說語言很生動而且很精練，他的短篇小說一開始就抓住了我們的興趣和注意力，小說中除了文字的幽默詼諧之外，總有一些讓費人猜測的地方，他常常讓我們以為以邏輯思維就可以猜到的結(jié)局，卻往往情節(jié)一轉(zhuǎn)，使故事的結(jié)尾變的出人意料卻又合情合理,從而造成獨特的藝術魅力,因此被譽為“歐·亨利式結(jié)尾”，這也是歐·亨利最為出名的一個方面?！稓W·亨利》的短篇小說內(nèi)容很多：其中多為描寫一些小人物，描寫美國西部牧場，描寫那些死要面子，成天做白日夢的小職員，以及一些城市的騙子，和對拜金主義者的嘲諷。盡管歐·亨利對于社會現(xiàn)狀總有不滿，可他也沒有放棄希望，因此，悲慘的故事和人物總會有一個相對比較好的結(jié)局，也讓我們深深的體會到微笑里的辛酸，諷刺里的悲哀和無可奈何。 作品目錄及譯名(部分): 賞析： 　　冬天一定會到，樹上的葉也一定會落盡——藤葉也不例外。不要以為這是樹木斗不過天，它是無能的，也是無奈的。因為這恰恰體現(xiàn)了樹木的一種智慧，為了明年春天的萌發(fā)，它實在沒有必要死守著最后一片葉子，苦苦地掙扎，為此耗盡了最后一絲力量。 　　因為，葉子落盡并未表示生命的死亡或者希望徹底地成為泡影；反之，這是一種大智的等待，重新萌生的希望——在它落盡最后一片葉子時，新的希望，也就在葉子落下的葉柄處悄悄地孕育了，萌生了。然后是靜靜地、靜靜地等待。此時的靜靜也就像沉睡的火山，一旦春天到來，它就以不可阻擋之勢爆發(fā)出來了。 　　而假如，到了冬天所有的葉子都不落下來，那么第二年也就會少了許多新生的芽，至少我們將失去欣賞一樹新芽花朵般盛開的機會。 　　也因此，守住你的最后一片藤葉的辦法就是讓秋天的葉子隨風飄盡，而守住那葉子落下處的飽滿的葉芽，因為那葉芽里面，就是一片新的藤葉，一個新的春天。 　　我們今天也一樣，我們要學的決不是如何使自己永不摔倒，而是要學會在摔倒之后如何站起來，如何在摔倒中吸取教訓，汲取力量，使摔倒的地方成為重新站起和前進的起點。這樣，摔倒越多，吸取的力量也就越多，就像小溪東流，越流越寬廣，最后成為大海。而堅守住最后一片上一個秋天的藤葉，讓自己在冬天中耗盡養(yǎng)份的笨辦法，只會招之更大的失敗。我們現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)是初三了，對于部分同學來說，高中的理想已經(jīng)成了風中的最后一片藤葉，對此，我的觀點是順應自然，讓落葉落盡，等待春天，另辟蹊徑，再萌生新的希望之嫩芽。 　　冬天的落葉，你隨風去吧！但你千萬別忘了在明年春來之時，重新長出嫩芽！ 　　人生如夢亦如歌! 　　接下來則是歐.亨利小說賞析： 　　歐·亨利的小說通俗易懂，其中無論發(fā)生了什么，發(fā)生在何處，也無論主人公是何等人物，他的故事寫的都是世態(tài)人情，并且易有濃郁的美國風味。一般說來，驅(qū)使人們行動的欲望和動機是相當復雜的，但是歐·亨利人物的思想相對來說卻都比較簡單，動機也比較單一，矛盾沖突的中心似乎都是貧與富。這一方面大概因為美國是個平民社會，不存在天生高人一等的貴族階級，既然金錢面前人人平等，貧富就成了社會的主要矛盾。另一方面，此時正值美國內(nèi)戰(zhàn)后的“鍍金時代”，拜金主義盛行，坑蒙拐騙樣樣齊全，貪污舞泛濫成災，似乎只人能賺到錢便是成功，并不問問錢的來歷是否清白合法，難怪金錢的占有程度便成了人們關注的中心，與歐·亨利同時代的馬克·吐溫說得好：“在世界上任何地方，貧窮總是不方便的。但只有在美國，貧窮是恥辱?！睔W·亨利筆下的蕓蕓眾生就是生活在這樣一個金錢主宰的世界中，他們的處境動機，他們的的喜怒哀樂，大都與金錢的占有有關，所以歐·亨利描繪的世態(tài)人情，無論是善是惡，都有某種美國式的單純。 　　兩難的處理和意外的結(jié)局往往產(chǎn)生令人啼笑皆非的幽默效果，在歐·亨利的小說中，幽默是貫穿始終的，有的專門是為幽默而幽默的。綁架孩子的歹徒被頑童折磨得苦不堪言，寧可倒貼錢把孩子護送回家。幽默家被近日復一日地制造幽默，竟變成了一個心力交瘁的吸血鬼，最終在殯儀館的后房中才得以告別塵世的愚蠢，重新恢復了一個正常人的知覺。歐·亨利顯然是把自己視為一個幽默家，他在《幽默家自白》中寫道：“我的笑話的性質(zhì)是和善親切的，絕不流于諷刺，使別人生氣?！边@句話也適用于歐·亨利本人，他諷刺，但不流于諷刺，他的嘲諷和幽默通常是善意的，有時能令人震驚地揭示出人生的真諦，如《生活的陀螺》和《鐘擺》那樣，它們體現(xiàn)了歐·亨利透視生活的能力。歐·亨利的語言本身也充滿了夸張和幽默，而幽默能直到淡化事物悲劇性的作用，使大眾讀者更能接受。 　　有譯名 　　"Girl" “姑娘” 　　“Next To Reading Matter”“醉翁之意” 　　"What You Want" “君欲何求” 　　An Adjustment of Nature 自然之修正 　　After Twenty Years 二十年后 　　An Afternoon Miracle 午后的奇跡 　　The Atavism Of John Tom Little Bear 小熊約翰·湯姆的返祖現(xiàn)象 　　Babes In The Jungle 叢林中的孩子 　　Best-Seller 暢銷品 　　Between Rounds 鬧劇 　　A Bird Of Bagdad 巴格達的鳥 　　A Blackjack Bargainer 閃鋅礦的講價者 　　Blind Man's Holiday 盲人的節(jié)日 　　The Brief Debut of Tildy 特爾迪的登場 　　Buried Treasure 埋藏的珍寶 　　By Courier 郵差 　　The Caballero's Way 紳士之道 　　The Cactus 仙人掌 　　Caliph 哈里發(fā) 　　The Cupid and the Clock 丘比特與鐘 　　A Call Loan 電話貸款 　　The Call Of The Tame 馴服的號召 　　Calloway's Code 卡羅威密碼 　　The Chair Of Philanthromathematics 慈善事業(yè)數(shù)學講座 　　Confessions of a Humorist 幽默家的告白 　　Conscience In Art 藝術良心 　　The Cop and the Anthem 警察與贊美詩 　　A Cosmopolite in a Cafe 咖啡館里的世界公民 　　The Day Resurgent 復活日 　　The Detective Detector 幾位偵探　 　　A Double-dyed Deceiver 雙料騙子 　　The Duel 決斗 　　The Duplicity of Hargraves 哈格里弗斯的兩面性 　　The Fifth Wheel 第五輪 　　From the Cabby's Seat 　　The Furnished Room 帶家具出租的房間 　　Georgia's Ruling 喬治亞的統(tǒng)治 　　The Gift of the Magi 麥琪的禮物（也有人譯為《賢人的禮物》） 　　The Girl And The Graft 女孩與貪污 　　The Girl And The Habit 女孩與習慣 　　The Gold That Glittered 閃亮的金子 　　The Green Door 綠色的門 　　The Handbook of Hymen 婚姻手冊 　　The Head-Hunter 獵頭者 　　Hearts and Crosses 心與十字架 　　Hearts and Hands 心與手 　　The Hiding of Black Bill 布萊克·比爾藏身記 　　The Higher Abdication 退位 　　The Higher Pragmatism 實用主義 　　Hygeia at the Solito 索利托牧場的衛(wèi)生學 　　The Hypotheses of Failure 失敗的假設 　　The Indian Summer of Dry Valley Johnson 干燥峽谷約翰遜的印第安夏日 　　Jimmy Hayes And Muriel 吉米·海斯和繆里爾 　　Jeff Peters As A Personal Magnet 催眠術家杰甫·彼得斯 　　The Last Leaf 最后一片常春藤葉 　　A Little Local Colour 地方特色 　　A Little Talk About Mobs 小談暴徒 　　Lost on Dress Parade 華而不實 　　Madame Bo-peep of the Ranches 女牧場主波皮普 　　Mammon and the Archer 愛神與財神 　　Man About Town 城中男子