报告海先生，我把林肯的[Getty*****urg Address]全部背下来。谢谢您督促大家学习，让我受益匪浅。
说到您小时候学古文，我想起了前不久读过的鲁迅的[怀旧]一文，他把童年时，教他学古文的秃先生写得栩栩如生，想必您早已读过，我转载这篇文章的一部份，并附有Julia Lovell翻译，和您分享。
转载：怀旧（节选）Nostalgia (Excerpt)
作者：鲁迅 翻译：Julia Lovell
吾家门外有青桐一株，高可三十尺，每岁实如繁星，儿童掷石落桐子，往往飞入书窗中，时或正击吾案，一石入，吾师秃先生辄走出斥之。桐叶径大盈尺，受夏日微瘁，得夜气而苏，如人舒其掌。家之阍人王叟，时汲水沃地去暑热，或掇破几椅，持烟筒，与李妪谈故事，每月落参横，仅见烟斗中一星火，而谈犹弗止。
A green parasol tree, around thirty feet high, towered outside the gate to the family home, every year hanging heavy with large clusters of nuts. Hoping to bring them down, children would hurl stones into the branches, the occasional missile sailing through the canopy to land on my desk, at which point my teacher—whom I respectfully knew as Mr Bald—would stride out to give those responsible a scolding. A clear foot in diameter, the leaves would wilt in the summer sun before springing back—like a fist opening out—in the resuscitating night air. At this point in the day, after drawing water to scatter over the overheated ground, our family's old gatekeeper, Wang, might gather up a battered old stool and head off with his pipe to swap stories with my amah, Li. And there they would sit and chat, deep into the night, the darkness interrupted only by sparks from his pipe.
彼辈纳晚凉时，秃先生正教予属对，题曰：“红花。”予对：“青桐。”则挥曰：“平仄弗调。”令退。时予已九龄，不识平仄为何物，而秃先生亦不言，则姑退。思久弗属，渐展掌拍吾股使发大声如扑蚊，冀秃先生知吾苦，而先生仍弗理；久之久之，始作摇曳声曰：“来。”余健进。便书绿草二字曰：“红平声，花平声，绿入声，草上声。去矣。”余弗遑听，跃而出。秃先生复作摇曳声曰：“勿跳。”余则弗跳而出。
While they were out there enjoying the cool of one particular evening, I remember, my teacher was enlightening me on the principles of verse composition—my task being to come up with a poetic match to a given subject. To his 'Red Flower', I tried 'Green Tree'. Objecting that the tonal patterns were not consonant, he told me to go back to my seat and think again. Not yet nine years old at the time, I had not a clue what tonal patterns were; but since my teacher did not seem about to share his mature wisdom with me, I returned to my desk. After a long, fruitless ponder, I very slowly opened out my fist and slapped it resonantly against my thigh, as if I had swatted a mosquito, hoping to communicate to my instructor the extent of my mental discomfort, but he continued to take no notice. On and on I sat, until he at last drawled that I should approach—which I smartly did. He then wrote down the characters for Green Grass. 'Red" and "flower" are level tones,' he explained, 'while "green" is falling and "grass" rising. Dismissed.' I was bounding through the door before the word was out of his mouth. 'No hopping and skipping about!' he drawled again. I carried on my way, although more sedately.
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