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认证的主要目的有两个：第一是信源识别：第二是______。
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Man is one of a number of animals that make things, but man is the only one that depends for its very survival on the things he has made. That simple observation is the starting point for an ambitious history programmed that the BBC will begin broadcasting in which it aims to tell a history of the world through 100 objects in the British Museum (BM). A joint venture four years in the making between the BM and the BBC, the series features 100 15 minute radio broadcasts, a separate 13 episodes in which children visit the museum at night and try to unlock its mysteries, a BBC World Service package of tailored omnibus editions for broadcasting around the world and an interactive digital programmed involving 350 museums in Britain which will be available free over the Internet. The presenter is Neil MacGregor, the BM’s director, who has moved from the study of art to the contemplation of things. "Objects take you into the thought world of the past," he says. "When you think about the skills required to make something you begin to think about the brain that made it. " From the first moment this series is radio at its best: inventive, clever, and yet always light on its feet. In the mid-17th century Archbishop James Usher, an Irish prelate and scholar, totted up the lifespan of all the prophets mentioned in the Old Testament and concluded that the world had been created on the night preceding October 23rd 4004 B.C. Mr. Macgregor, a more modern historian, begins nearly 1.8m years before that with the Swiss Army knife of the stone age, a hand axe found by Louis Leakey at Moldavia Gorge in Tanzania in the 1930s. Discovering how to chip stones to make a tool that would cut flesh was the moment man learned to be an opportunist. Once invented, the hand axe would hardly change over lm years. It became a passport to the world, and was carried from east Africa to Libya, Israel, India, Korea and even to a gravel pit near Heathrow airport where one was buried 600,000 years ago. Mr. Macgregor is less interested in advertising the marvels of the 250-year-old universal museum he heads than in considering who made the objects he discusses. That involves drawing together evidence of how connected seemingly disparate societies have always been and rebalancing the histories of the literate and the non-literate. "Victors write history; the defeated make things," he says. This is an especially important distinction when considering Africa. The great "Encyclopedia Britannica" of 1911 assumed that Africa had no history because it had no written history. The statues of black pharaohs that Mr. Macgregor discusses in an early programme, for example, are the best visual evidence that a Nubian tribe once seized control of ancient Egypt and that Africans ruled over the Nile for more than a century. The BM’s curators spent two years choosing the objects Mr. MacGregor examines. In particular, they sought out things that would help him draw out universal themes. Periclean Athens and Achaemenid Iran existed at more-or-less the same time, between 500 BC and 450 BC. By examining objects from each place, Mr. MacGregor is able to compare two different ways of constructing a highly efficient state and nimbly reassesses Athens in the context of the Persia it was fighting. The importance of trade is another theme. Silver pieces of eight were a passport to trade, and, as the first object of a global economy, a key step in the history of money. Minted in South America from the end of the 15th century, they crossed both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. So widely were these silver coins used that interruptions in the production of silver in Mexico and Peru had a severe knock-on effect. In Europe silver shortages led to a sudden massive expansion of the money supply and the hyperinflation of the mid-17th century. Mr. Macgregor also uses coins, the simplest common sign of a centralized rule, to explore the personification of power as well as the history of money and of trade. In the Middle East the head of the Byzantine emperor was stamped on coins for several centuries. But in the early 690s, for example, Umayyad diners from Damascus suddenly switched from displaying heads of rulers to showing the Shahabad, the declaration of belief in the oneness of Allah. It was the first time political power, as represented by coinage, was connected to a set of unchanging universal ideas rather than a person. Of the 100 objects, only one has not been selected yet. Mr. Macgregor is waiting until the last possible moment to pick out the best symbol of our own time. The author’s attitude towards the history programme is
How to Become a More Effective Learner The best ways to become an effective learner: 1. Memory Improvement Basics a) Basic tips :improving focus, avoiding cram sessions etc. b) More lessons from (1) 2. Keep Learning and Practicing New Things a) One sure—fire way: to simply keep learning b) One way to keep new information: keep practicing and (2) it 3. Learn in Multiple Ways a) Find a way to exercise the information both (3) b) Effect: to further cement the knowledge in your mind 4. Teach What You’ve Learned to Another Person a) To teach is one of the best ways to learn something b) Start by (4) the information into your own words 5. (5) Previous Learning to Promote New Learning —relational learning: relating new information to things you know. 6. Gain Practical Experience —Best ways to improve learning: put new knowledge and skills into (6) 7. Look Up Answers Rather Than Struggle to Remember a) When you forget something, the best way is to find (7) b)Reason: trying to recall information results in learning the "error state" 8. Understand How You Learn Best a) Recognize your learning habits and (8) b) Look at materials 1o decide your suitable learning strategies. 9. Use Testing to Boost Learning a) (9) actually helps you better remember what you’ve learned b) Students who take tests have better long--term recall 10. Stop Multitasking a) Multitasking can actually make learning (10) b) Ways to avoid multitasking: —focusing your attention on the task at hand —continuing working for a predetermined amount of time.
The inner circle train from the City rushed impetuously out of a black hole and pulled up with a discordant, grinding racket in the smirched twilight of a West-End station. A line of doors flew open and a lot of men stepped out headlong. They had high hats, healthy pale faces, dark overcoats and shiny boots; they held in their gloved hands thin umbrellas and hastily folded evening papers that resembled stiff, dirty rags of greenish, pinkish, or whitish color. Alvan Harvey stepped out with the rest, a smoldering cigar between his teeth. A disregarded little woman in rusty black, with both arms full of parcels, ran along in distress, bolted suddenly into a third-class compartment and the train went on. The slamming of carriage doors burst out sharp and spiteful like a fusillade; an icy draught mingled with acrid fumes swept the whole length of the platform and made a tottering old man, wrapped up to his ears in a woolen comforter, stop short in the moving throng to cough violently over his stick. No one spared him a glance. Alvan Hervey passed through the ticket gate. Between the bare walls of a sordid staircase men clambered rapidly; their backs appeared alike—almost as if they had been wearing a uniform; their indifferent faces were varied but somehow suggested kinship, like the faces of a band of brothers who through prudence, dignity, disgust, or foresight would resolutely ignore each other; and their eyes, quick or slow; their eyes gazing up the dusty steps; their eyes brown, black, gray, blue, had all the same stare, concentrated and empty, satisfied and unthinking. Outside the big doorway of the street they scattered in all directions, walking away fast from one another with the hurried air of men fleeing from something compromising; from familiarity or confidences; from something suspected and concealed—like truth or pestilence. Alvin Harvey hesitated, standing alone in the doorway for a moment; then decided to walk home. He strode firmly. A misty rain settled like silvery dust on clothes, on moustaches; wetted the faces, varnished the flagstones, darkened the walls, dripped from umbrellas. And he moved on in the rain with careless serenity, with the tranquil ease of someone successful and disdainful, very sure of himself—a man with lots of money and friends. He was tall, well set-up, good-looking and healthy; and his clear pale face had under its commonplace refinement that slight tinge of overbearing brutality which is given by the possession of only partly difficult accomplishments; by excelling in games, or in the art of making money; by the easy mastery over animals and over needy men. He was going home much earlier than usual, straight from the City and without calling at his club. He considered himself well connected, well educated and intelligent. Who doesn’t But his connections, education and intelligence were strictly on a par with those of the men with whom he did business or amused himself. He had married five years ago. At the time all his acquaintances had said he was very much in love; and he had said so himself, frankly, because it is very well understood that every man falls in love once in his life—unless his wife dies, when it may be quite praiseworthy to fall in love again. The girl was healthy, tall, fair, and in his opinion was well connected, well educated and intelligent. She was also intensely bored with her home where, as if packed in a tight box, her individuality—of which she was very conscious—had no play. She strode like a grenadier, was strong and upright like an obelisk, had a beautiful face, a candid brow, pure eyes, and not a thought of her own in her head. He surrendered quickly to all those charms, and she appeared to him so unquestionably of the right sort that he did not hesitate for a moment to declare himself in love. Under the cover of that sacred and poetical fiction he desired her masterfully, for various reasons; but principally for the satisfaction of having his own way. He was very dull and solemn about it—for no earthly reason, unless to conceal his feelings—which is an eminently proper thing to do. Nobody, however, would have been shocked had he neglected that duty, for the feeling he experienced really was a longing—a longing stronger and a little more complex no doubt, but no more reprehensible in its nature than a hungry man’s appetite for his dinner. It can be inferred from the passage that Alvan
Mary: Good morning. Dr. Brown’s office. （） Dianna: Good morning. I want to make an appointment with Dr. Brown.
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