The weather at the beginning of this month was lovely and the climate perfection, but now (I am writing on its last day) it is getting very hot and trying. If ever people might stand excused for talking about the weather when they meet, it is we Natalians, for, especially at this time of year, it varies from hour to hour. All along the coast one hears of terrible buffeting2 and knocking about among the shipping3 in the open roadsteads which have to do duty for harbors in these parts; and it was only a few days ago that the lifeboat, with the English mail on board, capsized in crossing the bar at D’Urban. The telegram was—as telegrams always are—terrifying in its vagueness, and spoke4 of the mail-bags as “floating about.” When one remembers the vast size of the breakers on which this floating would take place, it sounded hopeless for our letters. They turned up, however, a few days later—in a pulpy5 state, it is true, but quite readable, though the envelopes were curiously6 blended and engrafted upon the letters inside—so much so that they required to be taken together, for it was impossible to separate them. I had recourse to the expedient8 of spreading my letters on a dry towel and draining them before attempting to dissever the leaves. Still, we were all only too thankful to get our correspondence in any shape or form, for precious beyond the power of words to express are home-letters to us, so far away from home.
But to return to our weather. At first it was simply perfect. Bright hot days—not too hot, for a light breeze tempered even the midday heat—and crisp, bracing9 nights succeeded each other during the first fortnight. The country looked exquisitely10 green in its luxuriant spring tints13 over hill and dale, and the rich red clay soil made a splendid contrast on road and track with the brilliant green on either hand. Still, people looked anxiously for more rain, declaring that not half enough had fallen to fill tanks or “shuits” (as the ditches are called), and it took four days of continuous downpour to satisfy these thirsty souls even for the moment. Toward the middle of the month the atmosphere became more oppressive and clouds began to come up in thick masses all round the horizon, and gradually spread themselves over the whole sky. The day before the heaviest rain, though not particularly oppressive, was remarkable14 for the way in which all manner of animals tried to get under shelter at nightfall. The verandah was full of big frogs: if a door remained open for a moment they hopped15 in, and then cried like trapped birds when they found themselves in a corner. As for the winged creatures, it was something wonderful the numbers in which they flew in at the windows wherever a light attracted them. I was busy writing English letters that evening: I declare the cockroaches16 fairly drove me away from the table by the mad way in which they flung themselves into my ink-bottle, whilst the smell of singed17 moths18 at the other lamp was quite overpowering. Well, after this came rain indeed—not rain according to English ideas, but a tropical deluge19, as many inches falling in a few hours as would fill your rain-gauges for months. I believe my conduct was very absurd that first rainy night. The little house had just been newly papered, and as the ceiling was not one to inspire confidence, consisting as it did merely of boards roughly joined together and painted white, through which and through the tiles beyond the sky could be seen quite plainly, I suffered the gravest doubts about the water getting in and spoiling my pretty new paper. Accordingly, whenever any burst of rain came heavier than its immediate20 predecessor21, I jumped out of bed in a perfect agony of mind, and roamed, candle in hand, all over the house to see if I could not detect a leak anywhere. But the unpromising-looking roof and ceiling stood the test bravely, and not a drop of all that descending22 downpour found its way to my new walls.
By the way, I must describe the house to you, remarking, first of all, that architecture, so far as my observation extends, is at its lowest ebb23 in South Africa. I have not seen a single pretty building of any sort or kind since I arrived, although in these small houses it would be so easy to break by gable and porch the severe simplicity24 of the unvarying straight line in which they are built. Whitewashed25 outer walls with a zinc26 roof are not uncommon27, and they make a bald and hideous28 combination until kindly29, luxuriant Nature has had time to step in and cover up man’s ugly handiwork with her festoons of roses and passion-flowers. Most of the houses have, fortunately, red-tiled roofs, which are not so ugly, and mine is among the number. It is so squat30 and square, however, that, as our landlord happens to be the chief baker31 of Maritzburg, it has been proposed to christen it “Cottage Loaf,” but this idea requires consideration on account of the baker’s feelings. In the mean time, it is known briefly32 as “Smith’s,” that being the landlord’s name. It has, as all the houses here have, a broad projecting roof extending over a wide verandah. Within are four small rooms, two on either side of a narrow passage which runs from one end to the other. By a happy afterthought, a kitchen has been added beyond this extremely simple ground-plan, and on the opposite side a corresponding projection33 which closely resembles a packing-case, and which has been painted a bright blue inside and out. This is the dining-room, and evidently requires to be severely34 handled before its present crude and glaring tints can be at all toned down. At a little distance stands the stable, saddle-room, etc., and a good bedroom for English servants, and beyond that, again, among large clumps35 of rose-bushes, a native hut. It came up here half built—that is, the frame was partly put together elsewhere—and it resembled a huge crinoline more than anything else in its original state. Since that, however, it has been made more secure by extra pales of bamboo, each tied in its place with infinite trouble and patience by a knot every inch or two. The final stage consisted of careful thatching with thick bundles of grass laid on the framework, and secured by long ropes of grass binding36 the whole together. The door is the very smallest opening imaginable, and inside it is of course pitch dark. All this labor37 was performed by stalwart Kafir women, one of whom, a fearfully repulsive38 female, informed my cook that she had just been bought back by her original husband. Stress of circumstances had obliged him to sell her, and she had been bought by three other husband-masters since then, but was now resold, a bargain, to her first owner, whom, she declared, she preferred to any of the others. But few as are these rooms, they yet are watertight—which is a great point out here—and the house, being built of large, awkward blocks of stone, is cool and shady. When I have arranged things a little, it will be quite comfortable and pretty; and I defy any one to wish for a more exquisite11 view than can be seen from any corner of the verandah. We are on the brow of a hill which slopes gently down to the hollow wherein nestles the picturesque39 little town, or rather village, of Maritzburg. The intervening distance of a mile or so conceals40 the real ugliness and monotony of its straight streets, and hides all architectural shortcomings. The clock-tower, for instance, is quite a feature in the landscape, and from here one cannot perceive that the clock does not go. Nothing can be prettier than the effect of the red-tiled roofs and white walls peeping out from among thick clumps of trees, whilst beyond the ground rises again to low hills with deep purple fissures42 and clefts43 in their green sides. It is only a couple of years since this little house was built and the garden laid out, and yet the shrubs44 and trees are as big as if half a dozen years had passed over their leafy heads. As for the roses, I never saw anything like the way they flourish at their own sweet will. Scarcely a leaf is to be seen on the ugly straggling tree—nothing but masses of roses of every tint12 and kind and old-fashioned variety. The utmost I can do in the way of gathering45 daily basketsful appears only in the light of judicious46 pruning47, and next day a dozen blossoms have burst forth48 to supply the place of each theft of mine. And there is such a variety of trees! Oaks and bamboos, blue gums and deodars, seem to flourish equally well within a yard or two of each other, and the more distant flower-beds are filled with an odd mixture of dahlias and daturas, white fleur-de-lis and bushy geraniums, scarlet49 euphorbias and verbenas. But the weeds! They are a chronic50 eyesore and grief to every gardener. On path and grass-plat, flower-bed and border, they flaunt51 and flourish. “Jack52,” the Zulu refugee, wages a feeble and totally inadequate53 warfare54 against them with a crooked55 hoe, but he is only a quarter in earnest, and stops to groan56 and take snuff so often that the result is that our garden is precisely57 in the condition of the garden of the sluggard58, gate and all. This hingeless condition of the gate, however, is, I must in fairness state, neither Jack’s nor our fault. It is a new gate, but no one will come out from the town to hang it. That is my standing59 grievance60. Because we live about a mile from the town it is next to impossible to get anything done. The town itself is one of the shabbiest assemblages of dwellings61 I have ever seen in a colony. It is not to be named on the same day with Christchurch, the capital of Canterbury, New Zealand, which ten years ago was decently paved and well lighted by gas. Poor sleepy Maritzburg consists now, at more than forty years of age (Christchurch is not twenty-five yet), of a few straight, wide, grass-grown streets, which are only picturesque at a little distance on account of their having trees on each side. On particularly dark nights a dozen oil-lamps standing at long intervals62 apart are lighted, but when it is even moderately starlight these aids to finding one’s way about are prudently63 dispensed64 with. There is not a single handsome and hardly a decent building in the whole place. The streets, as I saw them after rain, are veritable sloughs65 of despond, but they are capable of being changed by dry weather into deserts of dust. It is true, I have only been as yet twice down to the town, but on both visits it reminded me more of the sleepy villages in Washington Irving’s stories than of a smart, modern, go-ahead colonial “city.” There are some fairly good shops, but they make no show outside, and within the prices of most of the articles sold are nearly double the same things would bring either at Melbourne or at Christchurch. As D’Urban is barely a month away from London in point of communication, and New Zealand (when I knew it) nearly treble the distance and time, this is a great puzzle to me.
A certain air of quaint66 interest and life is given to the otherwise desolate67 streets by the groups of Kafirs and the teams of wagons69 which bring fuel and forage70 into the town every day. Twenty bullocks drag these ponderous71 contrivances—bullocks so lean that one wonders how they have strength to carry their wide-spreading horns aloft; bullocks of a stupidity and obstinacy72 unparalleled in the natural history of horned beasts. At their head walks a Kafir lad called a “forelooper,” who tugs73 at a rope fastened to the horns of the leading oxen, and in moments of general confusion invariably seems to pull the wrong string and get the whole team into an inextricable tangle74 of horns and yokes75. Sometimes of a quiet Sunday morning these teams and wagons I see “out-spanned” on the green slopes around Maritzburg, making a picturesque addition to the sylvan76 scenery. Near each wagon68 a light wreath of smoke steals up into the summer air, marking where some preparation of “mealies” is on foot, and the groups of grazing oxen—“spans,” as each team is called—give the animation77 of animal life which I miss so sadly at every turn in this part of the world.
In Maritzburg itself I only noticed two buildings which made the least effect. One is the government house, standing in a nice garden and boasting of a rather pretty porch, but otherwise reminding one—except for the sentinel on duty—of a quiet country rectory: the other is a small block comprising the public offices. The original idea of this square building must have come from a model dairy. But the crowning absurdity78 of the place is the office of the colonial secretary, which stands nearly opposite. I am told that inside it is tolerably comfortable, being the remains79 of an old Dutch building: outside, it can only be compared to a dilapidated barn on a bankrupt farm, and when it was first pointed80 out to me I had great difficulty, remembering similar buildings in other colonies, in believing it was a public office.
The native police look very smart and shiny in their white suits, and must be objects of envy to their black brethren on account of their “knobkerries,” the knobbed sticks which they alone are permitted to carry officially in their hands. The native loves a stick, and as he is forbidden to carry either an assegai—which is a very formidable weapon indeed—or even a knobkerry, only one degree less dangerous, he consoles himself with a wand or switch in case of coming across a snake. You never see a Kafir without something of the sort in his hand: if he is not twirling a light stick, then he has a sort of rude reed pipe from which he extracts sharp and tuneless sounds. As a race, the Kafirs make the effect of possessing a fine physique: they walk with an erect81 bearing and a light step, but in true leisurely82 savage83 fashion. I have seen the black race in four different quarters of the globe, and I never saw one single individual move quickly of his own free will. We must bear in mind, however, that it is a new and altogether revolutionary idea to a Kafir that he should do any work at all. Work is for women—war or idleness for men; consequently, their fixed84 idea is to do as little as they can; and no Kafir will work after he has earned money enough to buy a sufficient number of wives who will work for him. “Charlie,” our groom—who is, by the way, a very fine gentleman and speaks “Ingeliss” after a strange fashion of his own—only condescends85 to work until he can purchase a wife. Unfortunately, the damsel whom he prefers is a costly86 article, and her parents demand a cow, a kettle and a native hut as the price of her hand—or hands, rather—so Charlie grunts87 and groans88 through about as much daily work as an English boy of twelve years old could manage easily. He is a very amusing character, being exceedingly proud, and will only obey his own master, whom he calls his great inkosi or chief. He is always lamenting89 the advent90 of the inkosi-casa, or chieftainess, and the piccaninnies and their following, especially the “vaiter,” whom he detests91. In his way, Charlie is a wag, and it is as good as a play to see his pretence92 of stupidity when the “vaiter” or French butler desires him to go and eat “sa paniche.” Charlie understands perfectly93 that he is told to go and get his breakfast of mealy porridge, but he won’t admit that it is to be called “paniche,” preferring his own word “scoff;” so he shakes his head violently and says, “Nay94, nay, paniche.” Then, with many nods, “Scoff, ja;” and so in this strange gibberish of three languages he and the Frenchman carry on quite a pretty quarrel. Charlie also “mocks himself” of the other servants, I am informed, and asserts that he is the “indema” or headman. He freely boxes the ears of Jack, the Zulu refugee—poor Jack, who fled from his own country, next door, the other day, and arrived here clad in only a short flap made of three bucks’ tails. That is only a month ago, and “Jack” is already quite a petit ma?tre about his clothes. He ordinarily wears a suit of knickerbockers and a shirt of blue check bound with red, and a string of beads95 round his neck, but he cries like a baby if he tears his clothes, or still worse if the color of the red braid washes out. At first he hated civilized96 garments, even when they were only two in number, and begged to be allowed to assume a sack with holes for the arms, which is the Kafir compromise when near a town between clothes and flaps made of the tails of wild beasts or strips of hide. But he soon came to delight in them, and is now always begging for “something to wear.”
I confess I am sorry for Jack. He is the kitchen-boy, and is learning with much pains and difficulty the wrong language. My cook is also French, and, naturally, all that Jack learns is French, and not English. Imagine poor Jack’s dismay when, after his three years’ apprenticeship97 to us is ended, he seeks perhaps to better himself, and finds that no one except madame can understand him! Most of their dialogues are carried on by pantomime and the incessant98 use, in differing tones of voice, of the word “Ja.” Jack is a big, loutish99 young man, but very ugly and feeble, and apparently100 under the impression that he is perpetually “wanted” to answer for the little indiscretion, whatever it was, on account of which he was forced to flee over the border. He is timid and scared to the last degree, and abjectly101 anxious to please if it does not entail102 too much exertion103. He is, as it were, apprenticed104 to us for three years. We are bound to feed and clothe and doctor him, and he is to work for us, in his own lazy fashion, for small wages. The first time Jack broke a plate his terror and despair were quite edifying105 to behold106. Madame called him a “maladroit107” on the spot. Jack learned this word, and after his work was over seated himself gravely on the ground with the fragments of the plate, which he tried to join together, but gave up the attempt at last, announcing in his own tongue that it was “dead.” After a little consideration he said slowly, several times, “Maldraw, ja,” and hit himself a good thump108 at each “ja.” Now, I grieve to say, Jack breaks plates, dishes and cups with a perfectly easy and unembarrassed conscience, and is already far too civilized to care in the least for his misfortunes in that line. Whenever a fowl109 is killed—and I came upon Jack slowly putting one to death the other day with a pair of nail-scissors—he possesses himself of a small store of feathers, which he wears tastefully placed over his left ear. A gay ribbon, worn like a bandeau across the forehead, is what he really loves. Jack is very proud of a tawdry ribbon of many colors with a golden ground which I found for him the other day, only he never can make up his mind where to wear it; and I often come upon him sitting in the shade with the ribbon in his hands, gravely considering the question.
The Pickle110 and plague of the establishment, however, is the boy Tom, a grinning young savage fresh from his kraal, up to any amount of mischief111, who in an evil hour has been engaged as the baby’s body-servant. I cannot trust him with the child out of my sight for a moment, for he “snuffs” enormously, and smokes coarse tobacco out of a cow’s horn, and is anxious to teach the baby both these accomplishments113. Tom wears his snuff-box—which is a brass114 cylinder115 a couple of inches long—in either ear impartially116, there being huge slits117 in the cartilage for the purpose, and the baby never rests till he gets possession of it and sneezes himself nearly into fits. Tom likes nursing Baby immensely, and croons to him in a strange buzzing way which lulls118 him to sleep invariably. He is very anxious, however, to acquire some words of English, and I was much startled the other day to hear in the verandah my own voice saying, “What is it, dear?” over and over again. This phrase proceeded from Tom, who kept on repeating it, parrot-fashion—an exact imitation, but with no idea of its meaning. I had heard the baby whimpering a little time before, and Tom had remarked that these four words produced the happiest effect in restoring good-humor; so he learned them, accent and all, on the spot, and used them as a spell or charm on the next opportunity. I think even the poor baby was puzzled. But one cannot feel sure of what Tom will do next. A few evenings ago I trusted him to wheel the perambulator about the garden-paths, but, becoming anxious in a very few minutes to know what he was about, I went to look for him. I found him grinning in high glee, watching the baby’s efforts at cutting his teeth on a live young bird. Master Tom had spied a nest, climbed the tree, and brought down the poor little bird, which he presented to the child, who instantly put it into his mouth. When I arrived on the scene Baby’s mouth was full of feathers, over which he was making a very disgusted face, and the unhappy bird was nearly dead of fright and squeezing, whilst Tom was in such convulsions of laughter that I nearly boxed his ears. He showed me by signs how Baby insisted on sucking the bird’s head, and conveyed his intense amusement at the idea. I made Master Tom climb the tree instantly and put the poor little half-dead creature back into its nest, and sent for Charlie to explain to him he should have no sugar—the only punishment Tom cares about—for two days. I often think, however, that I must try and find another penalty, for when Tom’s allowance of sugar is stopped he “requisitions” that of every one else, and so gets rather more than usual. He is immensely proud of the brass chin-strap119 of an old artillery120 bushy which has been given to him. He used to wear it across his forehead in the favorite Kafir fashion, but as the baby always made it his first business to pull this shining strap down over Tom’s eyes, and eventually over Tom’s mouth, it has been transferred to his neck.
These Kafir-lads make excellent nurse-boys generally, and English children are very fond of them. Nurse-girls are rare, as the Kafir women begin their lives of toil121 so early that they are never very handy or gentle in a house, and boys are easier to train as servants. I heard to-day, however, of an excellent Kafir nursemaid who was the daughter of a chief, and whose only drawback was the size of her family. She was actually and truly one of eighty brothers and sisters, her father being a rich man with twenty-five wives. That simply means that he had twenty-five devoted122 slaves, who worked morning, noon and night for him in field and mealy-patch without wages. Jack the Zulu wanted to be nurse-boy dreadfully, and used to follow Nurse about with a towel rolled up into a bundle, and another towel arranged as drapery, dandling an imaginary baby on his arm, saying plaintively123, “Piccaninny, piccaninny!” This Nurse translated to mean that he was an experienced nurse-boy, and had taken care of a baby in his own country, but as I had no confidence in maladroit Jack, who chanced to be very deaf besides, he was ruthlessly relegated124 to his pots and pans.
It is very curious to see the cast-off clothes of all the armies of Europe finding their way hither. The natives of South Africa prefer an old uniform coat or tunic125 to any other covering, and the effect of a short scarlet garment when worn with bare legs is irresistibly126 droll127. The apparently inexhaustible supply of old-fashioned English coatees with their worsted epaulettes is just coming to an end, and being succeeded by ragged128 red tunics129, franc-tireurs’ brownish-green jackets and much-worn Prussian gray coats. Kafir-Land may be looked upon as the old-clothes shop of all the fighting world, for sooner or later every cast-off scrap130 of soldier’s clothing drifts toward it. Charlie prides himself much upon the possession of an old gray great-coat, so patched and faded that it may well have been one of those which toiled131 up the slopes of Inkerman that rainy Sunday morning twenty years ago; whilst scampish Tom got well chaffed the other day for suddenly making his appearance clad in a stained red tunic with buff collar and cuffs132, and the number of the old “dirty Half-hundred” in tarnished133 metal on the shoulder-scales. “Sir Garnet,” cried Charlie the witty134, whilst Jack affected135 to prostrate136 himself before the grinning imp7, exclaiming, “O great inkosi!”
Charlie is angry with me just now, and looks most reproachfully my way on all occasions. The cause is that he was sweeping137 away sundry138 huge spiders’ webs from the roof of the verandah (the work of a single night) when I heard him coughing frightfully. I gave him some lozenges, saying, “Do your cough good, Charlie.” Charlie received them in both hands held like a cup, the highest form of Kafir gratitude139, and gulped140 them all down on the spot. Next day I heard the same dreadful cough, and told F—— to give him some more lozenges. But Charlie would have none of them, alleging141 he “eats plenty tomorrow’s yesterday, and dey no good at all;” and he evidently despises me and my remedies.
If only there were no hot winds! But the constant changes are so trying and so sudden. Sometimes we have a hot, scorching142 gale143 all day, drying and parching144 one’s very skin up, and shriveling one’s lovely roses like the blast from a furnace: then in the afternoon a dark cloud sails suddenly up from behind the hills to the west. It is over the house before one knows it is coming: a loud clap of thunder shakes the very ground beneath one’s feet, others follow rapidly, and a thunderstorm bewilders one for some ten minutes or so. A few drops of cold rain fall to the sound of the distant thunder, now rolling away eastward145, which yet “struggles and howls at fits.” It is not always distant, but we have not yet seen a real thunderstorm; only a few of these short, sudden electrical disturbances146, which come and go more like explosions than anything else. A few days ago there was a duststorm which had a very curious effect as we looked down upon it from this hill. All along the roads one could watch the dust being caught up, as it were, and whirled along in dense147 clouds, whilst the poor little town itself was absolutely blotted148 out by the blinding masses of fine powder. For half an hour or so we could afford to watch and smile at our neighbors’ plight149, but soon we had to flee for shelter ourselves within the house, for a furious hot gale drove heavily up behind the dust and nearly blew us away altogether. Still, there was no thunderstorm, though we quite wished for one to cool the air and refresh the parched150 and burnt-up grass and flowers. Such afternoons are generally pretty sure to be succeeded by a cold night, and perhaps a cold, damp morning; and one can already understand that these alternations during the summer months are apt to produce dysentery among young children. I hear just now of a good many such cases among babies.
I have been so exceedingly busy this month packing, arranging and settling that there has been but little time for going about and seeing the rather pretty environs of Maritzburg; besides which, the weather is dead against excursions, changing as it does to rain or threatening thunderstorms nearly every afternoon. One evening we ventured out for a walk in spite of growlings and spittings up above among the crass-looking clouds. Natal1 is not a nice country, for women at all events, to walk in. You have to keep religiously to the road or track, for woe151 betide the rash person who ventures on the grass, though from repeated burnings all about these hills it is quite short. There is a risk of your treading on a snake, and a certainty of your treading on a frog. You will soon find your legs covered with small and pertinacious152 ticks, who have apparently taken a “header” into your flesh and made up their minds to die sooner than let go. They must be the bull-dogs of the insect tribe, these ticks, for a sharp needle will scarcely dislodge them. At the last extremity153 of extraction they only burrow154 their heads deeper into the skin, and will lose this important part of their tiny bodies sooner than yield to the gentlest leverage155. Then there are myriads156 of burs which cling to you in green and brown scales of roughness, and fringe your petticoats with their sticky little lumps. As for the poor petticoats themselves, however short you may kilt them, you bring them back from a walk deeply flounced with the red clay of the roads; and as the people who wash do not seem to consider this a disadvantage, and take but little pains to remove the earth-stains, one’s garments gradually acquire, even when clean, a uniform bordering of dingy157 red. All the water at this time of year is red too, as the rivers are stirred up by the heavy summer rains, and resemble angry muddy ditches more than fresh-water streams. I miss at every turn the abundance of clear, clean, sparkling water in the creeks158 and rivers of my dear New Zealand, and it is only after heavy rain, when every bath and large vessel159 has been turned into a receptacle during the downpour, that one can compass the luxury of an inviting-looking bath or glass of drinking-water. Of course this turbid160 water renders it pretty difficult to get one’s clothes properly washed, and the substitute for a mangle161 is an active Kafir, who makes the roughly-dried clothes up into a neat parcel, places them on a stone and dances up and down upon them for as long or short a time as he pleases. Fuel is so enormously dear that the cost of having clothes ironed is something astounding162, and altogether washing is one of the many costly items of Natalian housekeeping. When I remember the frantic163 state of indignation and alarm we were all in in England three years ago when coals rose to ￡2 10s. a ton, and think how cheap I should consider that price for fuel here, I can’t help a melancholy164 smile. Nine solid sovereigns purchase you a tolerable-sized load of wood, about equal for cooking purposes to a ton of coal; but whereas the coal is at all events some comfort and convenience to use, the wood is only a source of additional trouble and expense. It has to be cut up and dried, and finally coaxed165 and cajoled by incessant use of the bellows166 into burning. Besides the price of fuel, provisions of all sorts seem to me to be dear and bad. Milk is sold by the quart bottle: it is now fourpence per bottle, but rises to sixpence during the winter. Meat is eightpence a pound, but it is so thin and bony, and of such indifferent quality, that there is very little saving in that respect. I have not tasted any really good butter since we arrived, and we pay two shillings a pound for cheesy, rancid stuff. I hear that “mealies,” the crushed maize167, are also very dear, and so is forage for the horses. Instead of the horses being left out on the run night and day, summer and winter, as they used to be in New Zealand, with an occasional feed of oats for a treat, they need to be carefully housed at night and well fed with oaten straw and mealies to give them a chance against the mysterious and fatal “horse-sickness,” which kills them in a few hours. Altogether, so far as my very limited experience—of only a few weeks, remember—goes, I should say that Natal was an expensive place to live in, owing to the scarcity168 and dearness of the necessaries of life. I am told that far up in the country food and fuel are cheap and good, and that it is the dearness and difficulty of transport which forces Maritzburg to depend for its supplies entirely169 on what is grown in its own immediate vicinity, where there is not very much land under cultivation170; so we must look to the coming railway to remedy all that.
If only one could eat flowers, or if wheat and other cereals grew as freely and luxuriously172 as flowers grow, how nice it would be! On the open grassy173 downs about here the blossoms are lovely—beautiful lilies in scarlet and white clusters, several sorts of periwinkles, heaths, cinnerarias, both purple and white, and golden bushes of citisus or Cape41 broom, load the air with fragrance174. By the side of every “spruit” or brook175 one sees clumps of tall arum lilies filling every little water-washed hollow in the brook, and the ferns which make each ditch and watercourse green and plumy have a separate shady beauty of their own. This is all in Nature’s own free, open garden, and when the least cultivation or care is added to her bounteous176 luxuriance a magnificent garden for fruit, vegetables and flowers is the result; always supposing you are fortunate enough to be able to induce these lazy Kafirs to dig the ground for you.
About a fortnight ago I braved the dirt and disagreeables of a cross-country walk in showery weather—for we have not been able to meet with a horse to suit us yet—and went to see a beautiful garden a couple of miles away. It was approached by a long double avenue of blue gum trees, planted only nine years ago, but tall and stately as though a century had passed over their lofty, pointed heads, and with a broad red clay road running between the parallel lines of trees. The ordinary practice of clearing away the grass as much as possible round a house strikes an English eye as bare and odd, but when one hears that it is done to avoid snakes, it becomes a necessary and harmonious177 adjunct to the rest of the scene. In this instance I found these broad smooth walks, with their deep rich red color, a very beautiful contrast to the glow of brilliant blossoms in the enormous flower-beds. For this garden was not at all like an ordinary garden, still less like a prim178 English parterre. The beds were as large as small fields, slightly raised and bordered by a thick line of violets. Large shrubs of beautiful semi-tropical plants made tangled179 heaps of purple, scarlet and white blossoms on every side; the large creamy bells of the datura drooped180 toward the reddish earth; thorny181 shrubs of that odd bluish-green peculiar182 to Australian foliage183 grew side by side with the sombre-leaved myrtle. Every plant grew in the most liberal fashion; green things which we are accustomed to see in England in small pots shoot up here to the height of laurel bushes; a screen of scarlet euphorbia made a brilliant line against a background formed by a hedge of shell-like cluster-roses, and each pillar of the verandah of the little house had its own magnificent creeper. Up one standard an ipomea twined closely; another pillar was hidden by the luxuriance of a trumpet-honeysuckle; whilst a third was thickly covered by an immense passion-flower. In shady, damp places grew many varieties of ferns and blue hydrangeas, whilst other beds were filled by gay patches of verbenas of every hue184 and shade. The sweet-scented verbena is one of the commonest and most successful shrubs in a Natal garden, and just now the large bushes of it which one sees in every direction are covered by tapering185 spikes186 of its tiny white blossoms. But the feature of this garden was roses—roses on each side whichever way you turned, and I should think of at least a hundred different sorts. Not the stiff standard rose tree of an English garden, with its few precious blossoms, to be looked at from a distance and admired with respectful gravity. No: in this garden the roses grow as they might have grown in Eden—untrained, unpruned, in enormous bushes covered entirely by magnificent blossoms, each bloom of which would have won a prize at a rose-show. There was one cloth-of-gold rose bush that I shall never forget—its size, its fragrance, its wealth of creamy-yellowish blossoms. A few yards off stood a still bigger and more luxuriant pyramid, some ten feet high, covered with the large, delicate and regular pink bloom of the souvenir de Malmaison. When I talk of a bush I only mean one especial bush which caught my eye. I suppose there were fifty cloth-of-gold and fifty souvenir rose bushes in that garden. Red roses, white roses, tea roses, blush-roses, moss187 roses, and, last not least, the dear old-fashioned, homely188 cabbage rose, sweetest and most sturdy of all. You could wander for acres and acres among fruit trees and plantations189 of oaks and willows190 and other trees, but you never got away from the roses. There they were, beautiful, delicious things at every turn—hedges of them, screens of them and giant bushes of them on either hand. As I have said before, though kept free from weeds by some half dozen scantily-clad but stalwart Kafirs with their awkward hoes, it was not a bit like a trim English garden. It was like a garden in which Lalla Rookh might have wandered by moonlight talking sentimental191 philosophy with her minstrel prince under old Fadladeen’s chaperonage, or a garden that Boccaccio might have peopled with his Arcadian fine ladies and gentlemen. It was emphatically a poet’s or a painter’s garden, not a gardener’s garden. Then, as though nothing should be wanting to make the scene lovely, one could hear through the fragrant192 silence the tinkling193 of the little “spruit” or brook at the bottom of the garden, and the sweet song of the Cape canary, the same sort of greenish finch194 which is the parent stock of all our canaries, and whose acquaintance I first made in Madeira. A very sweet warbler it is, and the clear, flute-like notes sounded prettily195 among the roses. From blossom to blossom lovely butterflies flitted, perching quite fearlessly on the red clay walk just before me, folding and unfolding their big painted wings. Every day I see a new kind of butterfly, and the moths which one comes upon hidden away under the leaves of the creepers during the bright noisy day are lovely beyond the power of words. One little fellow is a great pet of mine. He wears pure white wings, with vermilion stripes drawn196 in regular horizontal lines across his back, and between the lines are shorter, broken streaks197 of black, which is at once neat and uncommon; but he is always in the last stage of sleepiness when I see him. I am so glad little G—— is not old enough to want to catch them all and impale198 them upon corks199 in a glass case; so the pretty creatures live out their brief and happy life in the sunshine, without let or hinderance from him.
The subject of which my mind is most full just now is the purchase of a horse. F—— has a fairly good chestnut200 cob of his own; G—— has become possessed201, to his intense delight, of an aged112 and long-suffering Basuto pony202, whom he fidgets to death during the day by driving him all over the place, declaring he is “only showing him where the nicest grass grows;” and I want a steed to draw my pony-carriage and to carry me. F—— and I are at dagger’s drawn on this question. He wants to buy me a young, handsome, showy horse of whom his admirers predict that “he will steady down presently,” whilst my affections are firmly fixed on an aged screw who would not turn his head if an Armstrong gun were fired behind him. His owner says Scotsman is “rising eleven:” F—— declares Scotsman will never see his twentieth birthday again. F—— points out to me that Scotsman has had rough times of it, apparently, in his distant youth, and that he is strangely battered203 about the head, and has a large notch204 out of one ear. I retaliate205 by reminding him how sagely206 the old horse picked his way, with a precision of judgment207 which only years can give, through the morass208 which lies at the foot of the hill, and which must be crossed every time I go into town (and there is nowhere else to go). That morass is a bog209 in summer and a honeycomb of deep ruts and holes in winter, which, you must bear in mind, is the dry season here. Besides his tact210 in the matter of the morass, did I not drive Scotsman the other day to the park, and did he not comport211 himself in the most delightfully212 sedate213 fashion? You require experience to be on the lookout214 for the perils215 of Maritzburg streets, it seems, for all their sleepy, deserted217, tumble-down air. First of all, there are the transport-wagons, with their long span of oxen straggling all across the road, and a nervous bullock precipitating218 himself under your horse’s nose. The driver, too, invariably takes the opportunity of a lady passing him to crack his whip violently, enough to startle any horse except Scotsman. Then when you have passed the place where the wagons most do congregate219, and think you are tolerably safe and need only look out for ruts and holes in the street, lo! a furious galloping220 behind you, and some half dozen of the “gilded youth” of Maritzburg dash past you, stop, wheel round and gallop221 past again, until you are almost blinded with dust or smothered222 with mud, according to the season. This peril216 occurred several times during my drive to and from the park, and I can only remark that dear old Scotsman kept his temper better than I did: perhaps he was more accustomed to Maritzburg manners.
When the park was reached at last, across a frail223 and uncertain wooden bridge shaded by large weeping willows, I found it the most creditable thing I had yet seen. It is admirably laid out, the natural undulations of the ground being made the most of, and exceedingly well kept. This in itself is a difficult matter where all vegetation runs up like Jack’s famous beanstalk, and where the old proverb about the steed starving whilst his grass is growing falls completely to the ground. There are numerous drives, made level by a coating of smooth black shale224, and bordered by a double line of syringas and oaks, with hedges of myrtle or pomegranate. In some places the roads run alongside the little river—a very muddy torrent225 when I saw it—and then the oaks give way to great drooping226 willows, beneath whose trailing branches the river swirled227 angrily. On fine Saturday afternoons the band of the regiment228 stationed here plays on a clear space under some shady trees—for you can never sit or stand on the grass in Natal, and even croquet is played on bare leveled earth—and everybody rides or walks or drives about. When I saw the park there was not a living creature in it, for it was, as most of our summer afternoons are, wet and cold and drizzling229; but, considering that there was no thunderstorm likely to break over our heads that day, I felt that I could afford to despise a silent Scotch230 mist. We varied231 our afternoon weather last week by a hailstorm, of which the stones were as big as large marbles. I was scoffed232 at for remarking this, and assured it was “nothing, absolutely nothing,” to the great hailstorm of two years ago, which broke nearly every tile and pane233 of glass in Maritzburg, and left the town looking precisely as though it had been bombarded. I have seen photographs of some of the ruined houses, and it is certainly difficult to believe that hail could have done so much mischief. Then, again, stories reach me of a certain thunderstorm one Sunday evening just before I arrived in which the lightning struck a room in which a family was assembled at evening prayers, killing234 the poor old father with the Bible in his hand, and knocking over every member of the little congregation. My informant said, “I assure you it seemed as though the lightning were poured out of heaven in a jug235. There were no distinct flashes: the heavens appeared to split open and pour down a flood of blazing violet light.” I have seen nothing like this yet, but can quite realize what such a storm must be like, for I have observed already how different the color of the lightning is. The flashes I have seen were exactly of the lilac color he described, and they followed each other with a rapidity of succession unknown in less electric regions. And yet my last English letters were full of complaints of the wet weather in London, and much self-pity for the long imprisonment236 in-doors. Why, those very people don’t know what weather inconveniences are. If London streets are muddy, at all events there are no dangerous morasses237 in them. No matter how much it rains, people get their comfortable meals three times a day. Here, rain means a risk of starvation (if the little wooden bridge between us and the town were to be swept away) and a certainty of short commons. A wet morning means damp bread for breakfast and a thousand other disagreeables. No, I have no patience with the pampered238 Londoners, who want perpetual sunshine in addition to their other blessings239, for saying one word about discomfort240. They are all much too civilized and luxurious171, and their lives are made altogether too smooth for them. Let them come out here and try to keep house on the top of a hill with servants whose language they don’t understand, a couple of noisy children and a small income, and then, as dear Mark Twain says, “they’ll know something about woe.”
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1
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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2
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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3
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pulpy
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| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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7
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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8
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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9
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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10
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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12
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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13
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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14
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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15
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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16
cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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17
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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18
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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19
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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20
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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21
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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22
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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23
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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24
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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25
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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27
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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28
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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29
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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30
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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31
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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33
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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35
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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38
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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39
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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40
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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42
fissures
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| n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 )；裂伤；分歧；分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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44
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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45
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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46
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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47
pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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48
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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49
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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50
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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51
flaunt
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| vt.夸耀，夸饰 | |
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52
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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53
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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54
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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55
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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56
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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57
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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58
sluggard
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| n.懒人；adj.懒惰的 | |
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59
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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60
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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61
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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62
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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63
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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64
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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65
sloughs
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| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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66
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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67
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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69
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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70
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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71
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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72
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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73
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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75
yokes
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| 轭( yoke的名词复数 )； 奴役； 轭形扁担； 上衣抵肩 | |
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76
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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77
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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78
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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79
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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80
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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81
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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82
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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83
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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84
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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85
condescends
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的第三人称单数 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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86
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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87
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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88
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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89
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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90
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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91
detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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93
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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94
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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95
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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96
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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97
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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98
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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99
loutish
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| adj.粗鲁的 | |
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100
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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101
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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102
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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103
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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104
apprenticed
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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106
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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107
maladroit
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| adj.笨拙的 | |
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108
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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109
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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110
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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111
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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112
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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113
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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114
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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115
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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116
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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117
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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118
lulls
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| n.间歇期（lull的复数形式）vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的第三人称单数形式） | |
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119
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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120
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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121
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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122
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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123
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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124
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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125
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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126
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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127
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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128
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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129
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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130
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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131
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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132
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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133
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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134
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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135
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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136
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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137
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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138
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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139
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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140
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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141
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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142
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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143
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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144
parching
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| adj.烘烤似的，焦干似的v.（使）焦干， （使）干透( parch的现在分词 )；使（某人）极口渴 | |
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145
eastward
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|
| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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146
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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147
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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148
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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149
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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150
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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151
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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152
pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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153
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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154
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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155
leverage
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| n.力量，影响；杠杆作用，杠杆的力量 | |
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156
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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157
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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158
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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159
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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160
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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161
mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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162
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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163
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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164
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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165
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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166
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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167
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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168
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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169
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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170
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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171
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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172
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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173
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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174
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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175
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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176
bounteous
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| adj.丰富的 | |
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177
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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178
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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179
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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180
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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182
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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183
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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184
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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185
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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186
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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187
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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188
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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189
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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190
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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191
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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192
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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193
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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194
finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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195
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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196
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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197
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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198
impale
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| v.用尖物刺某人、某物 | |
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199
corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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200
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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201
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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202
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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203
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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204
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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205
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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207
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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208
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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209
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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210
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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211
comport
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| vi.相称，适合 | |
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212
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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213
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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214
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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215
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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216
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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217
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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218
precipitating
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| adj.急落的，猛冲的v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的现在分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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219
congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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220
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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221
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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222
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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223
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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224
shale
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| n.页岩，泥板岩 | |
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225
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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226
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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227
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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229
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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230
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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231
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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232
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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233
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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234
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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235
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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236
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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237
morasses
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| n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 )；困境；沼泽；陷阱 | |
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238
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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239
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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240
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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