There was, for example, John Hill, who served among “the twelve good men and true” on a certain trial, was the only one of them who declined to accept a bribe12, and, the fact becoming known, was handsomely complimented by the presiding judge. Thenceforth, whenever the Assizes in that part of the country came round again, John used to be asked after as “the honest juror.” At least two of my father's forebears, a Symonds and a Hill, refused to cast their political votes to order, and were punished for their sturdy independence. The one lived to see a hospital erected15 in Shrewsbury out of the large fortune for some two hundred years ago of ￡30,000 which should have come to his wife, the testator's sister; the other, a baker16 and corn merchant, son to “the honest juror,” saw his supply of fuel required to bake his bread cut off by the local squire17, a candidate for Parliament, for whom the worthy18 baker had dared to refuse to vote. Ovens then were heated by wood, which in this case came from the squire's estate. When next James Hill made the usual application, the faggots were not to be had. He was not discouraged. Wood, he reflected, was dear; coal—much seldomer used then than now—was cheap. He mixed the two, and found the plan succeed, lessened20 the proportion of wood, and finally dispensed21 with it altogether. His example was followed by other [Pg 3] people: the demand for the squire's firewood languished22, and the boycotted23 voter was presently requested to purchase afresh. “An instance,” says Dr Birkbeck Hill, “of a new kind of faggot vote.”
Another son of “the honest juror” was the first person to grow potatoes in Kidderminster. Some two centuries earlier “the useful tuber” was brought to England; but even in times much nearer our own, so slowly did information travel, that till about 1750 the only denizen25 of that town who seems to have known of its existence was this second John Hill. When the seeds he sowed came up, blossomed, and turned to berries, these last were cooked and brought to table. Happily no one could eat them; and so the finger of scorn was pointed26 at the luckless innovator27. The plants withered28 unheeded; but later, the ground being wanted for other crops, was dug up, when, to the amazement29 of all beholders and hearers, a plentiful30 supply of fine potatoes was revealed.
On the spindle side also Rowland Hill's family could boast ancestors of whom none need feel ashamed. Among these was the high-spirited, well-dowered orphan32 girl who, like Clarissa Harlowe, fled from home to escape wedlock33 with the detested34 suitor her guardians35 sought to force upon her. But, unlike Richardson's hapless heroine, this fugitive36 lived into middle age, maintained herself by her own handiwork—spinning—never sought even to recover her lost fortune, married, left descendants, and fatally risked her life while preparing for burial the pestilence-smitten neighbour whose poor remains37 his own craven relatives had abandoned. Though she perished untimely, recollection [Pg 4] of her married name was preserved to reappear in that of a great-grandson, Matthew Davenport Hill. The husband of Mrs Davenport's only daughter, William Lea, was a man little swayed by the superstitions39 of his time, as he showed when he broke through a mob of ignorant boors40 engaged in hounding into a pond a terrified old woman they declared to be a witch, strode into the water, lifted her in his arms, and, heedless of hostile demonstration41, bore her to his own home to be nursed back into such strength and sanity42 as were recoverable. A son of William Lea, during the dreadful cholera44 visitation of 1832, played, as Provost of Haddington, a part as fearlessly unselfish as that of his grandmother in earlier days, but without losing his life, for his days were long in the land. His sister was Rowland Hill's mother.
On both sides the stocks seem to have been of stern Puritan extraction, theologically narrow, inflexibly46 honest, terribly in earnest, of healthy life, fine physique—nonagenarians not infrequently. John Symonds, son to him whose wife forfeited47 succession to her brother, Mr Millington's fortune, because both men were sturdily obstinate48 in the matter of political creed49, was, though a layman50, great at extempore prayer and sermon-making. When any young man came a-wooing to one of his bonnie daughters, the father would take the suitor to an inner sanctum, there to be tested as to his ability to get through the like devotional exercises. If the young man failed to come up to the requisite51 standard he was dismissed, and the damsel reserved for some more proficient52 rival—James Hill being one of the latter sort. How many suitors of the [Pg 5] present day would creditably emerge from that ordeal53?
Through this sturdy old Puritan we claim kinship with the Somersetshire family, of whom John Addington Symonds was one, and therefore with the Stracheys; while from other sources comes a collateral54 descent from “Hudibras” Butler, who seems to have endowed with some of his own genuine wit certain later Hills; as also a relationship with that line of distinguished55 medical men, the Mackenzies, and with the Rev31. Morell Mackenzie, who played a hero's part at the long-ago wreck56 of the Pegasus.
A neighbour of James Hill was a recluse57, who, perhaps, not finding the society of a small provincial58 town so companionable as the books he loved, forbore “to herd59 with narrow foreheads,” but made of James a congenial friend. When this man died, the task fell to his executors, James Hill and another, to divide his modest estate. Among the few bequests61 were two books to young Tom, James's son, a boy with a passion for reading, but possessed8 of few books, one being a much-mutilated copy of “Robinson Crusoe,” which tantalisingly began with the thrilling words, “more than thirty dancing round a fire.” The fellow executor, knowing well the reputation for uncanny ways with which local gossip had endowed the deceased, earnestly advised his colleague to destroy the volumes, and not permit them to sully young Tom's mind. “Oh, let the boy have the books,” said James Hill, and straightway the legacy62 was placed in the youthful hands. It consisted of a “Manual of Geography” and Euclid's “Elements.” The effect of [Pg 6] their perusal63 was not to send the reader to perdition, but to call forth14 an innate64 love for mathematics, and, through them, a lifelong devotion to astronomy, tastes he was destined65 to pass on in undiminished ardour to his third son, the postal reformer.
Thomas Wright Hill was brought up in the straitest-laced of Puritan sects66, and he has left a graphic67 description of the mode in which, as a small boy of seven, he passed each Sunday. The windows of the house, darkened by their closed outside shutters68, made mirrors in which he saw his melancholy69 little face reflected; his toys were put away; there were three chapel70 services, occupying in all some five and a half hours, to which he was taken, and the intervals71 between each were filled by long extempore prayers and sermon-reading at home, all week-day conversation being rigidly72 ruled out. The sabbatical observance commenced on Saturday night and terminated on Sunday evening with “a cheerful supper,” as though literally73 “the evening and the morning were the first day”—an arrangement which, coupled with the habit of bestowing74 not Christian75 but Hebrew names upon the children, gives colour to the oft-made allegation that our Puritan ancestors drew their inspiration from the Old rather than from the New Testament76. The only portion of these Sunday theological exercises which the poor little fellow really understood was the simple Bible teaching that the tenderly-loved mother gave to him and to his younger brother. While as a young man residing in Birmingham, however, he passed under the influence of Priestley, and became one of his most devoted77 disciples78, several of whom, at [Pg 7] the time of the disgraceful “Church and King” riots of 1791, volunteered to defend the learned doctor's house.[1] But Priestley declined all defence, and the volunteers retired80, leaving only young Tom, who would not desert his beloved master's threatened dwelling81. The Priestley family had found refuge elsewhere, but his disciple79 stayed alone in the twilight82 of the barred and shuttered house, which speedily fell a prey83 to its assailants. Our grandfather used often to tell us children of the events of those terrible days when the mob held the town at their mercy, and were seriously opposed only when, having destroyed so much property belonging to Nonconformity, they next turned their tireless energy towards Conformity's possessions. His affianced wife was as courageous86 as he, for when while driving in a friend's carriage through Birmingham's streets some of the rioters stopped the horses, and bade her utter the cry “Church and King,” she refused, and was suffered to pass on unmolested. Was it her bravery or her comeliness88, or both, that won for her immunity89 from harm?
ROWLAND HILL'S BIRTHPLACE, KIDDERMINSTER.
By permission of the Proprietors90 of the “Illustrated London News.”
The third son of this young couple, Rowland, the future postal reformer, first saw the light in a house at Kidderminster wherein his father was born, which had already sheltered some generations of Hills, and whose garden was the scene of the potato [Pg 8] story. The child was weakly, and, being threatened with spinal91 trouble, passed much of his infancy92 in a recumbent position. But the fragile form held a dauntless little soul, and the almost abnormally large brain behind the too pallid94 forehead was a very active one. As he lay prone95, playing with the toys his mother suspended to a cord stretched within easy reach above him; and, later, working out mental arithmetical problems, in which exercise he found delight, and to the weaving of alluring96 daydreams97, he presently fell to longing84 for some career—what it should be he knew not—that should leave his country the better for his having lived in it. The thoughts of boys are often, the poet tells us, “long, long thoughts,” but it is not given to every one to see those daydreams realised. Though what is boy (or girl) worth who has not at times entertained healthily ambitious longings98 for a great future?
As he grew stronger he presently came to help his father in the school the latter had established at Birmingham, in which his two elder brothers, aged19 fifteen and fourteen, were already at work. The family was far from affluent99, and its young members were well aware that on their own exertions100 depended their future success. For them there was no royal road to learning or to anything else; and even as children they learned to be self-reliant. From the age of twelve onwards, my father, indeed, was self-supporting. Like Chaucer's poor parson, the young Hill brothers learned while they taught, even sometimes while on their way to give a lesson, as did my father when on a several miles long walk to teach [Pg 9] an equally ignorant boy the art of Navigation; and perhaps because life had to be taken so seriously, they valued the hardly-acquired knowledge all the more highly. Their father early accustomed his children to discuss with him and with each other the questions of the time—a time which must always loom101 large in the history of our land. Though he mingled102 in the talk, “it was,” my Uncle Matthew said, “a match of mind against mind, in which the rules of fair play were duly observed; and we put forth our little strength without fear. The sword of authority was not thrown into the scale.... We were,” added the writer, “born to a burning hatred103 of tyranny.”[2] And no wonder, for in the early years of the last century tyranny was a living, active force.
If, to quote Blackstone, “punishment of unreasonable104 severity” with a view to “preventing crimes and amending105 the manners of a people” constitute a specific form of tyranny, the fact that in 1795, the year of Rowland Hill's birth, the pillory106, the stocks, and the whipping-post were still in use sufficiently107 attests108 this “unreasonable severity.” In March 1789, less than seven years before his birth, a yet more terrible punishment was still in force. A woman—the last thus “judicially murdered”—was burnt at the stake; and a writer in Notes and Queries109, of 21st September 1851, tells its readers that he was present on the occasion. Her offence was coining, and she was mercifully strangled before being executed. Women were burnt at the stake long after that awful death penalty was abolished in the case of the more favoured [Pg 10] sex. The savage111 cruelty of the criminal code at this time and later is also indicated by the fact that over 150 offences were punishable by death. Even in 1822, a date within the recollection of persons still living, and notwithstanding the efforts made by Sir Samuel Romilly and others to humanise that code, capital punishment was still terribly common. In that year, on two consecutive112 Monday mornings, my father, arriving by coach in London from Birmingham, passed within sight of Newgate. Outside its walls, on the first occasion, the horrified113 passengers counted nineteen bodies hanging in a row; on the second, twenty-one.
During my father's childhood and youth this country was almost constantly engaged in war. Within half a mile of my grandfather's house the forging of gun barrels went on all but incessantly114, the work beginning before dawn and lasting115 till long after nightfall. The scarcely-ending din13 of the hammers was varied116 only by the occasional rattle117 from the proof shed; and the shocks and jars had disastrous118 effect upon my grandmother's brewings of beer. Meanwhile “The Great Shadow,” graphically119 depicted120 by Sir A. Conan Doyle, was an actual dread43 that darkened our land for years. And the shadow of press-gang raids was a yet greater dread alike to the men who encountered them, sometimes to disappear for ever, and to the women who were frequently bereft121 of their bread-winners. It is, however, pleasant to remember that sometimes the would-be captors became the captured. A merchant vessel122 lying in quarantine in Southampton Water, [Pg 11] her yellow flag duly displayed, but hanging in the calm weather so limply that it was hardly observable, was boarded by a press-gang who thought to do a clever thing by impressing some of the sailors. These, seeing what was the invaders123' errand, let them come peaceably on deck, when the quarantine officer took possession of boat and gang, and detained both for six weeks.
For those whose means were small—a numerous class at that time—there was scant124 patronage125 of public conveyances126, such as they were. Thus the young Hill brothers had to depend on their own walking powers when minded to visit the world that lay beyond their narrow horizon. And to walking tours, often of great length, they were much given in holiday time, tours which took them to distant places of historic interest, of which Rowland brought back memorials in his sketch127 book. Beautiful, indeed, were the then green lanes of the Midlands, though here and there they were disfigured by the presence of some lonely gibbet, the chains holding its dismal128 “fruit” clanking mournfully in windy weather. Whenever it was possible, the wayfarer129 made a round to avoid passing the gruesome object.
One part of the country, lying between Birmingham and Wolverhampton, a lonely heath long since covered with factories and houses, known as the “Lie Waste,” was also not pleasant to traverse, though the lads occasionally had to do so. A small collection of huts of mud-and-wattle construction sheltered some of our native savages—for they were nothing else—whose like has happily long been “improved off the [Pg 12] face” of the land. These uncouth130 beings habitually131 and literally went “on all fours.” Whether the attitude was assumed in consequence of the low roofs of their dwellings132, or the outcasts chose that mode of progression in imitation of the animals which were their ordinary companions, history does not say, but they moved with wonderful celerity both in and out of doors. At sight of any passer-by they were apt to “rear,” and then oaths, obscene language, and missiles of whatever sort was handy would be their mildest greeting, while more formidable attack was likely to be the lot of those who ventured too near their lairs133. Among these people the Hill boys often noticed a remarkably134 handsome girl, as great a savage as the rest.
As the three elder brothers grew well into their teens, much of the school government fell to their lot, always with the parental135 sanction, and ere long it was changed in character, and became a miniature republic.[3] Trial by jury for serious offences was instituted, the judge being my grandfather or one of his sons, and the jury the culprit's fellow-pupils. Corporal punishment, then perhaps universal in schools, was abolished, and the lads, being treated as reasonable creatures, early learned to be a self-respecting because a self-governing community. The system, which in this restricted space cannot be described in detail, was pre-eminently a success, [Pg 13] since it turned out pupils who did it and themselves credit. “All the good I ever learned was learned at Hazelwood,” I once heard say a cheery old clergy-man, probably one of the last surviving “boys.” The teaching was efficiently137 carried on, and the development of individual talent was wisely encouraged, the pupils out of school hours being allowed to exercise the vocation138 to which each was inclined, or which, owing to this practice, was discovered in each. Thus in boyhood Follet Osler, the inventor of the anemometer and other scientific instruments, was enabled to bring to light those mechanical abilities which, till he exhibited their promise during his hours of voluntary work, were unsuspected even by his nearest of kin24. Again, Thomas Creswick, R.A., found an outlet139 for his love of art in drawing, though, being a very little fellow when he began, some of these studies—of public buildings in Birmingham—were very funny, the perspective generally having the “Anglo-Saxon” peculiarities140, and each edifice141 being afflicted142 with a “list” out of the perpendicular143 as pronounced as that of Pisa's leaning tower—or nearly so.
The fame of the “Hazelwood system” spread afar, and many of our then most distinguished fellow-countrymen visited the school. Among the rest, Bentham gave it his hearty144 approval; and Captain Basil Hall, the writer of once popular books for boys, spoke145 of the evident existence of friendly terms between masters and pupils, declared the system to be “a curious epitome146 of real life,” and added that the boys were not converted into little men, but [Pg 14] remained boys, only with heads and hands fully110 employed on topics they liked.
Visitors also came from foreign lands. Bernadotte's son, Prince Oscar, afterwards first king of Sweden of that name, travelled to Hazelwood, examined the novel system, and, later, established at Stockholm a “Hillska Scola.” From France, among other people, came M. Jullien, once secretary to Robespierre—what thrilling tales of the Great Revolution must he not have been able to tell!—and afterwards a wise philanthropist and eminent136 writer on education. He sent a son to Hazelwood. President Jefferson, when organising the University of Virginia, asked for a copy of “Public Education,”[4] the work describing the system and the joint147 production of Rowland, who found the ideas, Matthew, who supplied the composition, and, as regards a few suggestions, of a younger brother, Arthur. Greece, Spain, far-off Mexico even, in course of time sent pupils either to Hazelwood or to Bruce Castle, Tottenham, to which then picturesque148 and somewhat remote London suburb the school was ultimately transferred. “His Excellency, the Tripolitan Ambassador,” wrote my father in his diary of 1823, “has informed us that he has sent to Tripoli for six young Africans; and the Algerine Ambassador, not to be outdone by his piratical brother, has sent for a dozen from Algiers.”[5] Happily, neither contingent149 [Pg 15] put in an appearance. In both cases the enthusiasm evoked150 seems to have been short-lived.
BRUCE CASTLE SCHOOL, TOTTENHAM.
By permission of Messrs. De La Rue11.
An old Hazelwood pupil, Mr E. Edwards, in his written sketch of “Sir Rowland Hill,” said of the school that no similar establishment “in the world, probably at that time, contained such an array of costly151 models, instruments, apparatus152, and books. There was an observatory153 upon the top of the house fitted with powerful astronomical154 instruments. The best microscopes obtainable were at hand. Models of steam and other engines were all over the place. Air-pumps and electrical machines were familiar objects. Maps, then comparatively rare, lined the walls. Drawing and mathematical instruments were provided in profusion155. Etching was taught, and a copper156 press was there for printing the pupils' efforts in that way. A lithographic press and stones of various sizes were provided, so that the young artists might print copies of their drawings to send to their admiring relatives. Finally, a complete printing press with ample founts of type was set up to enable the boys themselves to print a monthly magazine connected with the school and its doings.” Other attractions were a well fitted-up carpenter's shop; a band, the musicians being the pupils; the training of the boys in vocal157 music; a theatre in which the [Pg 16] manager, elocution teacher, scene painter, etc., were the young Hill brothers, the costumière their sister Caroline, and the actors the pupils; the control of a sum of money for school purposes; and the use of a metallic158 coinage received as payment for the voluntary work already mentioned, and by which certain privileges could be purchased.[6]
My grandfather inspired his sons and pupils with a longing to acquire knowledge, at the same time so completely winning their hearts by his good comradeship, that they readily joined him in the long and frequent walks of which he was fond, and in the course of which his walking stick was wont159 to serve to make rough drawings of problems, etc., in road or pathway. “His mathematical explanations,” wrote another old pupil in the “Essays of a Birmingham Manufacturer” (W. L. Sargent), “were very clear; and he looked at the bearings of every subject irrespective of its conventionalities. His definition of a straight line has been said to be the best in existence.”[7]
THOMAS WRIGHT HILL.
By permission of Messrs. Thos. De La Rue.
[Pg 17]
In my father's “Life,” Dr Birkbeck Hill, when writing of his recollections of our grandfather, said that it seemed “as if the aged man were always seated in perpetual sunshine. How much of the brightness and warmth must have come from his own cheerful temperament160?... His Sunday morning breakfasts live in the memory like a landscape of Claude's.” At these entertainments the old man would sit in his easy-chair, at the head of the largest table the house could boast, in a circle of small, adoring grandchildren, the intervening, severe generation being absent; and of all the joyous161 crowd his perhaps was the youngest heart. There were other feasts, those of reason and the flow of soul, with which he also delighted his young descendants: stories of the long struggle in the revolted “American Colonies,” of the Great French Revolution, and of other interesting historical dramas which he could well remember, and equally well describe.
His old pupils would come long distances to see him; and on one occasion several of them subscribed162 to present him with a large telescope, bearing on it a graven tribute of their affectionate regard. This greatly prized gift was in use till within a short time of his last illness.
Young Rowland had a strong bent93 towards art, as he showed when, at the age of thirteen, he won the prize, a handsome box of water-colour paints, offered by the proprietor of the London School Magazine for “the best original landscape drawing by the youth of all England, under the age of sixteen.” He painted the scenery for the school theatre, and made many [Pg 18] water-colour sketches163 in different parts of our island, his style much resembling that of David Cox. He was an admirer of Turner long before Ruskin “discovered” that great painter; and, as his diary shows, marvelled164 at the wondrous165 rendering166 of atmospheric167 effects exhibited in his idol's pictures. Nearly all my father's scenery and sketches perished in a fire which partially168 burnt down Hazelwood School; and few are now in existence. After the age of seventeen he gave up painting, being far too busy to devote time to art, but he remained a picture-lover to the end of his days. Once during the long war with France he had an adventure which might have proved serious. He was sketching170 Dover Castle, when a soldier came out of the fortress171 and told him to cease work. Not liking172 the man's manner, the youthful artist went on painting unconcernedly. Presently a file of soldiers, headed by a corporal, appeared, and he was peremptorily173 ordered to withdraw. Then the reason for the interference was revealed: he was taken for a spy. My father at once laid aside his brush; he had no wish to be shot.
In 1835 Rowland Hill resigned to a younger brother, Arthur,[8] the head-mastership of Bruce Castle [Pg 19] School, and accepted the post of secretary to the Colonisation Commissioners175 for South Australia, whose chairman was Colonel Torrens.[9] Another commissioner174 was John Shaw Lefevre, later a famous speaker of the House of Commons, who, as Lord Eversley, lived to a patriarchal age. But the prime mover in the scheme for colonising this portion of the “Island Continent” was that public-spirited man, Edward Gibbon Wakefield. William IV. took much interest in the project, and stipulated176 that the chief city should bear the name of his consort—Adelaide.
The Commissioners were capable men, and were ably assisted by the South Australian Company, which much about the same time was started mainly through the exertions of Mr G. F. Angas. Among the many excellent rules laid down by the Commissioners was one which insisted on the making of [Pg 20] a regular and efficient survey both of the emigrant177 ships and of the food they carried. As sailing vessels178 were then the only transports, the voyage lasted several months, and the comfort of the passengers was of no small importance. “When,” said my father in his diary, “defects and blemishes179 were brought to light by the accuracy of the survey, and the stipulated consequences enforced, an outcry arose as if the connection between promise and performance were an unheard-of and most unwarrantable innovation. After a time, however, as our practice became recognised, evasive attempts grew rare, the first expense being found to be the least.” He often visited the port of departure, and witnessed the shipping180 off of the emigrants—always an interesting occasion, and one which gave opportunities of personal supervision181 of matters. Being once at Plymouth, my mother and he boarded a vessel about to sail for the new colony. Among the passengers was a bright young Devonian, apparently182 an agriculturist; and my father, observing him, said to my mother: “I feel sure that man will do well.” The remark was overheard, but the Devonian made no sign. He went to Australia poor, and returned wealthy, bought an estate close to his birth-place which was in the market, and there settled. But before sailing hither, he bought at one of the Adelaide banks the finest one of several gold nuggets there displayed, and, armed with this, presented himself at my father's house, placed his gift in my mother's hand, and told how the casual remark made forty years before had helped to spur him on to success.
[Pg 21]
The story of Rowland Hill and a mysteriously vanished rotatory printing press may be told here.
In 1790 Mr William Nicholson devised a scheme for applying to ordinary type printing the already established process of printing calico by revolving183 cylinders184. The impressions were to be taken from his press upon successive sheets of paper, as no means of producing continuous rolls had as yet been invented; but the machine worked far from satisfactorily, and practically came to nothing. A quarter of a century later Mr Edward Cowper applied186 Nicholson's idea to stereotype187 plates bent to a cylindrical188 surface. But till the advent169 of “Hill's machine” (described at the Patent Office as “A.D. 1835, No. 6762”) all plans for fixing movable types on a cylinder185 had failed. It is therefore incontestable that the first practical scheme of printing on a continuous roll of paper by revolving cylinders was invented and set to work by Rowland Hill in the year named. The machine was intended mainly for the rapid printing of newspapers, but the refusal of the Treasury189 to allow an arrangement by which the Government stamp could be affixed190 by an ingenious mechanical device as the scroll191 passed through the press—a refusal withdrawn192 later—deferred for many years the introduction of any rotatory printing machine.
The apparatus was kept at my Uncle Matthew's chambers193 in Chancery Lane, and was often shown to members of the trade and others. Although driven by hand only, it threw off impressions at the rate of 7,000 or 8,000 an hour, a much higher speed than [Pg 22] that hitherto attained194 by any other machine. But from 1836 onwards my father's attention was almost wholly taken up with his postal reform, and it was only after his retirement195 from the Post Office in 1864 that his mind reverted196 to the subject of the printing press. Several years before the latter date his brother had left London; but of the rotatory printing machine, bulky and ponderous197 as it was, a few small odds198 and ends—afterwards exhibited at the Caxton Exhibition in 1877—alone remained.
In 1866 the once well-known “Walter Press” was first used in the Times office. Of this machine my father has said that “except as regards the apparatus for cutting and distributing the printed sheets, and excepting further that the 'Walter Press' (entered at the Patent Office as “A.D. 1866, No. 3222”) is only adapted for printing from stereotype plates, while mine would not only print from stereotype plates, but, what is more difficult, from movable types also, the two machines are almost identical. ” He added that “the enormous difficulty of bringing a complex machine into practical use—a difficulty familiar to every inventor—has been most successfully overcome by Messrs Calverley and Macdonald, the patentees.”
By whom and through what agency the machine patented in 1835 was apparently transported from Chancery Lane to Printing House Square is a mystery which at this distant date is hardly likely to be made clear.
It has always been a tradition in our family that the courtship between Rowland Hill and Caroline [Pg 23] Pearson began when their united ages amounted to eleven years only, the boy being by twelve months the elder. The families on both sides lived at the time at Wolverhampton, and the first kiss is said to have been exchanged inside a large culvert which crossed beneath the Tettenhall Road in the neighbourhood of the Hills' house, and served to conduct a tiny rivulet199, apt in wet weather to become a swollen200 stream, into its chosen channel on the other side the way. The boy delighted to creep within this shelter—often dry in summer—and listen to the rumbling201 overhead of the passing vehicles. Noisy, ponderous wains some of these were, with wheels of great width and strength, and other timbers in like proportion; but to the small listener the noisier the more enjoyable. These wains have long vanished from the roads they helped to wear out, the railway goods trains having superseded202 them, although of late years the heavy traction45 engines, often drawing large trucks after them, seem likely to occupy the place filled by their forgotten predecessors203. Little Rowland naturally wished to share the enchanting204 treat with “Car,” as he generally called his new friend, and hand in hand the “wee things” set off one day to the Tettenhall Road. Many years later the elderly husband made a sentimental205 journey to the spot, and was amazed at the culvert's apparent shrinkage in size. Surely, a most prosaic206 spot for the beginning of a courtship!
The father of this little girl was Joseph Pearson, a man held in such high esteem207 by his fellow-citizens that after the passing of the great Reform Bill in 1832 he was asked to become one of [Pg 24] Wolverhampton's first two members.[10] He was, however, too old for the wear and tear of Parliamentary life, though when the General Election came on he threw himself with all his accustomed zeal208 into the struggle, and was, as a consequence, presently laid up with a temporary ailment209, which caused one of his political foes210 to declare that “If Mr Pearson's gout would only last three weeks longer we might get our man in.” These words coming to Mr Pearson's ears, he rose from his sick-bed, gout or no gout, and plunged211 afresh into the fray212, with so much energy that “we” did not “get our man in,” but the other side did.
[Pg 25]
“He was,” once said a many years old friend, “conspicuous213 for his breadth of mind, kindness of heart, and public spirit.” He hated the cruel sports common in his time, and sought unceasingly to put them down. One day, while passing the local bull-ring, he saw a crowd of rough miners and others preparing to bait a bull. He at once strode into their midst, liberated214 the animal, pulled up or broke off the stake, and carried it away on his shoulder. Was it his pluck, or his widespread popularity that won the forbearance of the semi-savage by-standers? At any rate, not a hostile finger was laid upon him. Meanwhile, he remembered that if brutalising pastimes are put down, it is but right that better things should be set in their place. Thus the local Mechanics' Institute, British Schools, Dispensary, and other beneficent undertakings215, including rational sports for every class, owed their origin chiefly to him; and, aided by his friend John Mander, and by the Rev. John Carter, a poor, hard-working Catholic priest, he founded the Wolverhampton Free Library.
Joseph Pearson was one of the most hospitable216 and genial60 of men, and, for his time, a person of some culture. He detested cliques217 and coteries218, those paralysing products of small provincial towns, and would have naught219 to do with them. Men of great variety of views met round his dinner-table, and whenever it seemed necessary he would preface the repast with the request that theology and politics should be avoided. With his Catholic neighbours—Staffordshire was a stronghold of the “Old Religion” [Pg 26]—the sturdy Nonconformist was on the happiest of terms, and to listen to the conversation of the often well-travelled, well-educated priests was to him a never-failing pleasure. For Catholic Emancipation220 he strove heartily221 and long. With all sects he was friendly, but chiefly his heart went out to those who in any way had suffered for their faith. One effect of this then not too common breadth of view was seen when, after his death, men of all denominations222 followed him to his grave, and the handsomest of the several journalistic tributes to his memory appeared in the columns of his inveterate223 political and theological opponent, the local Tory paper. A ward85 in the Hospital and a street were called after the whilom “king of Wolverhampton.”[11]
JOSEPH PEARSON.
From a Photograph by Messrs. Whiteley & Co.
The bust224 was the last work of Sir Francis Chantry.
He had three daughters, of whom my mother was the eldest225. His wife died young, and before her sixteenth year Caroline became mistress of his house, and thus acquired the ease of manner and knowledge of social duties which made of her the charming hostess who, in later years, presided over her husband's London house. She will make a brief reappearance in other pages of this work.
Joseph Pearson's youngest daughter, Clara, was a beautiful girl, a frequent “toast” at social gatherings226 in the three counties of Stafford, Warwick, and Worcester—for toasts in honour of reigning227 belles228 were still drunk at festivities in provincial Assembly Rooms and elsewhere, what time the nineteenth century was in its teens. When very young she [Pg 27] became engaged to her cousin, Lieutenant229 (afterwards Captain) Alexander Pearson, R.N., who at the time of Napoleon's sojourn230 at St Helena was stationed there, being attached to the man-of-war commanded by Admiral Plampin. One gift which Lieutenant Pearson gave my aunt she kept to the end of her life—a lock of Napoleon's hair. Lieutenant Pearson often saw the ex-Emperor, and, many years after, described him to us children—how, for instance, he would stand, silent and with folded arms, gazing long and fixedly231 seaward as though waiting for the rescue which never came. The lieutenant was one of the several young naval232 officers who worshipped at the shrine233 of the somewhat hoydenish234 Miss “Betsy” Balcombe, who comes into most stories of St. Helena of that time. Wholly unabashed by consideration of the illustrious captive's former greatness, she made of him a playmate—perhaps a willing one, for life must have been terribly dreary235 to one whose occupation, like that of Othello, was gone. Occasionally she shocked her hearers by addressing the ex-Emperor as “Boney,” though it is possible that the appellation236 so frequently heard in the mouths of his British enemies had no osseous association in his own ears, but was accepted as an endearing diminutive237. One day, in the presence of several witnesses, our cousin being among them, she possessed herself of a sword, flourished it playfully before her, hemmed238 Napoleon into a corner, and, holding the blade above his head, laughingly exclaimed: “Maintenant j'ai vaincu le vanqueur du monde!” But there was no answering laugh; the [Pg 28] superstitious239 Corsican turned pale, made some short, unintelligible240 reply, left the room, and was depressed241 and taciturn for the rest of the day. It was surmised242 that he took the somewhat tactless jest for an omen10 that a chief who had been beaten by a woman would never again lead an army of men.
During Rowland Hill's prime, and until the final breakdown243 of his health, our house was a favourite haunt of the more intimate of his many clever friends. Scientific, medical, legal, artistic244, literary, and other prominent men met, exchanged views, indulged in deep talk, bandied repartee245, and told good stories at breakfast and dinner parties; the economists246 mustering247 in force, and plainly testifying by their bearing and conversation that, whatever ignorant people may say of the science they never study, its professors are often the very reverse of dismal. If Dr Southwood Smith[12] and Mr (later Sir Edwin) Chadwick's talk at times ran gruesomely on details of “intramural interment,” the former, at least, had much quaint248 humour, and was deservedly popular; while Dr Neil Arnott, whose chief hobbies were fabled249 to be those sadly prosaic things, stoves, water-beds, and ventilation, but who was actually a distinguished physician, natural philosopher, author, and traveller, was even, when long past sixty, one of the gayest and youngest of our guests: a mimic250, but never an ill-natured one, a spinner of amusing yarns251, and frankly252 idolised by the juvenile253 members of the family whose minds he mercifully never attempted to improve.
[Pg 29]
Charles Wentworth Dilke,[13] founder254 of the Athen?um newspaper, a famous journalist and influential255 man of letters, at whose house one met every writer, to say nothing of other men and women, worth knowing, was another charming old man, to listen to whose talk was a liberal education. Did we walk with him on Hampstead Heath, where once he had a country house, he became an animated256 guide-book guiltless of a dull page, telling us of older times than our own, and of dead and gone worthies257 who had been guests at “Wentworth House.” On this much worn, initial-carven, wooden seat used often to sit Keats listening to the nightingales, and, maybe, thinking of Fanny Brawne. At another spot the weakly-framed poet had soundly thrashed a British rough who was beating his wife. Across yonder footpath258 used to come from Highgate “the archangel a little damaged,” as Charles Lamb called Coleridge. At that road corner, in a previous century, were wont to gather the visitors returning from the Well Walk “pump-room,” chalybeate spring, and promenade259, till they were in sufficient force to be safe from highwaymen or footpads who frequented the then lonely road to London. In a yet earlier century certain gallant260 Spanish gentlemen attached to Philip and Mary's court, rescued some English ladies from molestation261 by English ruffians; and memorials of this episode live in the still traceable circle of trees whose predecessors were planted by [Pg 30] the grateful ladies, and in the name of the once quaint old hostelry hard by, and of the road known as the Spaniards.
Another wanderer about Hampstead's hills and dales was the great Thackeray, who was often accompanied by some of the family of Mr Crowe, a former editor of the Daily News, and father to Eyre Crowe, R.A., and Sir Joseph Archer262 Crowe. These wanderings seem to have suggested a few of the names bestowed263 by Thackeray on the characters in his novels, such as “Jack Belsize” and “Lord Highgate,” while the title of “Marquess of Steyne” is reminiscent of another Thackerayan haunt—“Dr” Brighton. Hampstead still better knew Dickens, who is mentioned later in these pages. The two writers are often called rivals; yet novels and men were wholly unlike. Each was a peerless genius in his own line, and each adorned264 any company in which he moved. Yet, while Dickens was the life and soul of every circle, Thackeray—perhaps the only male novelist who could draw a woman absolutely true to life[14]—always struck us as rather silent and self-absorbed, like one who is studying the people around him with a view to their reproduction in as yet unwritten pages. His six feet of height and proportionate breadth, his wealth of grey hair, and the spectacles he was said never to be seen without, made of him a notable figure everywhere. Yet, however outwardly awe-inspiring, he was the [Pg 31] kindliest of satirists, the truest of friends, and has been fitly described as “the man who had the heart of a woman.”[15] At the Athen?um Club he was often seen writing by the hour together in some quiet corner, evidently unconscious of his surroundings, at times enjoying a voiceless laugh, or again, perhaps when telling of Colonel Newcome's death, with “a moisture upon his cheek which was not dew.”
Another literary friend—we had many—was William Henry Wills, also mentioned later: a kind friend to struggling authors, who did not a little to start Miss Mulock on her career as authoress, and who made her known to us. He once told us a curious story about an old uncle with whom as a lad he used to stay in the days before the invasion of the west country by railways with their tendency to modernisation of out-of-the-way places. This ancient man lived in a large ancestral mansion265, and literally “dined in hall” with his entire household. There was a sanded floor—formerly, no doubt, rush-strewn—and the family and their “retainers” sat down together at a very long table to the midday repast, the servants taking their place literally “below the salt,” which was represented by a large bowl filled with that necessary concomitant. In how many other country houses did this medi?val custom last into the first third of the nineteenth century?[16] Mrs Wills—only sister to the Chambers brothers, William and Robert, who, together with our other publisher friend, [Pg 32] Charles Knight266, did so much to cheapen the cost and in every way to raise the tone of literature—was, in addition to possessing great charm of manner, an admirable amateur actress, and an unrivalled singer of Scottish songs.
Hampstead, midway in the nineteenth century, was still a picturesque little town, possessed of several stately old houses—one known as Sir Harry267 Vane's—whose gardens were in some cases entered through tall, wide, iron gates of elaborate design which now would be accounted priceless. It was still the resort of artists, many of whom visited the pleasant house of Edwin Wilkins Field, conspicuous among the public-spirited men who rescued from the builder-fiend the Heath, and made of it a London “lung” and a joy for ever; himself a lawyer, the inspirer of the Limited Liability Act, and an accomplished268 amateur water-colour painter. His first wife was a niece of Rogers, the banker-poet, famous for his breakfast parties and table talk. At Mr Field's house we came first to know Clarkson Stanfield, R.A., the famous sea-scape painter, and his family, who were musical as well as artistic, and gave delightful269 parties. It was said that Stanfield was familiar with the build and rig of a ship down to its minutest detail, because he and his lifelong friend and fellow Royal Academician, David Roberts, ran away from school together to sea at a time when life on the ocean wave seemed to most [Pg 33] boys the ideal existence. To the last, Stanfield looked like an old sea-dog, and was bluff270, hearty and genial. Hampstead still remembers him with pride; and “Stanfield House,” wherein the first really good local Free Library was sheltered, is so called because for nearly twenty years it was his dwelling.
At the Fields' house, among other celebrities271, artistic, literary and legal, we also met Turner; and it was to “Squire's Mount,” and at a crowded evening party there that a characteristic anecdote272 of this eccentric, gifted painter belongs. The taciturn, gloomy-looking guest had taken an early farewell of host and hostess, and disappeared, only to return some minutes later, wonderfully and fearfully apparelled, and silently commence a search about the drawing-room. Suddenly he seemed to recollect38, approached a sofa on which sat three handsomely-attired ladies, whose indignant countenances273 were a sight for gods and men when the abruptly-mannered artist called on them to rise. He then half dived beneath the seat, drew forth a dreadfully shabby umbrella of the “Gamp” species, and, taking no more notice of the irate274 three than if they had been so many chairs, withdrew—this time for good. Turner had a hearty contempt for the Claude worship, and was resolved to expose its hollowness. He bequeathed to the nation two of his finest oil paintings on condition that they were placed in the Trafalgar Square Gallery beside two of Claude's which already hung there, and to this day act as foils. A custodian275 of the Gallery once told me that he was present when Turner visited the room in which were [Pg 34] the two Claudes, took a foot-rule from his pocket and measured their frames, doubtless in order that his own should be of like dimensions.
Other artists whom we knew were Mulready, Cooke—as famous for his splendid collection of old Venetian glass as for his pictures—Creswick and Elmore; but much as Rowland Hill loved art, the men of science, such as Airy, the Astronomer276 Royal; Smyth, the “Astronomical Admiral”; Wheatstone, Lyell; Graham, the Master of the Mint; Sabine, the Herschels, and others were to him the most congenial company. After them were counted in his regard the medical men, philosophers and economists, such as Harley, Coulson, Fergusson, the Clarkes, Sir Henry Thompson—the last to die of his old friends—and Bentham, Robert Owen, James and John Stuart Mill—these last four being among the earliest great men he knew, and counting in some ways as his mentors277.
Of his literary friends no two held a higher place in his esteem than Maria Edgeworth and Harriet Martineau. Of the latter and of her able, untiring help in promoting the cause of Penny Postage, mention will appear later. The former, my father, and his brother Arthur, as young men, visited at her Irish home, making the pilgrimage thither278 which Scott and many other literary adorers had made or were destined to make, one of the most interesting being that of Mrs. Richmond Ritchie, Thackeray's daughter, of which she tells us in her editorial preface to a recent edition of “Castle Rackrent.” The two brothers had looked forward to meet a charming woman, but she exceeded [Pg 35] their expectations, and the visit remained in the memory of both as a red-letter day.[17]
Among literary men, besides those already mentioned, or to be named later, were Leigh Hunt, De Quincey—who when under the influence of opium279 did the strangest things, being one day discovered by my father and a friend hiding in some East End slum under the wholly erroneous impression that “enemies” were seeking to molest87 him—Sir John Bowring, Dr Roget, author of “The Thesaurus,” and the Kinglakes. “Eothen,” as the writer of that once famous book of travels and of “The Invasion of the Crimea,” was habitually called by his friends, was a delightful talker; and his brother, the doctor, was equally gifted, if less fluent, while his sister was declared by Thackeray to be the cleverest woman he ever met.
Dr Roget was a most cultivated man, with the exquisite280 polish and stately bearing of that now wholly extinct species, the gentlemen of the old school. He was one of the many tourists from England who, happening to be in France after the break-up of the short-lived Peace of Amiens, were detained in that country by Napoleon. Though a foreigner, Dr Roget had lived so long in England, and, as his book proves, knew our language so well, that he could easily have passed for a native of these isles281; and thus readily fell a victim to the Corsican's [Pg 36] unjustifiable action. Happily for himself, Dr Roget remembered that Napoleon had recently annexed282 Geneva to France; and he therefore, as a Genevese, protested against his detention283 on the ground that the annexation284 had made of him a French subject. The plea was allowed; he returned to England, and finally settled here; but the friend who had accompanied him on the tour, together with the many other détenus, remained in France for several years.
Political friends were also numerous, some of whom will be mentioned in later pages. Of others, our most frequent visitors were the brilliant talker Roebuck, once known as “Dog Tear 'Em” of the House of Commons; the two Forsters, father and son, who, in turn and for many years, represented Berwick-upon-Tweed; J. B. Smith (Stockport); and Benjamin Smith (Norwich), at whose house we met some of the arctic explorers of the mid-nineteenth century, congenial friends of a descendant of the discoverer of Smith's Sound, and with whose clever daughters, Madame Bodichon being the eldest, we of the younger generation were intimate. At one time we saw a good deal also of Sir Benjamin Hawes, who, when appointed Under-Secretary to the Colonies in Lord John Russell's Administration of 1846, said to my parents: “Heaven help the Colonies, for I know nothing at all about them!”—an ignorance shared by many other people in those days of seldom distant travel.
My father's legal friends included Denman, Wilde, Mellor, Manning, Brougham, and others; and racy was the talk when some of these gathered round “the [Pg 37] mahogany tree,” for the extremely small jokes which to-day produce “roars of laughter” in Court were then little in favour, or failed to reach the honour of reproduction in print.
Quite as interesting as any of the other people we mingled with were the foreign political exiles who became honoured guests in many households; and some of these terrible revolutionists were in reality the mildest mannered and most estimable of men. Herr Jansa, the great violinist, was paying a visit to this country in 1849, and out of pure kindness of heart volunteered to play at a concert at Willis's rooms got up for the benefit of the many Hungarian refugees recently landed here. For this “crime” the then young Emperor Francis Joseph caused the old man to be banished285; though what was Austria's loss was Britain's gain, as he spent some years among us respected and beloved by all who knew him. We met him oftenest at the house of Sir Joshua Walmsley, where, as Miss Walmsley was an accomplished pianist, very enjoyable musical parties were given. The Hungarian refugees, several of whom were wonderful musicians, were long with us; and some, like Dr Zerffi, remained here altogether. The Italian exiles, Mazzini, Rufini, Gallenga, Panizzi—afterwards Sir Antonio, Principal Librarian at the British Museum, and planner of the Reading Room there—and others came to speak and write English better than many English people. Poerio, Settembrini, and other victims of King “Bomba”—whose sufferings inspired Gladstone to write his famous “Two Letters”—were not here long; Garibaldi was an infrequent bird of [Pg 38] passage, as was also Kossuth. Kinkel, the German journalist, a man of fine presence, had been sentenced to lifelong incarceration286 at Spandau after the Berlin massacre—from which Dr Oswald and his sister with difficulty escaped—but cleverly broke prison and took refuge in England; Louis Blanc, historian and most diminutive of men, made his home for some years among us; and there were many more. Quite a variety of languages was heard in the London drawing-rooms of that time, conversation was anything but commonplace; and what thrillingly interesting days those were!
The story of my father's connection with the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway, and of that portion of his life which followed his retirement from the Post Office, will be alluded287 to later in this work.
As it is well not to overburden the narrative288 with notes, those of mere289 reference to volume and page of Dr Hill's “Life” of my father are generally omitted from the present story; though if verification of statements made be required, the index to my cousin's book should render the task easy, at least as regards all matter taken from that “Life.”
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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possessed
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lining
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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din
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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baker
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squire
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worthy
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aged
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lessened
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dispensed
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languished
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boycotted
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kin
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denizen
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pointed
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innovator
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withered
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amazement
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plentiful
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rev
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orphan
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wedlock
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detested
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guardians
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fugitive
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remains
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recollect
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superstitions
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boors
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demonstration
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sanity
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dread
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cholera
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traction
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inflexibly
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obstinate
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creed
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layman
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requisite
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proficient
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ordeal
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collateral
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distinguished
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wreck
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recluse
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provincial
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herd
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genial
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bequests
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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63
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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64
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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65
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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66
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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67
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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68
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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69
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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70
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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71
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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72
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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73
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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74
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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75
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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76
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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77
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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78
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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79
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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80
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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81
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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82
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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83
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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84
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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85
ward
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|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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86
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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87
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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88
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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89
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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90
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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91
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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92
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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93
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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94
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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95
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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96
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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97
daydreams
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| n.白日梦( daydream的名词复数 )v.想入非非，空想( daydream的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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99
affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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100
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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101
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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102
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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103
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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104
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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105
amending
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| 改良，修改，修订( amend的现在分词 )； 改良，修改，修订( amend的第三人称单数 )( amends的现在分词 ) | |
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106
pillory
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| n.嘲弄；v.使受公众嘲笑；将…示众 | |
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107
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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108
attests
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| v.证明( attest的第三人称单数 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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109
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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110
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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111
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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112
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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113
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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114
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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115
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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116
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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117
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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118
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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119
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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120
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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121
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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122
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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123
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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124
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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125
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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126
conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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127
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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128
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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129
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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130
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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131
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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132
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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133
lairs
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| n.（野兽的）巢穴，窝( lair的名词复数 )；（人的）藏身处 | |
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134
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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135
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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136
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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137
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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138
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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139
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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140
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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141
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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142
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
perpendicular
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|
| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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144
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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145
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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146
epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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147
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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148
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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149
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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150
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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151
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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152
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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153
observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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154
astronomical
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| adj.天文学的，（数字）极大的 | |
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155
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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156
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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157
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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158
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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159
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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160
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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161
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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162
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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163
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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164
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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166
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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167
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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168
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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169
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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170
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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171
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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172
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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173
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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174
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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175
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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176
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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177
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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178
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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179
blemishes
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| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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180
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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181
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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182
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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183
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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184
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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185
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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186
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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187
stereotype
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| n.固定的形象，陈规，老套，旧框框 | |
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188
cylindrical
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| adj.圆筒形的 | |
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189
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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190
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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191
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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192
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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193
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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194
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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195
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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196
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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197
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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198
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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199
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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200
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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201
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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202
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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203
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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204
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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205
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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206
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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207
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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208
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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209
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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210
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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211
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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212
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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213
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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214
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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215
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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216
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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217
cliques
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| n.小集团，小圈子，派系( clique的名词复数 ) | |
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218
coteries
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| n.（有共同兴趣的）小集团( coterie的名词复数 ) | |
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219
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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220
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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221
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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222
denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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223
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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224
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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225
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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226
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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227
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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228
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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229
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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230
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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231
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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232
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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233
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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234
hoydenish
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| adj.顽皮的，爱嬉闹的，男孩子气的 | |
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235
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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236
appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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237
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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238
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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239
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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240
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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241
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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242
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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243
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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244
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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245
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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246
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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247
mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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248
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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249
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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250
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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251
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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252
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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253
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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254
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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255
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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256
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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257
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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258
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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259
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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260
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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261
molestation
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| n.骚扰，干扰，调戏；折磨 | |
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262
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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263
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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264
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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265
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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266
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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267
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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268
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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269
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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270
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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271
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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272
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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273
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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274
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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275
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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276
astronomer
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| n.天文学家 | |
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277
mentors
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| n.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的名词复数 )v.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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278
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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279
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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280
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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281
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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282
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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283
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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284
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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285
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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286
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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287
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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288
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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289
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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