He looked at me gravely a moment, and said: "Now see here! I'm not as black as I am painted."—"And I," said the bishop, "am sorry, sorry, to find the wife of my good friend, the general, willing to remember things past and gone forever."
"Well," said General Sherman, "if she doesn't forbid me the house, I should like to call on General Pryor! I'm told they have the cosiest6 little home in New York."
He did call, and so did his charming daughter, Rachel, whom I liked, and hope I made my friend.
As to the "reading"—Mrs. Botta, Mrs. Bettner, the two great ones and my own small self were the major part of the audience,—fit though few,—but I must confess that no occasion could have been to me fraught7 with more interest, more significance. My thoughts rushed back to the time when the man before me had marched through an unhappy Southern state without even a wheelbarrow to intercept8 his way, when all laws of civilized9 warfare10 were sent to the winds, and the women and children, in a belt sixty miles wide, were plundered11 and driven from their homes; returning, after he had passed, to weep over the blackened plains he left behind him. In his official report of his operations in Georgia he said: "We consumed the corn and fodder12 in the region thirty miles on either side, from Atlanta to Savannah, also the sweet potatoes, hogs13, sheep, and poultry14, and carried off more than ten thousand horses and mules15. I estimated the damage done to 402the state of Georgia at one hundred millions of dollars, at least twenty millions of which inured16 to our benefit, and the remainder was simply waste and destruction."[8] But the blame for this pillage17 must be placed higher than the shoulders of General Sherman.
On December 18, 1863, Major-general Halleck thus instructed him: "Should you capture Charleston, I hope by some accident the place may be destroyed, and if a little salt should be sown on the site, it might prevent the growth of future crops of nullification and treason."
Sherman replied December 24, 1863:—
"I will bear in mind your hint as to Charleston, and do not think 'salt' will be necessary. When I move, the Fifteenth Corps18 will be on the right of the right wing, and their position will naturally bring them to Charleston first,—and if you have watched the history of that corps, you will have remarked that they generally do their work pretty well. The truth is, the whole army is burning with an insatiable desire to wreak19 vengeance20 upon South Carolina. I almost tremble at her fate, but feel she deserves all that seems in store."
A solid wall of smoke by day, forty miles wide and from the horizon to the zenith, gave notice to the women and children of the fate that was moving on them. All day they watched it—all night it was lit up by forked tongues of flame lighting21 the lurid22 darkness. The next morning it reached them. Terror borne on the air, fleet as the furies spread out ahead, and murder, arson23, rapine, enveloped24 them. 403
Mrs. Vincenzo Botta.
But why repeat the story? This was war, war that spares not the graybeard, childhood, aged25 women, holy nuns—nobody! Not upon one only does the responsibility for such crimes rest. Nor is it for us to desire, or mete26 out, an adequate punishment. The Great Judge "will repay"—unless, as I humbly27 pray, He has forgiven, as we have forgiven, and I trust been ourselves forgiven.
No Southerner, however, can wholly forget, as he stands before the splendid statue made by St. Gaudens, at what price the honors to this man were bought. The angel may bear, to some eyes, a palm of victory, and proclaim, "Fame, Honor, Immortality28, to him whom I lead." To the eye of the Southerner the winged figure bears a rod, and the bronze lips a warning—"Beware!"
Our earliest and most faithful friends in our new home were Judge Edward Patterson (our first visitor) and his amiable29 and gifted family. Much of our happiness was due to their sympathetic attentions, at a time when we had few friends.
One of my early friends in New York was Mrs. Vincenzo Botta, whom I had met at the house of Mrs. Dix when we were negotiating with Colonel Mapleson, Patti, and Nicolini. She was then about sixty-nine years old. She died seven years after she first came to my little home in 33d Street, and a warm friendship grew to full maturity30 in those few years. Without beauty she had yet a charming presence, with no evidences of age, although the little black lace mantilla she wore over her curls was her own confession31. She was the only woman who 404held at the time, or has held since, anything like a real salon32. Nobody was ever known to decline an invitation to that house. It was one of the large, old-fashioned houses near Fifth Avenue, with San Domingo mahogany doors, wide staircase, and four spacious33 rooms on each floor. There were tapestries34 on the walls, a few good pictures, three busts,—one of Salvini, one of the hostess's husband, the other her maid,—wood fires, and fresh flowers every day. The gracious white-haired lady at the head of the house had a charm born of long experience in all the gentle ministrations of life; her mind was beautifully cultivated, the bluest blood filled her veins35; but not from her lips did one learn anything of her distinguished36 antecedents, although she had been an author, a sculptor37, and poet. She came nearer to the distinction of holding a salon than any one who has ever lived in New York. At her receptions might be found Salvini, Edwin Booth, Modjeska, Christine Nilsson, and every distinguished author and diplomat38 who visited the city. Nobody was ever hired to entertain her guests—they entertained each other. Sometimes a great singer would volunteer a song, or a poet or an actor give something of his art, of course never requested by the hostess. Sometimes the evening would close with a dance.
One often wondered at the ease with which Mrs. Botta could gather around her musicians, artists, actors, authors, men and women of fashion, men conspicuous39 in political life,—every one who had in himself some element of originality40 or genius. Her salon was not inaptly termed a reproduction of 405Lady Blessington's or the Duchess of Sutherland's. A card to her conversazione, as she preferred to term it, was, as I have said, eagerly sought, and never declined. Her afternoon teas were famous; but her dinners! I do not mean the terrapin42 and wines—the table-talk in this mansion43 was the attraction. Everybody came away not only charmed, but encouraged; thinking better of himself, and by consequence better of his fellow-creatures.
Dinners like these are constantly given to-day all over the country. Perhaps our best and highest people—those that constitute the honor and pride of our social life, and redeem44 our manners from the criticism to which they are subjected—are the people who manage never to appear in the papers. They give dinners of great taste and beauty that are never described. At their tables are gathered the wit and wisdom of many lands, and whatever accessories can be commanded by taste and wealth. These stars of the social firmament45 revolve46 in a sphere of their own,—around no wealthy or titled sun,—but around each other. Vitalized by one powerful magnet, they at once, like iron filings, attract each other.
I had known nothing of Mrs. Botta's prestige nor of her friendship with Emerson, Carlyle, Froude, Fanny Kemble, Frederika Brémer, Daniel Webster, Charles O'Connor, Fitz-Greene Halleck, even Louis Kossuth, when she first visited me, introducing herself; nor did she ever allude47 to any one or anything (as so many do!) to impress me with her claims to my consideration. A most fascinating talker herself, 406she proceeded simply to draw me on gently to talk of myself,—and no magnet can draw like human sympathy. I once found myself telling her something of my experience in time of war, encouraged by her splendid eyes fixed48 upon me in rapt attention.
Presently their light was veiled in tears, and rising from her seat she took me in outstretched arms and kissed me. No wonder that the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David from that hour.
She could even sympathize with so small a matter as my dolors anent the hot summer I had passed—"Yes, yes," she said, "I know all about it." She had written a dismal49 catalogue of the miseries50 of the dog-days, of which I remember the concluding lines:—
"When Ph?bus and Fahrenheit51 start a rampage
Then there's heat, no thoughts of a blizzard52 assuage53;
And when 'General Humidity' joins in the tilt54
Like plucked flowers of the field the poor mortal must wilt55,
Till he cries like the wit, in disconsolate56 tones,
To take off his flesh and sit in his bones!
But for all that, my dear, to make myself clear,
Give me New York for nine months of the year—
With all its shortcomings there's no place so dear!
With its life and its rush, what it does and has done,
There's no city like it under the sun."
In which I have come to agree with her.
In her drawing-rooms, beautiful by specimens57 of her own work,—for she was a sculptor and exquisite58 needlewoman as well as poet and graceful59 hostess,—I met many of the literary lights of the day, as well as society women of New York. "I shall give a reception to Miss Murfree," she once 407told me. "Why?" I asked. "Is she one of your great people?" "Do you remember," said Mrs. Botta, with a twinkling eye, "'Dorinda Cayce'?" I remembered Dorinda Cayce in the "Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountain," who had gone through storms of snow and tempest to win pardon for her lover in prison, only to discover at the end he was but an ordinary, selfish mortal. There was nothing so remarkable61 about that, I submitted. "Ah! but don't you remember how she explained the wonderful fact that, with all his faults, she had loved him and had been ready to die for him? 'No—no—' said Dorinda, 'I never loved you! I loved what I thunk you was.' Then and there," said Mrs. Botta, "she reached deep down into the mysteries of a woman's heart. We love what we think they are! I shall give her a reception."
I had met William Cullen Bryant five or six years before, not long before he died (I have seen so many setting suns!), and Mrs. Botta, who had known him well, was interested in my account of an interview with him. We had come over from Brooklyn to attend a reception which the publisher of Johnson's Encyclop?dia gave to his contributors. One of his articles had been written by my husband. At this reception I also met Bayard Taylor, Clarence Stedman, and others, with whose talents in invective62 against the South I was familiar. But I bore them no malice63. I was especially anxious to speak with the old poet, and sought an introduction to him. When the crowd passed on to the refreshment64 rooms, I observed him standing65 408alone, leaning upon the grand piano, and I ventured to join him. Supper versus66 William Cullen Bryant! There could be but one conclusion. I made bold to hope he was well, as I stood almost spellbound before his fine gray head. I found myself hoping something more. I was willing he should hate treason with all his heart—but I did wish he could ever so little like the traitor67!
"Oh, yes," he replied to my question, "I am perfectly68 well. But I find I am growing old."
"I warrant," said I, "you could struggle for your oysters69 with the best of them."
"True," he replied, "but that is not the trouble. I forget people's names."
"A poet can afford to forget. Only politicians need be careful."
"Nobody can afford to be unkind," answered the old poet.
"Names are small matters," I suggested. "If you remember faces, you are all right."
"Oh, no," said he, "you must remember names. I did not arrange this drama in which we are all acting70, but I know a part of my r?le is to remember names. If I am presented to Mr. Smith, and I meet him next day in Broadway, I think it was intended I should say 'Good morning, Mr. Smith.' Otherwise, why was I presented to him? If I have forgotten his name, I have forgotten my part, and lose the only opportunity that will ever be given me in this world of being polite to Mr. Smith."
Mrs. Botta delighted in such incidents as this. I wish she could have laughed with me over an 409attempt my Gordon (Mrs. Henry Rice) made to introduce Mr. Bryant to a class of poor white boys she was teaching at a night-school in her home on a great tobacco plantation71 in Virginia. She had taught them to read and write, some arithmetic and geography, even some Latin; and was minded to awaken72 the ?sthetic instincts which she believed must exist in the poor fellows. She read them Bryant's "Ode to a Waterfowl." "Now, boys," she said eagerly, "tell me how you would feel if you had seen this." There was dead silence. Appealing to the most hopeful of her sons of toil73, she received an enlightening response, "I wouldn't think nuthin'." "What would you say?" she persisted. "Wall—I reckon I'd say, 'Thar goes a duck!'"
Nobody was kinder to us than Edmund Clarence Stedman. On Tuesdays and Fridays one might always find a welcome—no cards were issued—and a small, choice company of literary men and women in his drawing-rooms. Mr. Stedman was the soul of kindness. His "friends from the Old Dominion74" were just as welcome as if he had never written "Abraham Lincoln, give us a Man" to crush out our "rebellion." No man could have been more generous to authors, himself so polished and graceful a writer. I remember in my own first timid venture—I had written something for the Cosmopolitan75 Magazine—that he made haste to welcome me, to say my essay was "charmingly written," and to add, "I have always observed that whatever a lady chooses to write has something, an air, that the rest of us can never attain,"—which goes to prove 410the chivalry76, if not the perception, of dear Mr. Stedman.
In the eighties there were other houses where purely77 literary receptions were held weekly: notably78 at President Barnard's, also at Mrs. Barrow's, affectionately known by her own nom de plume79, "Aunt Fanny," and thus recorded to-day in encyclop?dias of literature. Mrs. Andros B. Stone also gathered the elect in her drawing-rooms. There I saw again the gentle Madame Modjeska. There I met Henry M. Stanley, thronged80 with admirers, and with great drops of perspiration81 on his heated brow,—declining to say to me "nay82" when I asked if this were not worse than the jungles of Africa!
What a life he had led, to be sure! We first heard of him as a soldier in the Confederate army; then in the union navy. He represented "the Blue and the Gray"—he had worn them both. We all know of his search for Dr. Livingstone, of his subsequent marches through the Dark Continent; of his perils83 by land, perils by sea, courage and fortitude84. And now here he was—quite like other people—in an evening coat with a gardenia85 in his button-hole, and with an English bride all in white and gold, and still young enough to fill the measure of his glory with more adventures.
I was early elected a member of the Wednesday Afternoon Club, proposed by Mrs. Botta, whose first able contribution—a review of Matthew Arnold's essay, "Civilization in the United States"—enlightened me as to what might be expected of me when my turn came to provide a paper for discussion. 411I think I disappointed Mrs. Botta by persistently86 "begging off" from this duty—implied by my consent to become a member of the club, which included Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge87, Mrs. R. W. Gilder88, Mrs. Almon Goodwin, Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Miss Kate Field, Mrs. George Haven89 Putnam, and other literary women. Mrs. John Sherwood was one of our grande dames90, altogether a very notable personage in her prime, a much-travelled lady, the friend of Lord Houghton, Daniel Webster, and other great lights. She could always gather a large and admiring audience at her literary conferences. She lived to an old age, and never ceased to be "a personage"—a very fine type of a high-born, high-bred, intellectual woman. These reunions, which led society in the eighties, afforded opportunity for the man or woman of versatile91 talent. Anybody can harangue92 or read an essay or exploit a special fad93 or hobby. Anybody can chatter94, but how many of us can pass a thought "like a bit of flame" from one to another; or turn, like a many-faceted gem95, a scintillating96 flash in every direction? This is possible! This made the charm of the French salon, and makes the charm to-day of more than one little drawing-room that I wot of, which has never been described in the society columns of the newspapers.
I must not dare put myself on record as enjoying only "high thinking." The great Dr. Johnson liked gossip, so did Madame de Sévigné, so did Greville, and hundreds of other delightful97 people. So do I! But I draw a line at some modern gossip,—whether Mrs. Claggett's domestic unhappiness will reach the 412climax of a divorce, whether she will better herself in her next venture; whether Mrs. Billion will really have any difficulty in getting into society, or what on earth Lord Frederick could see in that pug-nosed Peggy Rustic98, who hasn't even the saving grace of a little money. I am afraid of personalities99, and yet we cannot always discuss politics and religion. Men have been burnt at the stake for talking politics and religion!
I have never sympathized in the wholesale100 abuse of New York society—and by this much-used word I mean the society defined by Noah Webster as "that class in any community which gives and receives entertainments." Necessarily a city like New York must be made up of many contrasting elements—but I believe the true leaven101 of good society is always here, and will in the end inevitably102 prevail to the leavening103 of the whole. One cannot fail to observe in the modern novels that profess104 to expose it situations that could, under no circumstances, ever have occurred in decent society. The facility with which men and women of humble105 antecedents reach high position here is easily explained. Their early disadvantages have taught them enterprise, to look out for their own advantage and seize every opportunity. They have ambition. Hence they are "climbers." The lowest rung in the ladder successfully reached, there is foothold for the next. They are not sensitive. "Snubbed?" said one. "Of course! Isn't everybody snubbed?" It is not wonderful that New York receives them. Their wits are sharpened. They are very agreeable, very supple106, very adaptable107. 413Au reste! Well, they learn. There are books on "Manners and Social Usages" to be had for a dime108 or two. There is one called "The Gentleman" which was popular in the nineties. To have read Mr. Howells on this book is to long to quote him.
"We have lately seen how damaging Mr. McAllister could make himself to the best society of New York by his devout109 portrayal110 of it, and now another devotee of fashion is trying to play the iconoclast111 with the ideal of gentleman.
"Do read 'Gentleman.' It is the most delicious bit of ridiculous flunkyism that has appeared yet—always excepting the great success in that line. After instructing the proposed gentleman about his cravats112 and pocket-handkerchief, and not to cross his legs or wink60 or pick his teeth, the author concludes: 'In making an offer of marriage, when the lady replies affirmatively, immediately clasp her in your arms'!"
But after all said and done against society, I have always liked it. I have not the least wish to turn reformer. It will work out its own salvation113 as to important characteristics, and we can afford to laugh at its ridiculous ways. We know it is "too bad for blessing41," but at the same time "it is too good for banning."
"I overheard Jove," said Silenus, "talking of destroying the earth; he said he had failed; they were all rogues114 and vixens, going from bad to worse. Minerva said she hoped not; they were only ridiculous little creatures with this odd circumstance: if you called them bad, they would appear bad; if good, 414they would appear so; and there was no one person among them who would not puzzle her owl—much more all Olympus—to know whether it was fundamentally good or bad." It all depends upon the point of view, and in a difference of opinion between Jove and Minerva I do not hesitate.
But if I may be allowed one more word, I think the trouble about our New York society is that we have too much of it. We have no leisure to select. And then we seem to be always en representation—as Senior said of an American girl. We are consumed with a desire to make an impression,—that deadly foe115 to good manners,—or else we wrap ourselves in reserve like a garment. Of the two I think I prefer the former—anything but the icy dulness of the intense inane116.
To tell the truth, we are heavy—we Americans. We cannot pass quickly, "like a bit of flame," from one thing to another. We are rarely gracious enough to wish to please, but if we do, our compliments are not an ethereal touch, but flattery broadly laid on with spade and trowel. Chesterfield says, "Human nature is the same all over the world." That is, doubtless, true,—we hear it quoted often enough,—but there is a great deal more of it in some places than in others. There is an enormous quantity of human nature in New York. After all, it is not as subtle as we imagine. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu declares that in all her life she had seen but two species of human beings—men and women! We cannot agree with her,—we have seen others,—but we have faith that all things 415are working together for good, and good only, in our social life, indications to the contrary, reports to the contrary, notwithstanding.
Our little house on 33d Street was the theatre of many pleasant events. There I found my friends on my Thursdays at home. There my daughter Lucy was married. Among her wedding presents was an interesting bit of embroidery117 from the wife of our Minister to Turkey, S. S. Cox. Mr. Cox had sent it with a letter, at the conclusion of which he explained,—remembering my supposed interest in Southern dialect,—"I am sorry to be so stupid, but the truth is I'm mighty118 tired! I have been toting Americans over Constantinople all day."
I answered, requesting a key to the embroidery, and added, "I am sorry to find that the onerous119 duties of our Minister to the Ottoman Empire include the bearing upon his back or in his arms the bodies of visiting Americans, etc. ('Tote,' an old English word now obsolete120, is still used by Southern negroes for bearing a burden, not for conducting or escorting.)" Here is Mr. Cox's reply:—
"U. S. Legation, Constantinople,
"May 22, 1886.
"My dear Mrs. Pryor:—
"If your daughter was half as much pleased with my wife's little gift as your letter made me, then the entente121 cordiale between the Bosphorus and the Hudson is firmly established. These little ministrations are very little; but— 416
"'To the God that maketh all
There is no great—there is no small.'
Some Brahmin said that! I think it is one of Emerson's petty larcenies122 from the Orient; but it is ever so true. Now
"'On what a slender thread
Hang everlasting123 things,'
as the Methodists used to sing! Here, on my little word 'tote,' you hang a social and philological124 disquisition! I will not discuss the word in its Africanese dialect; but I take the noble red man—whose totem is his household god; and in this sense, in this connection, let the doyley be revered125, as your husband would say, totus atque rotundus.
"The bit of Oriental work with its cabalistic characters bears the Sultan's monogram126. It has a story, too—this monogram. It is said to be seen in blood in one of the temples of Stamboul, St. Sophia, on a column so high up that a man of my size can't see it. It is said that the blood came from the hand of Mahomet II when he rode into the church. It is shaped like a hand, you may see. Another tale not so harrowing: It is that Amurath, when he made the first treaty with a Christian127 power,—a small republic of Ragusa,—lost his temper and dipped his five fingers in ink, and thus made his mark on the parchment. This is the tongbra, or seal. The present Sultan has added a flower to his handicraft.
"All this goes on the supposition that the embroidery sent Miss Lucy has the cipher128 on it, but as Mrs. Cox is out bazaaring,—or shopping,—I must guess at it.
"All I can add is to express my regards for your husband, who is my beau ideal in many ways. Doubtless he is your 'bold idol,' as a young lady said. Tell him when the time comes, to warm that place for me! I will go back to Congress 417and die in harness. I don't want to die here,—in fact I don't want to die at all as yet, for life has so much blessing and beauty—in spring!
"Mrs. Cox and I go this evening to dine at the palace of Zildez—the pleasure-house of the Sultan. It is not mutual129 that I must take my Only One to see him and I can't see any one of his ten thousand and altogether lovely.
"Yours faithfully,
"S. S. Cox."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
cosiest
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的最高级 )；亲切友好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
7
fraught
|
|
| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
intercept
|
|
| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
civilized
|
|
| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
plundered
|
|
| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
fodder
|
|
| n.草料；炮灰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
hogs
|
|
| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
poultry
|
|
| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
mules
|
|
| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
inured
|
|
| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
pillage
|
|
| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
corps
|
|
| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
wreak
|
|
| v.发泄；报复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
arson
|
|
| n.纵火，放火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
mete
|
|
| v.分配；给予 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
maturity
|
|
| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tapestries
|
|
| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sculptor
|
|
| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
diplomat
|
|
| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
originality
|
|
| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
terrapin
|
|
| n.泥龟；鳖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
firmament
|
|
| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
revolve
|
|
| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
allude
|
|
| v.提及，暗指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
miseries
|
|
| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
Fahrenheit
|
|
| n./adj.华氏温度；华氏温度计(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
blizzard
|
|
| n.暴风雪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
assuage
|
|
| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
tilt
|
|
| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
disconsolate
|
|
| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
invective
|
|
| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
versus
|
|
| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
oysters
|
|
| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
plantation
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
dominion
|
|
| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
cosmopolitan
|
|
| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
notably
|
|
| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
plume
|
|
| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
thronged
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
perspiration
|
|
| n.汗水；出汗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
perils
|
|
| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
gardenia
|
|
| n.栀子花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
persistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
dodge
|
|
| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
gilder
|
|
| 镀金工人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
89
haven
|
|
| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
dames
|
|
| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
versatile
|
|
| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
harangue
|
|
| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
fad
|
|
| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
scintillating
|
|
| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
leaven
|
|
| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
leavening
|
|
| n.酵母，发酵，发酵物v.使（面团）发酵( leaven的现在分词 )；在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
supple
|
|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
adaptable
|
|
| adj.能适应的，适应性强的，可改编的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
dime
|
|
| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
devout
|
|
| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
portrayal
|
|
| n.饰演；描画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
iconoclast
|
|
| n.反对崇拜偶像者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
cravats
|
|
| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
113
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
rogues
|
|
| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
foe
|
|
| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
inane
|
|
| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
onerous
|
|
| adj.繁重的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
obsolete
|
|
| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
entente
|
|
| n.协定；有协定关系的各国 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
larcenies
|
|
| n.盗窃（罪）( larceny的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
123
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
philological
|
|
| adj.语言学的，文献学的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
revered
|
|
| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
monogram
|
|
| n.字母组合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
cipher
|
|
| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |