The minute-men at the front are the nation's cheapest policemen; and strange as it may seem, these men stand in vital relations to all the great cities of the country from which they are so far removed. It is a well-known fact that every city owes its life and increase to the fresh infusion1 of country blood, and it depends largely on the purity of that blood as to what the moral condition of the city shall be. Therefore it is of the utmost importance that Zion's watchmen shall lift up their voices day and night, until not only the wilderness3 shall be glad because of them, but that the city's walls may be named Salvation4 and her gates Praise.
Let us make the rounds among our minute-men to see how they live and what they do. Our road leads along the Grand[23] Rapids and Indiana Railway. All day long we have been flitting past new towns, and toward night we plunge5 into the dense6 forests with only here and there an opening. The fresh perfume of the balsam invades the cars, the clear trout8-streams pass and repass under the track, a herd9 of deer scurry10 yonder, and once we see a huge black bear swaying between two giant hemlocks11.
At eleven P.M. we leave the train. There is a drizzling12 rain through which we see a half-dozen twinkling lights. As the train turns a curve we lose sight of its red lights, and feel we have lost our best friend. A little boy, the sole human being in sight, is carrying a diminutive13 mail-bag. The sidewalk is only about thirty-six feet long. Then among the stumps15 we wind our slippery way, and at last reach the only frame house for miles. To the north and east we see a wilderness, with here and there a hardy16 settler's hut, sometimes a wagon17 with a cover and the stump14 of a stove-pipe sticking through the top.
[24]After climbing the stairs, which are destitute18 of a balustrade, we enter our room. It is carpeted with a horse-blanket. Starting out with a lumber19 wagon next morning, with axes and whip-saw, we hew20 our way through the forest to another line of railway, and returning, are asked by the people in the settlement, "Will it ever be settled?" "Could a man raise apples?" "Snow too deep?" "Mice girdle all the trees, eh?" etc.
Five years later, on a sleeping-car, we open our eyes in the morning, and what a change! The little solitary21 stations that we passed before are surrounded with houses. White puffs22 of steam come snapping out from factories. A weekly paper, a New York and Boston store, and the five- and ten-cent counter store are among the developments. Our train sweeps onward23, miles beyond our first stop; and instead of the lonely lodging-house, palatial24 hotels invite us, bands of music are playing, the bay is a scene of magic, here a little naphtha launch, and there a steam[25] yacht, and then a mighty25 steamer that makes the dock cringe its whole length as she slowly ties up to it.
Night comes on, but the woods are as light as day with electric lights. Rustic26 houses of artistic27 design are on every hand. Here, where it was thought apples could not be raised because of mice and deep snow, is a great Western Chautauqua.
Eighty thousand people are pushing forward into the northern counties of this great State. Roads, bridges, schoolhouses,—all are building. Most of the settlers are poor, sometimes having to leave part of their furniture to pay freight. They are from all quarters of our own and other lands. Here spring up great mill towns, mining towns, and county seats; and here, too, our minute-man comes. What can he do? Nearly all the people are here to make money. He has neither church, parsonage, nor a membership to start with. Here he finds towns with twenty saloons in a block, opera house and electric plants, dog-fights, men-fights, no Sabbath but[26] an extra day for amusements and debauchery.
The minute-man is ready for any emergency; he takes chances that would appall28 a town minister. He finds a town without a single house that is a home; he has missed his train at a funeral. It is too cold to sleep in the woods, and so he walks the streets.
A saloon-keeper sees him. "Hello, Elder! Did ye miss yer train? Kind o' tough, eh?" with a laugh. "Well, ye ken29 sleep in the saloon if ye ken stand it." And so down on the floor he goes, comforting himself with the text, "Though I make my bed in hell, behold30, thou art there."
Another minute-man in another part of the country finds a town given up to wickedness. He gets his frugal31 lunch in a saloon, the only place for him.
"Are you a preacher?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. You want to preach?"
"I don't know where I can get a hall."
[27]"Oh, stranger, I'll give ye my dance-hall; jest the thing, and I tell ye we need preaching here bad."
"Good; I will preach."
The saloon man stretches a large piece of cotton across his bar, and writes,—
"Divine service in this place from ten A.M. to twelve to-morrow. No drinks served during service."
It is a strange crowd: there are university men, and men who never saw a school. With some little trembling the minute-man begins, and as he speaks he feels more freedom and courage. At the conclusion the host seizes his big hat, and with a revolver commences to take up a collection, remarking that they had had some pretty straight slugging. On the back seats are a number of what are called five-cent-ante men; and as they drop in small coin, he says,—
"Come, boys, ye have got to straddle that."
[28]He brings the hat to the parson, and empties a large collection on the table.
"But what can I do with these colored things?"
"Why, pard, them's chips; every one redeemable33 at the bar in gold."
Sometimes the minute-man has a harder time. A scholarly man who now holds a high position in New England was a short time since in a mountain town where he preached in the morning to a few people in an empty saloon, and announced that there would be service in the same place in the evening. But he reckoned without his host. By evening it was a saloon again in full blast. Nothing daunted34, he began outside.
The men lighted a tar-barrel, and began to raffle35 off a mule36. Just then a noted37 bravo of the camps came down; and quick as a flash his shooting-irons were out, and with a voice like a lion he said,—
"Boys, I drop the first one that interferes38 with this service."
[29]Thus under guard from unexpected quarters, the preacher spoke39 to a number of men who had been former church-members in the far East.
Often these minute-men must build their own houses, and live in such a rough society that wife and children must stay behind for some years. One minute-man built a little hut the roof of which was shingled40 with oyster-cans. His room was so small that he could pour out his coffee at the table, and without getting up turn his flapjacks on the stove. A travelling missionary41 visiting him, asked him where he slept. He opened a little trap-door in the ceiling; and as the good woman peered in she said,—
"Why, you can't stand up in that place!"
"Bless your soul, madam," he exclaimed, "a home missionary doesn't sleep standing42 up."
Strapping43 a bundle of books on his shoulders, this minute-man starts out[30] on a mule-trail. If he meets the train, he must step off and climb back. He reaches the distant camp, and finds the boys by the dozen gambling44 in an immense saloon. He steps up to the bar and requests the liberty of singing a few hymns45. The man answers surlily,—
"Ye ken if ye like, but the boys won't stand it."
The next minute a rich baritone begins, "What a friend we have in Jesus," and twenty heads are lifted. He then says,—
"Boys, take a hand; here are some books." And in less than ten minutes he has a male choir46 of many voices. One says, "Pard, sing number so and so;" and another, "Sing number so and so." By this time the saloon-keeper is growling47; but it is of no use; the minister has the boys, and starts his work.
In some camps a very different reception awaits him, as, for instance, the following: At his appearance a wild-looking[31] Buffalo-Bill type of man greeted him with an oath and a pistol levelled at him.
"Don't yer know thar's no luck in camp with a preacher? We are going to kill ye."
"Don't you know," said the minute-man, "a minister can draw a bead48 as quick as any man?" The boys gave a loud laugh, for they love grit49, and the rough slunk away. But a harder trial followed.
"Glad to see ye, pard; but ye'll have to set 'em up 'fore2 ye commence—rule of the camp, ye know." But before our man could frame an answer, the hardest drinker in the crowd said,—
"Boys, he is the fust minister as has had the sand to come up here, and I'll stand treat for him."
It is a great pleasure to add that the man who did this is to-day a Christian50.
One man is found on our grand round, living with a wife and a large family in a church. The church building[32] had been too cold to worship in, and so they gave it to him for a parsonage. The man had his study in the belfry, and had to tack51 a carpet up to keep his papers from blowing into the lake. This man's life was in constant jeopardy52, and he always carried two large revolvers. He had been the cause of breaking up the stockade53 dens7 of the town, and ruffians were hired to kill him. He seemed to wear a charmed life—but then, he was over six feet high, and weighed more than two hundred pounds. Some of the facts that this man could narrate54 are unreportable.
The lives lost on our frontiers to-day through sin in all its forms are legion, and no man realizes as well as the home missionary what it costs to build a new country; on the other hand, no man has such an opportunity to see the growth of the kingdom.
There died in Beloit, recently, the Rev32. Jeremiah Porter, a man who had been a[33] home missionary. His field was at Fort Brady before Chicago had its name. His church was largely composed of soldiers; and when the men were ordered to Fort Dearborn, he went with them, and organized what is now known as the First Presbyterian Church of Chicago. This minute-man lived to see Chicago one million two hundred thousand strong.
We should have lost the whole Pacific slope but for our minute-man, the glorious and heroic Whitman, who not only carried his wagon over the Rockies, but came back through stern winter and past hostile savages55, and by hard reasoning with Webster and others secured that vast possession for us. As a nation we owe a debt we can never repay to the soldiers of the cross at the front, who have endured (and endure to-day) hardships of every kind. They are cut off from the society which they love; often they live in dugouts, sometimes in rooms over a saloon; going weeks without fresh meat, sometimes suffering from hunger, and for a long time[34] without a cent in the house. Yet who ever heard them complain? Their great grief is that fields lie near to them white for the harvest, while, with hands already full, they can only pray the Lord of the harvest to send forth56 more laborers57.
Often there is but one man preaching in a county which is larger than Massachusetts. He is cut off from libraries, ministers' meetings, and to a large extent from the sympathies of more fortunate brethren, and is often unable to send his children to college. These men still stand their ground until they die, ofttimes unknown, but leaving foundations for others to build on.
One place visited by a general missionary was so full of reckless men that the station-agent always carried a revolver from his house to the railway station. A vile58 variety show, carried on by abandoned women, was kept open day and night. Sunday was the noisiest day of all. Yet in this place a church was formed; and many men and women, having found a[35] leader, were ready to take a stand for the right.
I am not writing of the past; for all the conditions that I have spoken of exist in hundreds, yes, thousands, of places all over the land. One need not go to the far West to find them; they exist in every State of the union, only varying in their types of sin.
Visiting a home missionary in a mining region within two hours' ride of the capital, in a State not four hundred miles from the Atlantic, I found the man in one of the most desolate59 towns I ever saw. The most prosperous families were earning on an average five dollars a week, store pay. All were in debt. When the missionary announced his intention of going there, he was warned that it was not safe; but that did not alter his plans.
The first service was held in a schoolhouse, the door panels of which were out and not a pane60 of glass unbroken. A roaring torrent61 had to be passed on an[36] unsteady plank62 bridge, over which the women and children crawled on hands and knees. It was dark when they came. The preacher could see the gleam of the men's eyes from their grimy faces as the lanterns flickered63 in the draughts64. He began to preach. Soon white streaks65 were on the men's cheeks, as tears from eyes unused to weeping rolled down those black faces. At the close a church was organized, a reading-room was added, and many a boy was saved from the saloon by it. Yet, strange to say, although the owners (church members too) had cleared a million out of those mines, the money to build the needed church and parsonage had to be sent from the extreme East.
Hundreds of miles eastward66 I have found men living, sixty and seventy in number, in a long hut, their food cooked in a great pot, out of which they dipped their meals with a tin dipper. No less than seventy-five thousand Slovaks live in this one State, and their only spiritual[37] counsel comes from a few Bible-readers. Ought we not then, as Christians67, to help those already there, and give of our plenty to send the men needed to carry the light to thousands of places that as yet sit in the darkness and the shadow?
HOW THE HOME MISSIONARY BEGINS WORK IN THE NEW COMMUNITY.
First, pastoral visiting is absolutely necessary to success. The feelings of newcomers are tender after breaking the home ties and getting to the new home, and a visit from the pastor68 is sure to bring satisfactory results. Sickness and death offer him opportunities for doing much good, especially among the poor, and they are always the most numerous.
Some very pathetic cases come under every missionary's observation. Once a man called at the parsonage and asked for the elder, saying that a man had been killed some miles away in the woods, and the family wanted the missionary to preach[38] the funeral sermon. The next morning a ragged69 boy came to pilot the minister. The way led through virgin70 forests and black-ash swamps. A light snow covered the ground and made travelling difficult, as much of the way was blocked by fallen trees. After two hours' walking the house was reached; and here was the widow with her large family, most of them in borrowed clothes, the supervisor71, a few rough men, and a county coffin72.
The minister hardly knew what to say; but remembering that that morning a large box had been sent containing a number of useful articles, he made God's providence73 his theme. A few days after, the box was taken to the widow's home. When they reached the shanty74 they found two little bunks75 inside. Her only stove was an oven taken from an old-fashioned cook-stove. The oven stood on a dry-goods box.
The missionary said, "Why, my poor woman, you will freeze with this wretched fire."
[39]"No," she said; "it ain't much for cooking and washing, but it's a good little heater."
A few white beans and small potatoes were all her store, with winter coming on apace. When she saw the good things for eating and wearing that had been brought to her, she sobbed76 out her thanks.
In the busy life of a missionary the event was soon forgotten, until one day a woman said, "Elder, do you recollect77 that 'ar Mrs. Sisco?"
"Yes."
"She is down with a fever, and so are her children."
At this news the minister started with the doctor to see her. As they neared the place he noticed some red streaks gleaming in the woods, and asked what they were.
"Oh," said the doctor, "that is from the widow's house. She had to move into a stable of the deserted78 lumber camp."
The chinks had fallen out from the[40] logs, and hence the gleam of fire. The house was a study in shadows—the floor sticky with mud brought in with the snow; the débris of a dozen meals on the table; a lamp, without chimney or bottom, stuck into an old tomato-can, gave its flickering79 light, and revealed the poor woman, with nothing to shield her from the storm but a few paper flour-sacks tacked80 back of the bed. Two or three chairs, the children in the other bed, the baby in a little soapbox on rockers, were all the wretched hovel contained. Medicine was left her, and the minister's watch for her to time it. He exchanged his watch for a clock the next day. By great persuasion81 the proper authorities were made to put her in the poorhouse, and she was lost to sight; but there was a bright ending in her case.
About a year after, a rosy-faced woman called at the parsonage. The pastor said, "Come in and have some dinner."
"I got some one waiting," she said.
"Why, who is that?"
"My new man."
[41]"What, you married again?"
"Yes; and we are just going after the rest of the traps up at the shanty, and I called to see whether you would give me the little clock for a keepsake?"
"Oh, yes."
Away she went as happy as a lark82. Less than two years from the time she was left a widow, a rich old uncle found in her his long-lost niece, and the woman became heiress to thousands of dollars.
Sometimes dreadful scenes are witnessed at funerals where strong drink has suddenly finished the career of father or mother. At the funeral of a little child smothered83 by a drunken father, the mother was too sick to be up at the funeral, the father too drunk to realize what was taking place, and twice the service was stopped by drunken men. At another funeral a dog-fight began under the coffin. The missionary kicked the dogs out, and resumed as well as he could.
At another wretched home the woman was found dying, the husband drunk, no[42] food, mercury ten degrees below zero, and the little children nearly perishing with cold. The drunken man pulled the bed from under his dying wife while he went to sleep. His awakening84 was terrible, and the house crowded at the funeral with morbid85 hearers.
In one town visited, a county town at that, the roughs had buried a man alive, leaving his head above ground, and then preached a mock funeral sermon, remarking as they left him, "How natural he looks!"
As the nearest minister is miles away, the missionary has to travel many miles in all weathers to the dying and dead. Visiting the sick, and sitting up with those with dangerous diseases, soon cause the worst of men not only to respect but to love the missionary; and no man has the moulding of a community so much in his hands as the courageous86 and faithful servant of Christ. The first missionary on the field leaves his stamp indelibly fixed87 on the new village. Towns left without[43] the gospel for years are the hardest of all places in which to get a footing. Some towns have been without service of any kind for years, and some of the young men and women have never seen a minister. There are townships to-day, even in New York State, without a church; and, strange as it may seem, there are more churchless communities in Illinois than in any other State in the union. Until two years ago Black Rock, with a population of five thousand, had no church or Sunday-school. Meanwhile such is the condition of the Home Missionary Society's treasury88 that they often cannot take the students who offer themselves, and the churchless places increase.
All kinds of people crowd to the front,—those who are stranded89, those who are trying to hide from justice, men speculating. Gambling dens are open day and night, Sundays of course included, the men running them being relieved as regularly as guards in the army.
In purely90 agricultural districts a different[44] type is met with. Many are so poor that the men have to go to the lumber woods part of the year. The women thus left often become despondent91, and a very large per cent in the insane asylum92 comes from this class.
One family lived so far from town that when the husband died they were obliged to make his coffin, and utilized93 two flour-barrels for the purpose.
So amid all sorts and conditions of men, and under a variety of circumstances, the minute-man lives, works, and dies, too often forgotten and unsung, but remembered in the Book; and when God shall make up his jewels, some of the brightest gems94 will be found among the pioneers who carried the ark into the wilderness in advance of the roads, breaking through the forest guided by the surveyor's blaze on the trees.
There are hundreds of people who pierce into the heart of the country by going up the rivers before a path has been made. In one home found there,[45] the minute-man had the bed in a big room down-stairs, while the man, with his wife and nine children, went up steps like a stable-ladder, and slept on "shakedowns," on a floor supported with four rafters which threatened to come down. But the minute-man, too tired to care, slept the sleep of the just. Often not so fortunate as then, he finds a large family and but one room. Once he missed his way, and had to crawl into two empty barrels with the ends knocked out. Drawing them as close together as he could, to prevent draughts, he had a short sleep, and awoke at four A.M. to find that a house and bed were but twenty rods farther.
In a new village, for the first visit all kinds of plans are made to draw the people out. Here is one: The minute-man calls at the school, and asks leave to draw on the blackboard. Teacher and scholars are delighted. After entertaining them for a while, he says, "Children, tell your parents that the man who chalk-talked to you will preach here at eight o'clock."[46] And the youngsters, expecting another such good time as they have just enjoyed, come out in force, bringing both parents with them. The village is but two years old. At first the people had the drinking-water brought five miles in barrels on the railroad, and for washing melted the snow. Then they took maple95 sap, and at last birch sap; but, "Law," said a woman, "it was dreadful ironin'!"
A TYPICAL LOG HOUSE A TYPICAL LOG HOUSE.
Page 46.
Here was a genuine pioneer: his house of logs, hinges wood, latch96 ditto, locks none; a black bear, three squirrels, a turtle-dove, two dogs, and a coon made up his earthly possessions. He was tired of the place.
"Laws, Elder! when I fust come ye could kill a deer close by, and ketch a string of trout off the doorsteps; but everything's sp'iled. Men beginning to wear b'iled shirts, and I can't stand it. I shall clear as soon as I can git out. Don't want to buy that b'ar, do ye?"
In this little town a grand minute-man laid down his life. He was so anxious to[47] get the church paid for, that he would not buy an overcoat. Through the hard winter he often fought a temperature forty degrees below zero; but at last a severe cold ended in his death. His good wife sold her wedding-gown to buy an overcoat, but all too late; and a bride of a twelvemonth went out a widow with an orphan97 in her arms.
Yet the children of God are said to add to their already large store four hundred million dollars yearly, and some think of building a ten-million-dollar temple to honor God—while temples of the Holy Ghost are too often left to fall, through utter neglect, because we withhold98 the little that would save them. We shall never conquer the heathen world for Christ until we have learned the way to save America. Save America, and we can save the world.
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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hew
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solitary
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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artistic
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appall
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ken
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behold
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frugal
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rev
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redeemable
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daunted
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raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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36
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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37
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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38
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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39
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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40
shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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41
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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42
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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43
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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44
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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45
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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46
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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47
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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48
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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49
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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51
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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52
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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53
stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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54
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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55
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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60
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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61
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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63
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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65
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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supervisor
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| n.监督人，管理人，检查员，督学，主管，导师 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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74
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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75
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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76
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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80
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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81
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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82
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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83
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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84
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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85
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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86
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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87
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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88
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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89
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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90
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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92
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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93
utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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95
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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96
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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97
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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98
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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