Out of this crooked coomb I emerged into dust whirls and sunshine. The village of Crosscombe was but a little way ahead, a long village of old stone cottages and slightly larger houses, and two mills pounding away. The river running among stones sounds all through it. At the bridge, where it foams18 over the five steps of a weir, a drinking fountain is somewhat complicated by the inscription19: “If thou knewest the gift of God, thou wouldest have asked of Him, and He would have given thee living water.” At the “Rose and Crown,” outside which is a cross, or rather a knobbed pillar surmounting20 some worn steps, I branched up a steep lane to St. Mary’s Church. It has a spire21 instead of a tower, and an image of the Virgin22 at the base of it. Its broad-tailed weather-cock flashed so in the sun as to be all but invisible. The grass was at its greenest, the daisies at their whitest, in the churchyard, under the black cypress23 wedges, where lies something or other of many a Chedzoy, Perry, Hare, Hodges, and Pike. The upper side is bounded by[238] a good ancient wall, cloaked in ivy and tufted with yellow wallflower. Another chiffchaff was singing here. While I was inside the building, a girl hung about, rattling24 the keys expectantly (but no more persuasively25 than the Titanic26 roadsters told their tale at Erlestoke), while I walked among the dark pews and choir27 stalls of carven oak, and looked at the tablets of the Hares and Pippets, great Clothiers of this country, and the brass28 of Mr. William Bisse, and his nine daughters and nine sons, and Mrs. Bisse, in the costume of 1625. The church has a substantial business flavour belonging to the days when it was so little known as to be beyond dispute that blessed are the rich, for they do inherit this world and probably the next. A few yards higher up the slope from the church is a Baptist chapel29 and a cottage in one, evidently adapted with small skill or expense from a church building older than the sect30. Nothing divided the vegetable garden of the cottage from the graveyard31 of the chapel, and it looked as if the people of Crosscombe were ill content to raise merely violets from the ashes of their friends.
CROSSCOMBE.
The road climbed away from Crosscombe up the left wall of the valley, which is given a mountainous expression by the naked rock protruding33 both at the ridge17 and on the slope of Dulcote Hill. The[239] river runs parallel on the right beneath, and along its farther bank the church and cottages of Dinder in a string; and the sole noise arising from Dinder was that of rooks. At a turning overshadowed by trees, at Dulcote, a path travels straight through green meadows to Wells, and to the three towers of the cathedral at the foot of a horizontal terrace-like spur of oak, pine, and beech, that juts34 out from the main line of Mendip leftwards or southwards. The river, which follows that main line up to this spot, now quits it, and follows the receding35 left wall of its valley, and consequently my road had its company no longer. My way lay upward and over the spur. The white footpath36 was to be seen going comfortably below on the left through parklike meadows, and beyond it, the pudding-shaped Hay Hill and Ben Knowle Hill, and the misty37 dome38 of Glastonbury Tor farther off.
By ten o’clock I was in the cathedral, and saw the painted dwarf39 up on the wall kick the bell ten times with his heel, and the knights40 race round and round opposite ways, clashing together ten times, while their attendant squires41 rode in silence; and I heard the remote, monotonous42 priest’s voice in the Benedicite, and the deep and the high responses of men and boys. Up there in the transepts and choir chapels43 are many rich tombs, and[240] recumbent figures overarched by stone fretwork; but the first and lasting44 impression is of the clean spaciousness45 of the aisles46 and nave47, clear of all tombs and tablets.
But clear and clean as was the cathedral, the outer air was clearer and cleaner. The oblong green, walled in on three sides by homely48 houses, and by the rich towered west front on the fourth, echoed gently with the typical cathedral music, that of the mowing-machine, destroying grass and daisies innumerable, with a tone which the sun made like a grasshopper’s, not out of harmony with the song of a chaffinch asseverating49 whatever it is he asseverates50 from one of the bordering lime trees. The market-place, too, was warm; the yellowish and grayish and bluish walls, the windows of all shapes and all sizes, and the water of the central fountain, answered the sun.
Two gateways51 lead out of one side of the market-place to the cathedral and the palace grounds. Taking the right-hand one, I came to the palace, and the moat that flows along one side, between a high wall climbed by fruit trees and ivy, and a walk lined with old pollard elms. Rooks inhabited the elm tops, and swans the water. Rooks are essential to a cathedral anywhere, but Wells is perfected by swans. On the warm palace roof[241] behind the wall—a roof smouldering mellow52 in the sun—pigeons lay still ecclesiastically. Sometimes one cooed sleepily, as if to seal it canonical53 that silence is better; the rooks cawed; the water foamed54 down into the moat at one end between bowery walls. Away from the cathedral on that side to the foot of the Mendips expanded low, green country. I walked along the moat into the Shepton road, and turning to the left, and passing many discreet55, decent, quiet houses such as are produced by cathedrals, and to the left again, so made a circuit of the cathedral and its high tufted walls and holly56 trees, back to the market-place.
It was difficult to know what to do in all this somewhat foreign tranquillity57. I actually entered an old furniture shop, and looked over a number of second-hand58 books, Spectators, sermons that were dead, theology that had never been alive, recent novels preparing for their last sleep, books about Wells, “Clarissa Harlowe,” Mr. Le Gallienne’s “English Poems,” “The Marvels59 of the Polar World,” and hundreds of others. A cat slept in the sun amongst them, curled superbly, as if she had to see justice done to the soporific powers of the cathedral city and the books that nobody wanted. For the sake of appearances, I bought “The History of Prince Lee Boo” for twopence. I thought to[242] read this book over my lunch, but there was better provender60. The restaurant was full of farmers, district councillors and their relatives, and several school children. The loudest voice, the longest tongue, and the face best worth looking at, belonged to a girl. She was a tomboy of fifteen, black-haired, pale, strong-featured, with bold though not very bright eyes. Her companion was a boy perhaps a little younger than herself, and she was talking in a quick, decided61 manner.
“I like a girl that sticks to a chap,” she began suddenly.
The boy mumbled62 something. She looked sharply at him, as if to make sure that he did exist, though he had not the gift of speech; then directed her eyes out into the street. Having been silent for half a minute, she stood up, pressing her face to the window to see better, and exclaimed,—
“Look, look! There’s lovely hair.”
The boy got up obediently.
“There’s lovely hair,” she repeated, indicating some one passing; “she isn’t good-looking to it, but it is lovely now. Look! isn’t it?”
The boy, I think, agreed before sitting down. What impressed him most was the girl’s frank enthusiasm. She remained standing63 and looking out. But in a moment something else had pleased[243] her. She beckoned64 to the boy, still with her eyes on the street, and said,—
“There’s a nice little boy.” As she said this she tapped the glass and smiled animatedly65. So in half a minute up came another boy of about the same age as the first, and took a seat at the next table, smiling but not speaking. Only when he had half eaten a cake did he begin to talk casually66 about what had been passing at school—how an unpopular master had been ragged67, but dared not complain, though nobody did any work. The girl listened intently, but when he had done, merely asked,—
“Have you ever been caned69?”
“Lots of times,” he answered.
“Have you?” she asked the boy at her own table.
“Once,” he laughed.
“Have you?” she mused70. “I haven’t. My mother told them they were to cane68 me at one school, and they did try once, but I never went back again after.” ... On finishing her lunch, she got up and strode out of the room silently, without a farewell. She was shorter than I had guessed, but more unforgettable than Prince Lee Boo. I put the book away unopened. Even what passes for a good book is troublesome to read after a few[244] days out of doors, and the highest power of most of them is to convey an invitation to sleep. And yet I thought of one writer at Wells, and that was Mr. W. H. Hudson, who has written of it more than once. He says that it is the only city where the green woodpecker is to be heard. It comes into his new book, “Adventures among Birds,” because it was here that he first satisfied his wish to be in a belfry during the bell-ringing and hear “a symphony from the days of the giants, composed (when insane) by a giant Tschaikovsky to be performed on ‘instruments of unknown form’ and gigantic size.” But the book is really all about birds and his journeys in search of them, chiefly in the southern half of England. It is one of his best country books. It is, in fact, the best book entirely71 about birds that is known to me. The naturalist72 may hesitate to admit it, though he knows that no such descriptions of birds’ songs and calls are to be found elsewhere, and he cannot deny that no other pages reveal English birds in a wild state so vividly73, so happily, so beautifully. Mr. Hudson is in no need of recommendation among naturalists74. This particular claim of his is mentioned only in order to impress a class of readers who might confuse him with the fancy dramatic naturalists, and the other class who will[245] appreciate the substantial miracle of a naturalist and an imaginative artist in one and in harmony.
Were men to disappear they might be reconstructed from the Bible and the Russian novelists; and, to put it briefly75, Mr. Hudson so writes of birds that if ever, in spite of his practical work, his warnings and indignant scorn, they should cease to exist, and should leave us to ourselves on a benighted76 planet, we should have to learn from him what birds were.
Many people, even “lovers of Nature,” would be inclined to look for small beer in a book with the title of “Adventures among Birds.” If they are ignorant of Mr. Hudson’s writings, they are not to blame, since bird books are, as a rule, small beer. Most writers condescend77 to birds or have not the genius to keep them alive in print, whether or not they have the eternal desire “to convey to others,” as Mr. Hudson says, “some faint sense or suggestion of the wonder and delight which may be found in Nature.” He does not condescend to birds, “these loveliest of our fellow-beings,” as he calls them, “these which give greatest beauty and lustre78 to the world.” He travels “from county to county viewing many towns and villages, conversing79 with persons of all ages and conditions,” and when these persons are his theme he writes like a master, like[246] an old master perhaps, as everybody knows, who has read his “Green Mansions,” “The Purple Land,” and “South American Sketches80.” It might, therefore, be taken for granted that such an artist would not be likely to handle birds unless he could do so with the same reality and vitality81 as men. And this is what he does.
His chief pleasure from his childhood on the Pampas has been in wild birds; he has delighted in their voices above all sounds. “Relations,” he calls the birds, “with knowing, emotional, and thinking brains like ours in their heads, and with senses like ours, only brighter. Their beauty and grace so much beyond ours, and their faculty82 of flight which enables them to return to us each year from such remote, outlandish places, their winged, swift souls in winged bodies, do not make them uncanny, but only fairy-like.”
Only the book itself can persuade the reader of the extraordinary love and knowledge of birds which have thus been nourished. If I were to quote the passage where he speaks of his old desire to pursue wild birds over many lands, “to follow knowledge like a sinking star, to be and to know much until I became a name for always wandering with a hungry heart;” or where he declares that the golden oriole’s clear whistle was more to him[247] “than the sight of towns, villages, castles, ruins, and cathedrals, and more than adventures among the people;” or where he calls being “present, in a sense invisible”—with the aid of silence and binoculars83—“in the midst of the domestic circle of beings of a different order, another world than ours,” nearly every one would probably pronounce him an extravagant84 sentimentalist, a fanatic85, or, worst of all, an exaggerator. He is none of these. When he writes of his first and only pet bird and its escapes, there is no pettiness or mere32 prettiness: it is not on the human scale, yet it is equal to a story of gods or men. He is an artist, with a singular power of sympathizing with wild life, especially that of birds. Their slender or full throated songs, the “great chorus of wild, ringing, jubilant cries,” when “the giant crane that hath a trumpet86 sound” assembles, the South American crested87 screamers counting the hours “when at intervals88 during the night they all burst out singing like one bird, and the powerful ringing voices of the incalculable multitude produce an effect as of tens of thousands of great chiming bells, and the listener is shaken by the tempest of sound, and the earth itself appears to tremble beneath him;” the colouring of birds, brilliant or delicate, their soaring or man?uvring or straight purposed flight, their games and battles,[248] all their joyous89, or fierce, passionate90, and agitated91 cries and motions, delight him at least as much as music delights its most sensitive and experienced lovers. At sight of the pheasant he cannot help loving it, much as he hates the havoc92 of which it is the cause.
There is a very large variety in his enjoyment93. It is exquisite94 and it is vigorous; it is tender and at times almost superhuman in grimness. It is a satisfaction of his senses, of his curious intelligence, and of his highest nature. The green eggs of the little bittern thrill him “like some shining supernatural thing or some heavenly melody.” He is cheerful when his binoculars are bringing him close to birds “at their little games”—a kestrel being turned off by starlings, a heron alighting on another heron’s back, a band of starlings detaching themselves from their flock to join some wild geese going at right angles to their course; for “the playful spirit is universal among them.” The songs of blackbird, nightingale, thrush, and marsh96 warbler delight him, and yet at other times the loss of the soaring species, eagles and kites, oppresses him, and he speaks contemptuously of “miles on miles of wood, millions of ancient noble trees, a haunt of little dicky birds and tame pheasants.” His vision of the Somerset of the lake-dwellers, of “the paradise[249] of birds in its reedy inland sea, its lake of Athelney,” makes a feast for the eyes and ears. Moreover, he is never a mere bird man, and the result of this variety of interest and pleasure on the part of a man of Mr. Hudson’s imagination, culture, and experience, is that while his birds are intensely alive in many different ways, and always intensely birdlike, presenting a loveliness beyond that of idealized or supernaturalized women and children, yet at the same time their humanity was never before so apparent. The skylark is to him both bird and spirit, and one proof of the intense reality of his love is his ease in passing, as he does in several places, out of this world into a mythic, visionary, or very ancient world. This also is a proof of the powers of his style. At first sight, at least to the novice97 who is beginning to distinguish between styles without discriminating98, Mr. Hudson’s is merely a rather exceptionally unstudied English, perhaps a little old-fashioned. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It is, in fact, a combination, as curious as it is ripe and profound, of the eloquent99 and the colloquial100, now the one, now the other, predominating in a variety of shades which make it wonderfully expressive101 for purposes of narrative102 and of every species of description—precise, humorous, rapturous, and sublime103. And not the least[250] reason of its power is that it never paints a bird without showing the hand and the heart that paints it. It reveals the author in the presence of birds just as much as birds in the presence, visible or invisible, of the author. The series of his books is now a long one, not enough, certainly, yet a feast, and the last is among the three or four which we shall remember and re-read most often.
I left Wells by a road passing the South-Western Railway station, and admired the grass island parting the roads to the passengers’ and the goods’ entrances. The curved edge of the turf was as clean as that of the most select lawn; the grass looked as if it had never been trodden. I now rode close to Hay Hill on my right—a dull, isolated104 heave of earth, striped downwards105 by hedges so as to resemble a country umbrella and its ribs106. Motor cars overtook me. At Coxley Pound I overtook a peat-seller’s cart. The air was perfumed with something like willow107-plait which I did not identify. The wind was light, but blew from behind me, and was strong enough to strip the dead ivy leaves from an ash tree, but not to stop the tortoiseshell butterfly sauntering against it.
GLASTONBURY TOR.
“For three miles I was in the flat green land of Queen’s Sedge Moor108 drained by straight sedgy water-courses along which grow lines of elm, willow, or pine. Glastonbury Tor mounted up out of the flat before me like a huge tumulus—almost bare, but tipped by St. Michael’s Tower.”
For three miles I was in the flat green land of Queen’s Sedgemoor, drained by straight sedgy watercourses, along which grow lines of elm, willow,[251] or pine. Glastonbury Tor mounted up out of the flat before me, like a huge tumulus, almost bare, but tipped by St. Michael’s tower. Soon the ground began to rise on my left, and the crooked apple orchards of Avalon came down to the roadside, their turf starred by innumerable daisies and gilt109 celandines. Winding110 round the base of the Tor, I rode into Glastonbury, and down its broad, straight hill past St. John the Baptist Church and the notoriously medi?val “Pilgrim’s Inn,” and many pastry111 cooks. Another peat cart was going down the street. The church stopped me because of its tower and the grass and daisies and half-dozen comfortable box tombs of its churchyard, irregularly placed and not quite upright. One of the tombs advertised in plain lettering the fact that John Down, the occupant, who died in 1829 at the age of eighty-three, had “for more than sixty years owned the abbey.” He owned the abbey, nothing more; at least his friends and relatives were content to introduce him to posterity112 as the man who “for more than sixty years owned the abbey.” If the dead were permitted to own anything here below, doubtless he would own it still. Outside the railings two boys were doing the cleverest thing I saw on this journey. They were keeping a whip-top, and that a carrot-shaped one, spinning by[252] kicking it in turns. Which was an accomplishment113 more worthy114 of being commemorated115 on a tombstone than the fact that you owned Glastonbury Abbey. The interior of the church is made equally broad at both ends by the lack of screen or of any division of the chancel. It is notable also for a marble monument in the south-west corner, retaining the last of its pale blue and rose colouring. A high chest, carved with camels, forms the resting-place for a marble man with a head like Dante’s, wearing a rosary over his long robes.
At first I thought I should not see more of the abbey than can be seen from the road—the circular abbot’s kitchen with pointed116 cap, and the broken ranges of majestic117 tall arches that guide the eye to the shops and dwellings118 of Glastonbury. While I was buying a postcard the woman of the shop reminded me of Joseph of Arimathea’s thorn, and how it blossomed at Christmas. “Did you ever see it blossoming at Christmas?” I asked. “Once,” she said, and she told me how the first winter she spent in Glastonbury was a very mild one, and she went out with her brothers for a walk on Christmas day in the afternoon. She remembered that they wore no coats. And they saw blossom on the holy thorn. After all, I did go through the turnstile to see the abbey. The high pointed arches were mag[253]nificent, the turf under them perfect. The elms stood among the ruins like noble savages119 among Greeks. The orchards hard by made me wish that they were blossoming. But excavations120 had been going on; clay was piled up and cracking in the sun, and there were tin sheds and scaffolding. I am not an arch?ologist, and I left it. As I was approaching the turnstile an old hawthorn121 within a few yards of it, against a south wall, drew my attention. For it was covered with young green leaves and with bright crimson122 berries almost as numerous. Going up to look more closely, I saw what was more wonderful—Blossom. Not one flower, nor one spray only, but several sprays. I had not up till now seen even blackthorn flowers, though towards the end of February I had heard of hawthorn flowering near Bradford. As this had not been picked, I conceitedly123 drew the conclusion that it had not been observed. Perhaps its conspicuousness124 had saved it. It was Lady Day. I had found the Spring in that bush of green, white, and crimson. So warm and bright was the sun, and so blue the sky, and so white the clouds, that not for a moment did the possibility of Winter returning cross my mind.
Pleasure at finding the May sent me up Wearyall Hill, instead of along the customary road straight[254] out of Glastonbury. The hill projects from the earth like a ship a mile long, whose stern is buried in the town, its prow125 uplifted westward126 towards Bridgwater; and the road took me up as on a slanting127 deck, until I saw Glastonbury entire below me, all red-tiled except the ruins and the towers of St. John and St. Benedict. At the western edge the town’s two red gasometers stood among blossoming plum trees, and beyond that spread the flat land. The Quantocks, fifteen miles distant, formed but a plain wall, wooded and flat-topped, on the horizon northward128.
Instead of continuing up the broad green deck of Wearyall Hill, I went along the west flank of it by road, descending129 through meadows and apple trees to the flat land. I crossed the river Brue immediately by Pomparles bridge, and in half a mile was in the town of Street. It is a mostly new conglomeration131 of houses dominated by the chimney and the squat132 tower of Clark’s Boot Factory; and since it is both flat and riverless, it sprawls133 about with a dullness approaching the sordid134. A rough-barked elm tree, a hundred and fifty years old, slung135 on a timber carriage outside the “Street Inn,” was the chief sign of Spring here after the dust.
I was very glad to see the flat slowly swelling[255] up at last to the long ridge of the Polden Hills, which was soon to carry my road. Walton, the next village, is a winding hamlet of thatched cottages, pink, yellow, and stone-coloured, alternating with gardens, plums in blossom, the vicarage trees and shrubbery, and the green yard of a quaint136 apsidal farmhouse, once the parsonage. It has a flagged pavement on the right, trodden solely137 by a policeman. The road was in the power of a steam-roller and its merry men, but the fowls138 of the old parsonage presented the only immediate130 signs of life. The plum blossom and new green leaves in hedge and border were spotless at Walton, its wallflowers very sweet on the untroubled air.
Thus I came clear of Street and the flat land. Outside of Walton I was in a country consisting of ups and downs rather than undulations, a grass country mainly, with orchards and hedges, elms in the hedges, pigs and sheep in the orchards. After the flat it was blessed. Perhaps it was not beautiful. It had character, but without easily definable features, and it fell an easy victim to such an accident as the absurdly dull stucco “Albion” inn, which appeared to have been designed for Pevensey or Croydon. Nevertheless, a sloping orchard9 of bowed apple trees sweeping139 the grass with their long, arched branches, and the smell[256] of peat smoke, counterbalanced the “Albion.” At Ashcott, where a man is free to choose between very good water from a fountain on the right and the coloured drinks of the “Bell” opposite, I was two hundred feet up. I went into the church—a delightful place for a retired140 deity—and enjoyed this inscription on an oval tablet of marble, behind the pulpit, relating to the “remains141” of Joseph Toms, who died in 1807, at the age of sixteen,—
“This youth was an apprentice142 to a grocer in Bristol, and as long as health permitted proved that inclination143 no less than duty prompted the union of strict integrity with industry. During his illness unto death he was calm, resigned, and full of hope. His late master has erected144 this small tribute to perpetuate145 the worth of so promising146 a character.”
My road ran along the ridge of the Poldens, and, after Ashcott, touched but a solitary147 house or two. One set of villages lay to the south or left, just above the levels of Sedgemoor, but below the hills. Another set lay below to the north, each with its attendant level—Shapwick Heath, Catcott Heath, Edington Heath, Chilton Moor, Woolavington Level—beyond. Shapwick I turned aside to visit. The village is scattered148 along a parallelogram of roads and cross lanes. An old manor149 house, low and screened by cedars150, stands apart. The church, of clean, rough stone, with a central tower, is in a[257] cedared green space at a corner, having roads on two sides, a farm and an apple orchard on the others; and trees have supplanted151 cottages on one roadside. A flagged path leads among the tombstones to the church door. One of the inscriptions152 that caught my eye was that in memory of Joe Whitcombe, fifty years a groom153 and factotum154 in the Strangways family at the manor house, who died at the age of sixty-four in 1892. Along with these facts are the lines,—
“An orchard in bloom in the sunny spring
To me is a wondrous155 lovely thing.”
Very different from Old Joe’s are the epitaphs inside the church, the work largely, I believe, of a former vicar, G. H. Templer, who built the big blank vicarage with its square, high-walled fruit garden and double range of stables, and planted cedars and cork156 trees. The epitaph of Lieut.-Col. Isaac Easton of the East India Company is a fair sample of this practically imperishable prose,—
“Through all the gradations of military duty, his love of Enterprise, his Valour, his Prudence157, and Humanity, obtained the admiration158 and affection of his fellow-soldiers with the confidence and commendation of that government which knew as well to distinguish as to reward real merit. In the more familiar walks of private life, all who knew him were eager to approve and to applaud the brilliant energy of his mind and[258] the polished affability of his manners. His heart glowed with all the sensibility which forms the genuine source of real goodness and greatness, with gratitude159 to his benefactor160, with generosity161 to his friend, and liberality to mankind. The sudden loss of so many virtues162 and so many amiable163 qualities, who that enjoyed his confidence or shared his conviviality164 can recall without a sigh or a tear? With a constitution impaired165 by the severities of unremitted service and the rigours of an oppressive climate, he returned, to the fond hope of enjoying on his native soil the well-earned recompense of his honourable166 labours, when a premature167 death hurried him to his grave in 1780, at the age of 45.”
Templer’s position in prose is the same as that of Jolliffe’s encomiast in verse at Kilmersdon. The relation of his work to life at Shapwick in the eighteenth century is about as close as that of the “Arcadia” to Sidney’s age. More telling are the inscriptions of two men named Cator and Graham, who were killed during a fight with a French privateer in the Bay of Bengal in October 1800. The Bulls and Strangways have big slabs168; the Bulls adding the blue and crimson of their arms to the chancel. Not less silent than the church was the street leading down towards the manor house and railway station, silent except for a transitory twitter of goldfinches. The one shop had its blinds drawn169 in honour of early closing day. It is a peaceful neighbourhood, where every one brews170 his own cider and burns the black or the inflammable[259] ruddy peat from the moor. A corner where there are a beautiful chestnut171 and some waste grass provides a camping ground for gypsies from Salisbury and elsewhere; and it seemed fitting that men and boys should spend their idle hours in the lane at marbles. It is famous, if at all, since the battle of Sedgemoor, for giving a home to F. R. Havergal and an occasional resting-place to Churton Collins.
Very still, silvery, and silent was the by-road by which I rode up through ploughland back again to the ridge. Lest I had missed anything, I turned away from my destination for a mile towards Ashcott. I was for most of the distance in Loxley Wood. Primroses172, as far as I could see, clustered thick round the felled oaks, the fagot heaps, and the tufts of last year’s growth on the stoles. A few stones on the right inside the wood are called Swayne’s Jumps, and it is related that a prisoner of the name, whether in Monmouth’s or Cromwell’s time I forget, escaped by means of some tremendous jumps there, taken when he was pretending to show his captors how they ought to jump.
Even without the wood this road was beautiful. For it was bordered for some way on the left by a broad grass strip planted with oaks, and not common oaks, but trees all based on small moss173-gilded pedestals of their own roots above the earth, their[260] bark and branches silver, their main limbs velveted174 with moss and plumed175 with polypody ferns. Moreover, they have filled the few gaps with young trees. On the right, after coming to the end of Loxley Wood and before the signpost of Greinton, I saw a rough waste strip of uneven176 breadth, partly overgrown by bushes from the hedge and by pine trees. Here ran the rank of telegraph posts, and in the grass were remains of fires. A hundred yards later, and as far as the turning of Shapwick, the waste was quite a little rushy common fed by horses.
Turning once more westward and again piercing Loxley Wood, the wayside strip there consecrated177 to the oak avenue ceased, but that it had once been prolonged far along the road was plain, whether it had been swallowed up by wood or meadow, or hedged off and planted with larches178 or apple trees, or ploughed up, or usurped179 by cottage and garden. Shorn thus, the road travels four miles of a ridge as straight and sharp as the Hog’s Back. It was delicious easy riding, with no company but that of a linnet muttering sweetly in the new-green larches, and a blackbird or two hurrying and spluttering under the hedge.
All the country on either hand was subject to my eyes. Before me the red disc of the sun was low,[261] its nether180 half obliterated181 by a long, misty cloud. The levels on my right, and their dark, moss-like corrugations, were misted over, not so densely182 that a white river of train smoke could not be seen flowing through it; and Brent Knoll183 far off towered over it like an islet of crag, dark and distinct; nor was the prostrate184 mass of Brean Down invisible on the seaward side of Brent Knoll. Not a sound emerged from that side beyond the bleat185 of a few lambs. On the left was the misty country of Athelney, and a solitary dark tower raised well above the midst of the level. The most delicate scene of all my journey was nearer. The Poldens have on this side several foothills, and at the turning to Righton’s Grave one of these confronted me; I had it in full view for a mile and could hardly look at anything else. This was Ball Hill. It is a smooth island lifted up out of an ever so faintly undulating land of hedged meadows and sparse186 elm trees. It rose very gradually, parallel to my road and about half a mile from it, so as to make a long, nascent187 curve, up to a comb of trees; and its flank was divided downwards and lengthwise amongst rosy188 ploughland and pale green corn in large hedgeless squares and oblongs, beautifully contrasted in size and colour. Next to Ball Hill is another one, as distinct, but steeper and wooded, called Pendon[262] Hill. In the dip between the two lay the church tower and cottages of Stawell, and a dim orchard rose behind them with trees that were like smoke. Though the lines of these hills and their decorated slopes are definitely beautiful, during the dusk on that silver road in the first Spring innocence189 they were a miraculous190 birth, to match the Spring innocence and the tranquillity of the dusk as I slid quietly on that road of silver.
Then came two shams192. The first was a towered residence close to the road, with Gothic features. The second, black against the sky, three miles ahead, was a tower and many ruinous arches on top of the wooded hill at Knowle. It is hard to show how not very experienced eyes begin to suspect a sham191 of this sort. But they did, and yet were able to dally193 a little with the kind of feeling which the real thing would have produced. For, when I saw the ruins most clearly, at the turn to Woolavington, Highbridge, and Burnham, twilight194 was half spent.
The road was descending. Bridgwater’s tower, spire, and chimneys, and smoke mingling195 with trees, were visible down on the left, and past them the dim Quantocks fading down to the sea. I was soon at the level of the railway, and Bawdrip behind the embankment showed me a pretty jumble196 of[263] roofs, chimneys, a church tower, and a green thorn tree over the rim95. The high slope of Knowle and its rookery beeches—where the ruin is—hung upon the right very darkly over the small pale “Knowle Inn” and the white scattered blackthorn blossom and myself slipping by. The road went on to Puriton and Pawlett, and down it under the trees two lovers were walking slowly, but opposite Knowle I had to turn sharp to the left. Those green trees in the last of the twilight seemed exceptionally benign197. After the turning I immediately crossed the deep-cut King’s Sedgemoor drain—with a flowering orchard betwixt it and the road I had left—and in a few yards the single line of the Somerset and Dorset Joint198 Railway. Two miles of flat field and white-painted orchard, and I was in a street of flat, dull, brick cottages and foul199 smoke, but possessing an extraordinarily200 haughty201 white hart chained over an inn porch of that name. Then the river Parrett; and a dark ship drawn up under the line of tall inns and stores with glimmering202 windows. I crossed the bridge and walked up Corn Hill between the shops to where the roads fork, one for Taunton, one for Minehead, to left and right of Robert Blake’s statue and the pillared dome of the market. I took the Minehead road, the right-hand one, past the banks, the post office, the “Royal Clarence”[264] hotel, and by half-past seven I was eating supper, listening to children outside in the still, dark street, laughing, chattering203, teasing, disputing. I read a page or two of the “History of Prince Lee Boo,” and fell asleep.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
mallet
|
|
| n.槌棒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
brewery
|
|
| n.啤酒厂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
outskirts
|
|
| n.郊外，郊区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
orchards
|
|
| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
ridgy
|
|
| adj.有脊的；有棱纹的；隆起的；有埂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
scattering
|
|
| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
farmhouse
|
|
| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
thicket
|
|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
weir
|
|
| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
foams
|
|
| n.泡沫，泡沫材料( foam的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
surmounting
|
|
| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
cypress
|
|
| n.柏树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
rattling
|
|
| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
persuasively
|
|
| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
titanic
|
|
| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
choir
|
|
| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sect
|
|
| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
graveyard
|
|
| n.坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
protruding
|
|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
juts
|
|
| v.（使）突出( jut的第三人称单数 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
receding
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
footpath
|
|
| n.小路，人行道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
dwarf
|
|
| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
squires
|
|
| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
chapels
|
|
| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
spaciousness
|
|
| n.宽敞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
nave
|
|
| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
asseverating
|
|
| v.郑重声明，断言( asseverate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
50
asseverates
|
|
| v.郑重声明，断言( asseverate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
51
gateways
|
|
| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
canonical
|
|
| n.权威的；典型的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
foamed
|
|
| 泡沫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
discreet
|
|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
holly
|
|
| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
second-hand
|
|
| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
marvels
|
|
| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
provender
|
|
| n.刍草；秣料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
mumbled
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
animatedly
|
|
| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
cane
|
|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
caned
|
|
| vt.用苔杖打（cane的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
naturalist
|
|
| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
naturalists
|
|
| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
benighted
|
|
| adj.蒙昧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
condescend
|
|
| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
binoculars
|
|
| n.双筒望远镜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
fanatic
|
|
| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
crested
|
|
| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
intervals
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
havoc
|
|
| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
rim
|
|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
marsh
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
discriminating
|
|
| a.有辨别能力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
colloquial
|
|
| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
downwards
|
|
| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
ribs
|
|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
willow
|
|
| n.柳树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
pastry
|
|
| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
posterity
|
|
| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
commemorated
|
|
| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
savages
|
|
| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
excavations
|
|
| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
hawthorn
|
|
| 山楂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
conceitedly
|
|
| 自满地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
conspicuousness
|
|
| 显著，卓越，突出； 显著性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
125
prow
|
|
| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
westward
|
|
| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
slanting
|
|
| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
northward
|
|
| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
conglomeration
|
|
| n.团块，聚集，混合物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
squat
|
|
| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
sprawls
|
|
| n.（城市）杂乱无序拓展的地区( sprawl的名词复数 )；随意扩展；蔓延物v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的第三人称单数 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
apprentice
|
|
| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
perpetuate
|
|
| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
cedars
|
|
| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
supplanted
|
|
| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
factotum
|
|
| n.杂役；听差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
cork
|
|
| n.软木，软木塞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
benefactor
|
|
| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
conviviality
|
|
| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
impaired
|
|
| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
premature
|
|
| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
slabs
|
|
| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
brews
|
|
| n.（尤指某地酿造的）啤酒( brew的名词复数 )；酿造物的种类；（茶）一次的冲泡量；（不同思想、环境、事件的）交融v.调制( brew的第三人称单数 )；酝酿；沏（茶）；煮（咖啡） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
primroses
|
|
| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
velveted
|
|
| 穿着天鹅绒的，天鹅绒覆盖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
175
plumed
|
|
| 饰有羽毛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
uneven
|
|
| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
consecrated
|
|
| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
larches
|
|
| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
usurped
|
|
| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
nether
|
|
| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
densely
|
|
| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
knoll
|
|
| n.小山，小丘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
bleat
|
|
| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
sparse
|
|
| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
nascent
|
|
| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
sham
|
|
| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
shams
|
|
| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
dally
|
|
| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
mingling
|
|
| adj.混合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
jumble
|
|
| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
benign
|
|
| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
joint
|
|
| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
extraordinarily
|
|
| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
chattering
|
|
| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |