Ilfracombe occupies one of the strangest sites on this strangely contorted coast. Down upon it, on either hand, look the great rocky hills of Hillsborough and the razor-backed, spiny1 ledges2 of the Runnacleaves, and the Tors; while amidst the winding3 roads of the town itself run smaller hills and vales, and down by the sea, where other seaside resorts usually have a conventional flat parade running by the shore, there are the Lantern Hill, overlooking the harbour, and the Capstone Hill, placed just where the usual sea-front would be, if the site of Ilfracombe were other than it is. Fortunately it is not. Between the two is Compass Hill. The Capstone Hill—it was formerly4, and should still be, “Capstan”—runs up towards the sea from the town, and presents, as it were, a lawn, inclined at an angle of something like forty-five degrees. When people most furiously do make holiday, in August, this expanse is covered over, day by day, with hundreds of figures, looking quite tiny in the scale of things. Sometimes, when Sunday Schools, or other institutions, come to85 Ilfracombe for their annual day out, they display their massed forces in living devices or letters of the alphabet, on the hillside, in view of the whole town.
E. D. Percival][Ilfracombe.
CAPSTONE HILL AND THE CONCERT PARTIES.
There is not, it has already been shown, any conventional front; and indeed at one time it was only possible to approach the shore at Ilfracombe at infrequent and isolated6 spots, such as Wildersmouth, or Chain Beach. That was in the times before seaside holidays were invented, and when Ilfracombe was only a small port. When the modern town began to rise, it was felt that a little more of the sea would be thought desirable, and consequently the present “Capstone Parade” was constructed in 1843, in the more or less perpendicular7 face that Capstone Hill presents to the waves. It is a semicircular roadway carved out of the rock, with rocky cliff above and more beneath, and beneath that, the sea, dashing in violently. The Capstone “Parade” has after all, you see, the conventional name; but, happily, it is not the conventional thing.
Since we cannot treat of Ilfracombe without touching8 upon its ancient history, it had better be done at once, and an end made of it forthwith. To begin with, it is not certain how the name derived9. In Saxon times it was “Alfreincombe,” and from that has been hazarded the theory of its having once belonged to Alfred the Great. Then stepped in that eternal factor of the letter H, and it became “Halfrincombe.” I wonder if any contemporary, uncertain in his aspirates, ever86 called the great monarch10, “Halfred”? It is a fearful thought.
Then the place, having been crowned with an H, of course those who should have kept the letter, vulgarly elided it, and the name became “Ilfardcombe,” or “Ilfridecombe,” and so remained until, with the introduction of printing, the style became irrevocably fixed11 at what it is now.
The town was then nothing more than a few waterside houses down by the harbour, that curious, almost pool-like inlet intended by nature for the purpose, but the place speedily prospered12, chiefly by reason of this natural haven13, and in 1346 the port was sufficiently14 wealthy and populous15 to be able to assist Edward the Third with a contingent16 of six ships and ninety-six seamen17, to help in the French war and the reduction of Calais. That appears to have been the high-water mark of Ilfracombe’s old-time prosperity, for thenceforward Barnstaple and Bideford took up the position of rivals, and wrested18 away much of its trade.
Little is heard of the town until the beginning of the Civil War. The sentiment of the townsfolk was strongly anti-Royalist, and it occurred, therefore, to Sir Francis Doddington, a Royalist commander who had helped his cause well at Appledore, that it would be the properest thing to teach them a lesson while the success of his party there was still fresh, to serve as a moral lesson here. What happened we may read from a contemporary account, in the Kingdom’s Weekly Intelligencer, September 3rd, 1644. It is couched something in87 the sarcastic19 vein20: “At a town called Ilford-combe in Devonshire, that saint-like Cavalier, Sir Francis Doddington, set that town on fire, burnt 27 houses in the town, but was beaten out by the townsmen and sailors, and lost many of his men.”
So the teacher was taught, but the Roundhead success was not lasting21, for, before the end of the month, Doddington had captured the town, together with twenty pieces of ordnance22, twenty barrels of powder, and two hundred stand of arms. The Royalists then held Ilfracombe until April 1646.
The port continued to decline, and is described by Blackmore, speaking of the eighteenth century, in the “Maid of Sker,” as “a little place lying in a hole, and with great rocks all around it, fair enough to look at, but more easy to fall down than to get up them”—the laws of gravity being no more suspended here than elsewhere.
One of the many inlets here deserves particular note. This is Rapparee Cove5, opening out just beyond the harbour.
Rapparee Cove is known to have borne that name certainly as far back as 1598, when it appears to have originated in some obscure connection with the Earl of Tyrone’s rebellion in Ireland, where the bulk of the rebels were armed with a species of small pike, called “raparys.” North Devon seems to have been in general a refuge for the fugitives23 from Ireland, and Ilfracombe, as a recognised port for the south of Ireland, to have been particularly favoured by them. Neighbouring88 Combemartin retained until 1837 an odd reminiscence of that time, suggested, no doubt, by the refugees. This was an annual pageant24, or merry-making, the hunting of the Earl of “Rone”; in which hobby-horses, much rough music, and a considerable deal of drunkenness figured.
Rapparee Cove was in 1782 the scene of the disastrous25 wreck26 of a large vessel27, variously stated to have been a prize captured from the Spanish by Rodney, or a Bristol slave-ship. For long afterwards, following storms, the beach was a happy hunting-ground for gold and silver coins, and for the less desirable relics28 of the many drowned, in the shape of skulls29 and bones.
The entrance to Ilfracombe harbour has been lighted from the earliest times by a beacon30 on the hill overlooking it, called, from that friendly gleam for the incoming mariner31, “Lantern Hill.” Whose care it was, thus to befriend the sailor, we are not told; but, from the old-time readiness of the Church to perform such-like good deeds, and from the undoubted fact that the building on the hilltop was once a chapel32 dedicated33 to St. Nicholas, it would seem that those who tended the light were no mere34 secular35 lighthouse men.
Whatever may have been the character of the old chapel in past ages, the interior is no longer of any interest, disclosing only a plain whitewashed36 room. The time-worn exterior37, partly overgrown with ivy38, and the lantern, crowned with a fish for weather-vane, afford more satisfaction. A light89 is still shown at nights, from the end of September until the beginning of May.
The harbour, long, like Ilfracombe in general, the manorial39 property of the Bourchiers, Earls of Bath, in succession to the Champernownes, Bonvilles, Nevilles, and others, and then of the Bourchier Wreys, now belongs, together with Lantern Hill, to the Corporation.
IN THE HARBOUR, ILFRACOMBE.
Now let us turn to a consideration of Ilfracombe to-day. People with a passion for comparisons and parallels—dear, good people who would trace a family likeness40 between an elephant and a dromedary—seek in conversation to find points of resemblance between Ilfracombe and (say) Torquay, Hastings, Brighton; half-a-dozen other seaside resorts. They are mostly amateurs at the art of discovering likenesses where they do not exist, and may be excused. But there have been90 those who in cold print have instituted resemblances. For these there is no excuse, acceptance, or encouragement. Ilfracombe is—just Ilfracombe, and not only does Ilfracombe insist upon its own individuality and declares “I am I,” but every other among the half-dozen naturally demands the like justice.
The nearest parallel is, of course, to be found in this same county of Devon; but that is sufficiently remote, geographically42, and in most other ways. A superficial likeness, in its hilly site, (and in its lack of sands) may be discovered to Torquay, but that is all. Torquay is in greater part residential43 and quietly aristocratic, with a tendency to pious44 works and clerical tea-fights: Ilfracombe is a “popular resort,” and becomes ever more so; with what it would be a mere inadequacy45 to term a “tendency” to open-air concerts and amusements for the crowd. We who stay, communing with nature, elegantly housed in the more refined hotels of Lynmouth, or the even yet primitive46 Clovelly, shudder47 at the August crowds at Ilfracombe, and recount across the dinner-tables, what time the tender evening closes in upon the quiet harbour, how we adventured there for half a day and watched the trippers at their strenuous48 tripping. Indeed, those who people Ilfracombe so numerously in the height of the season go there determined49 to have a “good time,” and expend50 a considerable amount of energy during the day in securing that desirable consummation; but when evening is come they unanimously91 clamour to be amused: hence the entertainments in the conservatory-like structure, known officially as the “Victoria Pavilion,” and unofficially and shamefully51 as the “Cucumber Frame”; and hence also the open-air concerts on the “Montebello Lawn,” and elsewhere: “Montebello” being a name, the most unprejudiced must agree, as little characteristic of Devon as are the “pierrots,” who make alleged53 fun for the aimless crowd. The days are indeed past when we were “insular.” We have, instead, become more than a thought too cosmopolitan54. “Ods bodikins!” as Sir Richard Grenville might have said, “beshrew me, but these things like me not.”
[After W. Daniell, R.A.
LANTERN HILL, ILFRACOMBE.
The study of seaside “holiday amusements,” from the time when the sea and the countryside themselves palled55, and the holiday-maker ceased to be able to amuse himself, might form an interesting theme for the social philosopher. Here we can but glance at the subject, and slightly trace the first footsteps of the nigger-minstrel and the barrel-organist, down to the German bands who extract unwilling56 tribute from a long-suffering public, and the piano-organ men, the immediate57 precursors58 of the “pierrots” aforesaid. It should not be difficult to become a “pierrot.” You procure59 a silly suit of white linen60 clothes, of no particular fit, that might have been made for a person four times your own size, whiten your silly face, place on your idiotic61 head a foolish sugar-loaf white felt hat, and, with a garnish62 of red or black balls, according to fancy, there you are, plus a little native impudence,92 fully52 equipped. I do not love the old burnt-cork nigger minstrel more, I only dislike him less than this ostensibly French importation that is already so hackneyed; but I declare I could welcome the return of even his extravagant63 figure, beery breath, and untutored banjo, by way of relief.
But these are, doubtless, the views of an unreasonable64 recluse65. They are not shared by the holiday crowds, nor by the ruling powers that control the destinies of Ilfracombe. Entertainers fill a “felt want,” felt very acutely by the class of people who most resort to the town in these days, and the governing body of the town develops it along these lines of least resistance. Only, as I stand, when darkness has fallen over the summer evening, a little aloof66, and look down from some convenient height upon the garish67 lights and the blatant68 merriment, the black hills seem, to this observer, to frown reproachfully upon the scene, and the twinkling stars seem like so many bright tear-drops for the folly69 of it all. In short, the romantic natural setting of Ilfracombe is utterly70 unsuited to this sort of thing. One may deplore71, yet not resent, it at Yarmouth or at Blackpool, where Nature is at her tamest, but found amid the bold rocks and frowning cliffs of North Devon, one does both. Nor is there any easy escape anywhere within the town. The brilliantly-lighted Pavilion glitters across the lawns, under the Capstone Hill, and across the intervening space you dimly see, maybe, a jigging72 figure within, executing a clog-dance. You may even93 hear the clatter73 of his clogs74, drowned at last in a very hurricane of applause.
If you remain, you must, perforce, listen to the celebration of mysterious sprees, in this wise:
(Confidentially)
“I went out on the tiddly-hi.
Oh, fie!
On the sly!
I came home with a head;
I put me boots in the bed
An’ slep’ on the mat instead;
twiddly, fiddly, hi, hi, HI. (Crescendo).
“When you’ve bin out on the tiddly-hi.
Oh, my!
(You try!)
You feel confoundedly cheap, and dry.
‘You’ve bin on the bend,’ the guv’nor said,
‘You’ve bin painting it red.’
I’d bin wanting a rise,
But ’e giv me a nasty surprise;—
For (dolefully, dimuendo) I got the push instead;
An’ that’s the result of goin’ out-on-the-blooming—
tiddly, iddly (but, with returning confidence,
fortissimo) HI, TI-HI.”
But, wearying for local colour, rather than for more of this sort of thing, which, after all, is done very much better in the London music-halls, you resort to the harbour. There indeed—if anywhere—you look for something characteristically Devonian. But even there the streets are brilliant till late at night with dining-rooms and the like—merciful94 powers, how every one must eat and drink at Ilfracombe—and the fishermen, if the samples heard by the present auditor76 are representative, are pre-eminently the foulest-mouthed to be found on many a varied77 coast-line.
I know not what the quiet holiday-maker may find to do at night at Ilfracombe. He may, at any rate, go to bed, but even there he is pursued by sounds of revelry. He undresses to the refrain of tiddly-iddly, diddy-dum-dey, or something equally intellectual, and his first dreams mingle78 with the distant, but distinctly audible,
“I ’eard the pitter-patter of ’er feet,
Oh, so neat!
Pitter-patter on the pyvement of the street.
On ’er fyce I tried to look,
An’—good grycious, ’twas the cook!”—
And thus, in the Cockney celebration of mean intrigue79, the melody merges80 into the mesh81 of visions.
What, indeed, shall the lonely visitor to Ilfracombe do with himself in the evenings? He may wander around the walks of the Capstone Parade or the Tors, and feel himself reduced to a singular loneliness amid the amorous82 couples who there most do congregate83; or feel not less lonely in exploring the endless “gardens,” “terraces,” and “crescents,” where every house is a boarding-house; or, in the finer flavour of euphonious84 avoidance of the commonplace truth, “an establishment for the reception of visitors.” There, alas85! he95 feels himself lonely indeed, as, passing the endless array of lighted rooms with open windows, he sees the holiday-making families assembled.
But morning in Ilfracombe is more endurable for such an one. Bustling86, democratic Ilfracombe has, then, none of that illuminated87 vulgarity and would-be, shop-soiled wickedness that characterise it overnight. Nature gets her chance again in the light of day, and in the long, narrow High Street you see the crowds in pursuit of natural enjoyments88. Some are shopping, some are making for the bathing-coves; others are going on one or other of the many coaching excursions to “places of interest in the adjacent country,” as the notices have it. It may be observed that not yet have motor waggonettes and the like replaced the coaches and other horsed vehicles at Ilfracombe, and that drivers and guards still affect the traditional red-coats associated of old with coaching. More than ever are there popular joys attendant upon one of these coaching-trips to Berrynarbor, to Combemartin, or Lynton; for in these fiercely enterprising times the local photographers take views, day by day, of the laden89 coaches as they prepare to set out; and so, at trifling90 cost, you have a permanent pictorial91 voucher92 as to the way in which you fleeted the sunny hours at Ilfracombe. Not, by any means, that all hours are sunny, this especial spot in North Devon being notoriously rainy; but it is at worst but an April-like raininess, and even as the showers come down, the sun that is to dry96 them up smiles through the watery93 sky. Thus, no one minds the “soft weather” of Ilfracombe.
It is many, many years since Charles Kingsley wrote of Ilfracombe in this manner: “Be sure, if you are sea-sick or heart-sick, or pocket-sick either, there is no pleasanter place of cure than this same Ilfracombe, with quiet nature and its quiet luxury, its rock fairyland and its sea walks, its downs and combes, its kind people, and, if possible, its still kinder climate, which combines the soft warmth of South Devon with the bracing94 freshness of the Welsh mountains.” The climate is the only thing that has not suffered change since that description was penned. The kind people are, doubtless, at bottom, as kind as of old—such of them as are Devonshire folk—but they are now urban (which, despite the etymology95 of the word, does not now indicate what is in these times understood by “urbanity”)—and to be urban in these days is to be, colloquially96, “on the make.” Ilfracombe, in fact, like any other large seaside resort, has turned its scenery and its climate to commercial account, and, as the local Urban District Council frankly97 acknowledges, exists for, and on, the visitor. It is a town of hotels, lodging-houses, and boarding-houses, few of whose proprietors98 can be natives. All the natural features are exploited, and, lest the visitor be in doubt what there is to see and do, the Council has taken in hand the task of placing notices in prominent places, indicating the things to be seen and to be done. Thus, kindly99 shepherded,97 you lose all personal enterprise, and do, like an obedient fellow, what you are bidden. From these official productions you learn instantly the features of the place, as thus:
“Capstone Parade and Hill. Bands. Free.
Victoria Pavilion. Concerts. Morning and Evening. Free.
Cairn Top. Pleasure Grounds. Free.
Hillsborough Hill Pleasure Grounds. Free.
Hele Bay and Beach. Free.
Chamberscombe and Score Woods. Ideal Picnic Spots. Free.”
There are, however, in this list so many things that, obviously, could not be anything else but free, that the ordinary stranger stands struck with astonishment100 at the moderation which has not included on the “free” list such items as the Bristol Channel, the air, and the roads. But where so many things are trumpeted101 as “free,” the suspicious person looks for others that are not; and, sure enough, he discovers them, in—
Tors Walks. Toll, 2d.”
It is not, of course, the fault of the local authority that the Tors Walks are subject to toll, for the place is private property; but the fact is especially unfortunate in a place like Ilfracombe, lacking sands or foreshore, except the one tiny beach of Wildersmouth Bay.
Nor can you well bathe in the sea without paying for the “privilege.”
The present circumstances of Ilfracombe are largely conditioned (to use for once a horribly98 illegitimate verb) by its nearness to the great manufacturing and seaport103 towns of Bristol and South Wales. Cardiff, Swansea, Barry, are all within easy reach by steamboat, only twenty miles across Channel, and the excursion to Ilfracombe from all these places is a favourite one. At any time in the summer, from four to six very large steamers from these places, lying in the harbour, form a familiar sight, and the “white funnel” and the “red funnel” steamers are very fine, commodious104 and well-found boats. They bring an immense concourse of people into the town, some to stay, but the majority for only a few hours. Compared, of course, with such places as Margate or Ramsgate, these numbers would not be remarkable105, but then you have to remember the difference in the sizes of the respective places. Margate has a reputation for vulgarity. All classes resort there, and so they do here. Ilfracombe has hotels as expensive on the one hand, or as cheap on the other, as you could wish, and, I doubt not, there are cultured visitors to be discovered in them. “Discovered” is, indeed, precisely106 the word, for they would require some seeking amid the mass. It is the commonest of errors to think vulgarity is the especial attribute of the poorer, or even of the middle classes. It is rather a condition of mind than of pocket, and resides in every social stratum107. It is only the snob108 who thinks the poor are by reason of their poverty, vulgar, or the rich, by favour of their wealth, refined. There are vulgar99 millionaires and cultured crossing-sweepers, for all the world to see. But the intellectually vulgar seem to select Ilfracombe, above all places on the North Devon coast, as their habitat. Originally a very delightful109 place, they are reducing it to their own level, aided and abetted110 by the local building fury, in which landowners are unwittingly, in destroying the natural beauties of the locality, engaged in the antique game of killing112 the goose that lays the golden eggs. To descend113 from the language of hyperbole, they are erecting114 tall terraces of houses on all the outskirts115, with the result, already seen, of shutting out the views over sea and cliffs; and with other results, presently to accrue116, that the town will be overbuilt and even the vulgarian miss the vanished rustic117 graces.
It is amusing to note how antipathetic are those who resort by choice to Lynmouth and Clovelly to those others who find in Ilfracombe everything to satisfy them. To make excursion from Ilfracombe to Lynton or Clovelly and back in half a day forms an easy and delightful trip, but to see those places and look upon them with an amused and indulgent eye is sufficient for your typical Ilfracombe visitor. Such an one would consider it impossible to stay there. I heard such a critic describe Lynmouth as an ’ole (or was it “a nole”?). Geographically, of course, she was correct, for Lynmouth, by the seashore, is several hundred feet below the summit of Holiday Hill; but of course we all know that a ’ole (or even a100 hole) is more, in this conjunction, than a mere geographical41 expression. It was a term of contempt, in this instance, for a place without open-air concerts and minstrels, a place where you are reduced to amusing yourself; a horrible fate when you find yourself so empty of entertainment to yourself. Per contra, those who stay by choice at Clovelly and Lynmouth, and adventure for half a day to sample Ilfracombe, have been known to describe it, in their way, as “vulgah.” But, since they cannot stay to see Ilfracombe at night, if they wish to return that day to the place of their choice, they cannot know how vulgar it can be.
This is not to say that Ilfracombe has lacked due recognition. It has been patronised by the most distinguished118, and it is in recognition of this fact that what was once the “Britannia” Hotel, down by the harbour, is now nothing less than the “Royal Britannia.”
E. D. Percival][Ilfracombe.
ILFRACOMBE.
There are great numbers of amiable119, but characterless, people, who have so little individuality or so much exaggerated loyalty120 for Royal personages and reverent121 respect for the aristocracy, that the well-advertised fact of those bright and shining ones having visited this resort, that, and the other is sufficient to make the fortune of those places. Many years ago, the then Prince of Wales made holiday at Ilfracombe, and the local guide-books have never allowed visitors to forget the fact, even although it was when he was a boy. He went out riding a pony122 known afterwards to fame as “Bobby.” Alas! poor Bobby. As the101 guide-books have cleverly discovered, even “the fact of having carried a Royal personage did not render Bobby immortal123, and his death deprived Ilfracombe of an attraction to its visitors, and a large income to its owner.” It was a sorry thing for Bobby that ever he carried a Prince of Wales, for, ever afterwards, he was condemned124 to the drudgery125 of long, long days carrying the children of the lower middle (and super-loyal) classes. To seat little Frankie or little Cissie upon that sanctified pony was, in some vague way, to come into touch with the Royal family; to give him a carrot was equivalent to (but less expensive than) presenting a purse to a Princess at a charity meeting. Bobby was transfigured, like the objects sung by the satirist126:
“A clod—a piece of orange-peel—
An end of a cigar—
Once trod on by a princely heel,
How beautiful they are!”
But the poor animal’s glory was hardly earned. Loyalty, expressed in terms of an unending burden of children, at last wore him out, and he died.
For a loving list of the great who have visited the town, you must please to look in those guide-books for yourselves, but we learn that “no year passes without some distinguished personage treading the ground of beautiful Ilfracombe, and giving another start to a new chapter of the town’s progress as a fashionable resort.” That remains127 true; I, myself, was there last year.
102 The old parish church has of late been little altered. It stands high at the west end of the principal street, midway between the deeps of the harbour and the alpine128 heights on which the railway terminus is placed, and its approach is by a steep flight of stone stairs.
There is something of almost every architectural period in Ilfracombe church, but the workmanship was ever of so homely129 a character that the styles all blend into one rude mass. The tower ascends130 in a singular diminishing fashion. In the large and crowded churchyard you notice most distinctly, as you are indeed intended to do, a stone recording131 no fewer than nine centenarians who lived and died at Ilfracombe between 1784 and 1897. This by way of advertisement of the astonishing salubrity of the place; but an inhabitant of Brighton chancing this way would be amused. At Brighton there are generally to be found half a dozen hale and hearty132 centenarians.
Odd names are not infrequent; for example, “Humphrey Rottenberry,” and Ann of the same name, who died aged111 94, and thus nearly became one of those witnesses to the supreme133 value of the Ilfracombe air. Herapaths, too, abound134.
The interior of the church is something of an architectural puzzle, owing to the additions made in succeeding ages. The grotesque135 thirteenth-century stone corbels supporting the waggon-roof and its array of wooden angels, are particularly interesting. They form a strange assemblage of monsters, in which some see only a freakish103 imagination; but many of them are illustrations of legends once current in this romantic shire. Prominent among them are the lean cow, Chiche-vache, and the well-conditioned cow, Bycorn: the first in so sorry a condition because her only food, according to the old story, was good women; the second so plump by reason of her diet being exclusively good and long-suffering husbands—and such, we all know, abound.
ILFRACOMBE CHURCH-TOWER.
Among the curious monuments of the Parmynter family is a tablet with an epitaph little, if anything,104 less than blasphemous136 in modern thought, to Katherine Parmynter. Of her we read:
“Scarce ever was Innocence137 and Prudence138 so lovely: But had you known her conversation, you would have said she was the daughter of Eve before she tasted the apple. A servant of Christ Jesus sought her to wife; but his master thought him unworthy, and soe tooke her unto Himself.”
With much more to the same effect. This crown and glory of her sex died in 1660.
The monument of Captain Richard Bowen, who fell at Teneriffe, in the service of his country, has a lengthy139 inscription140, which is, however, not unworthy of being copied here, as a very full-blown example of the florid patriotic141 style that once obtained:
Sacred to the Memory
of Richard Bowen, Esq.,
Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, the Terpsichore
Of Manners affable and liberal, in private Life:
He was beloved by his Family, and respected by his Friends
with which Providence147 had blest him,
He overcame Difficulties surmountable148 by no common Powers:
is most difficult.
Amongst distinguished Characters he was himself distinguished
Full of Resources, Spirit, and the most decisive Activity, he at
The Post of Danger, to which he was so often appointed,
Of a life thus spent, and spending, in the sacred Cause of his
King and Country
The Career was stopt, in the unfortunate Enterprize at Teneriffe,
(under the Command of Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B.)
where he fell!
Yet full in the Path of his Duty and of Glory,
at the Head of his own Ship’s Company;
on the 24th of July 1797; in the 37th Year of his Age.
Of such a Man and such a Relation it were unjust to say less:
and Veneration161,
He will live in the Remembrance of his Family
and the Regret of a grateful Country.
... Usque post era
Crescet laude recens ...
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spiny
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| adj.多刺的，刺状的；n.多刺的东西 | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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winding
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formerly
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cove
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isolated
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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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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prospered
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haven
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14
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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15
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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16
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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17
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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18
wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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19
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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20
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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21
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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22
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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23
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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24
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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25
disastrous
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|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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26
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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27
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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28
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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29
skulls
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|
| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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30
beacon
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|
| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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31
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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32
chapel
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|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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33
dedicated
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|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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34
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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35
secular
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|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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36
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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38
ivy
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|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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39
manorial
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|
| adj.庄园的 | |
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40
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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41
geographical
|
|
| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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42
geographically
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|
| adv.地理学上，在地理上，地理方面 | |
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43
residential
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|
| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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44
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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45
inadequacy
|
|
| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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46
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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47
shudder
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|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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48
strenuous
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|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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49
determined
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|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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50
expend
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|
| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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51
shamefully
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|
| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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52
fully
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|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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53
alleged
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|
| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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54
cosmopolitan
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|
| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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55
palled
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|
| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
unwilling
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|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
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57
immediate
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|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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58
precursors
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|
| n.先驱( precursor的名词复数 )；先行者；先兆；初期形式 | |
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59
procure
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|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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60
linen
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|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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61
idiotic
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|
| adj.白痴的 | |
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62
garnish
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|
| n.装饰，添饰，配菜 | |
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63
extravagant
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|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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64
unreasonable
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|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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65
recluse
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|
| n.隐居者 | |
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66
aloof
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|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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67
garish
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|
| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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68
blatant
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|
| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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69
folly
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|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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70
utterly
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|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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71
deplore
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|
| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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72
jigging
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|
| n.跳汰选，簸选v.（使）上下急动( jig的现在分词 ) | |
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73
clatter
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|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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74
clogs
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|
| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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75
bin
|
|
| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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76
auditor
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|
| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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77
varied
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|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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78
mingle
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|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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79
intrigue
|
|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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80
merges
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|
| （使）混合( merge的第三人称单数 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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81
mesh
|
|
| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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82
amorous
|
|
| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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83
congregate
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|
| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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84
euphonious
|
|
| adj.好听的，悦耳的，和谐的 | |
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85
alas
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|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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86
bustling
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|
| adj.喧闹的 | |
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87
illuminated
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|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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88
enjoyments
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|
| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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89
laden
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|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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90
trifling
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|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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91
pictorial
|
|
| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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92
voucher
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|
| n.收据；传票；凭单，凭证 | |
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93
watery
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|
| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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94
bracing
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|
| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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95
etymology
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|
| n.语源；字源学 | |
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96
colloquially
|
|
| adv.用白话，用通俗语 | |
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97
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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98
proprietors
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|
| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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99
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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100
astonishment
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|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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101
trumpeted
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|
| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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102
toll
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|
| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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103
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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104
commodious
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|
| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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105
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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106
precisely
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|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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107
stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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108
snob
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|
| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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109
delightful
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|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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110
abetted
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|
| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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111
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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112
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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113
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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114
erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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115
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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116
accrue
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| v.(利息等)增大，增多 | |
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117
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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118
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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119
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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120
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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121
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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122
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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123
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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124
condemned
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|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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125
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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126
satirist
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|
| n.讽刺诗作者，讽刺家，爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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127
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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128
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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129
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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130
ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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131
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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132
hearty
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|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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133
supreme
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|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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134
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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135
grotesque
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|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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136
blasphemous
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|
| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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137
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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138
prudence
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|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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139
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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140
inscription
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|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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141
patriotic
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|
| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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142
ERECTED
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|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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143
afflicted
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|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
humane
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|
| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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145
esteemed
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|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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146
exertion
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|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
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147
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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148
surmountable
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| 可战胜的，可克服的 | |
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149
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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150
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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151
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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152
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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153
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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154
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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155
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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156
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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157
attests
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| v.证明( attest的第三人称单数 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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158
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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159
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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160
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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161
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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