In the frank veracity3 of this last confession4 there lies a pleasant truth which it is wholesome5 to hear from such excellent and undisputed authority. Many people have told us about the advantage of remembering what we read, and have imparted severe counsels as to ways and means. Thackeray and Charles Lamb alone have ventured to hint at the equal delight of forgetting, and of returning to some well-loved volume with recollections softened6{2} into an agreeable haze7. Lamb, indeed, with characteristic impatience8, sighed for the waters of Lethe that he might have more than his due; that he might grasp a double portion of those serene9 pleasures of which his was no niggardly10 share. “I feel as if I had read all the books I want to read,” he wrote disconsolately11 to Bernard Barton. “Oh! to forget Fielding, Steele, etc., and read ’em new!”
This is a wistful fancy in which many of us have had our share. There come moments of doubt and discontent when even a fresh novel fills us with shivery apprehensions12. We pick it up reluctantly, and look at it askance, as though it were a dose of wholesome medicine. We linger sadly for a moment on the brink13; and then, warm in our hearts, comes the memory of happier hours when we first read “Guy Mannering,” or “The Scarlet14 Letter,” or “Persuasion;” when we first forgot the world in “David Copperfield,” or raced at headlong speed, with tingling15 veins16 and bated breath, through the marvelous “Woman in White.” Alas17! why were we so ravenous18 in our youth? Like the Prodigal19 Son, we consumed all our fortune in a few short years, and now the{3} husks, though very excellent husks indeed, and highly recommended for their nourishing and stimulating20 qualities by the critic doctors of the day, seem to our jaded21 tastes a trifle dry and savorless. If only we could forget the old, beloved books, and “read ’em new”! With many this is not possible, for the impression which they make is too vivid to be obliterated22, or even softened, by time. We may re-read them, if we choose. We do re-read them often, for the sake of lingering repeatedly over each familiar page, but we can never “read ’em new.” The thrill of anticipation23, the joyous24 pursuit, the sustained interest, the final satisfaction,—all these sensations of delight belong to our earliest acquaintance with literature. They are part of the sunshine which gilds25 the halcyon26 days of youth.
But other books there be,—and it is well for us that this is so,—whose tranquil27 mission is to soothe28 our grayer years. These faithful comrades are the “bedside” friends whom Thackeray loved, to whom he returned night after night in the dozy hours, and in whose generous companionship he found respite29 from the fretful cares of day. These are the vol{4}umes which should stand on a sacred shelf apart, and over them a bust30 of Hermes, god of good dreams and quiet slumbers32, whom the wise ancients honored soberly, as having the best of all guerdons in his keeping. As for the company on that shelf, there is room and to spare for poets, and novelists, and letter-writers; room for those “large, still books” so dear to Tennyson’s soul, and for essays, and gossipy memoirs33, and gentle, old-time manuals of devotion, and ghost lore34, untainted by modern research, and for the “lying, readable histories,” which grow every year rarer and more beloved. There is no room for self-conscious realism picking its little steps along; nor for socialistic dramas, hot with sin; nor ethical35 problems, disguised as stories; nor “heroes of complex, psychological interest,” whatever they may mean; nor inarticulate verse; nor angry, anarchical reformers; nor dismal36 records of vice37 and disease parading in the covers of a novel. These things are all admirable in their way, but they are not the books which the calm Hermes takes under his benign38 protection. Dull, even, they may be, and provocative39 of slumber31; but the road to fair dreams{5} lies now, as in the days of the heroes, through the shining portals of ivory.
Montaigne and James Howell, then, were Thackeray’s bedside favorites,—“the Perigourdin gentleman, and the priggish little clerk of King Charles’s Council;” and with these two “dear old friends” he whiled away many a midnight hour. The charm of both lay, perhaps, not merely in their diverting gossip, nor in their wide acquaintance with men and life, but in their serene and enviable uncontentiousness. Both knew how to follow the sagacious counsel of Marcus Aurelius, and save themselves a world of trouble by having no opinions on a great variety of subjects. “I seldom consult others,” writes Montaigne placidly40, “and am seldom attended to; and I know no concern, either public or private, which has been mended or bettered by my advice.” Ah! what a man was there! What a friend to have and to hold! What a courtier, and what a country gentleman! It is pleasant to think that this embodiment of genial42 tolerance43 was a contemporary of John Calvin’s; that this fine scholar, to whom a few books were as good as many, lived unfretted by the{6} angry turbulence44 of men all bent45 on pulling the world in their own narrow paths. What wonder that Thackeray forgave him many sins for the sake of his leisurely46 charm and wise philosophy! In fact, James Howell, the “priggish little clerk,” was not withheld47 by his priggishness from relating a host of things which are hardly fit to hear. Those were not reticent48 days, and men wrote freely about matters which it is perhaps as healthy and as agreeable to let alone. But Howell was nevertheless a sincere Churchman as well as a sincere Royalist. He was sound throughout; and if he lacked the genius and the philosophy of Montaigne, he was his equal in worldly knowledge and in tolerant good temper. He heard, enjoyed, and repeated all the gossip of foreign courts, all the “severe jests” which passed from lip to lip. He loved the beauty of Italy, the wit of France, the spirit of the Netherlands, and the valor49 of Spain. The first handsome woman that earth ever saw, he tells us, was made of Venice glass, as beautiful and as brittle50 as are her descendants to-day. Moreover, “Eve spake Italian, when Adam was seduced;” for in that beguiling51 tongue, in those soft, per{7}suasive accents, she felt herself to be most irresistible52.
There is really, as Thackeray well knew, a great deal of pleasing information to be gathered from the “Familiar Letters,” and no pedagogic pride, no spirit of carping criticism, mars their delightful53 flavor. The more wonderful the tale, the more serene the composure with which it is narrated54. Howell sees in Holland a church monument “where an earl and a lady are engraven, with three hundred and sixty-five children about them, which were all delivered at one birth.” Nay55, more, he sees “the two basins in which they were christened, and the bishop’s name who did it, not yet two hundred years ago;” so what reasonable room is left for doubt? He tells us the well-authenticated story of the bird with a white breast which visited every member of the Oxenham family immediately before death; and also the “choice history” of Captain Coucy, who, dying in Hungary, sent his heart back to France, as a gift to his own true love. She, however, had been forced by her father into a reluctant and unhappy marriage; and her husband, intercepting56 the token, had it{8} cooked into a “well-relished dish,” which he persuaded his wife to eat. When she had obeyed, he told her, in cruel sport, the ghastly nature of the food; but she, “in a sudden exaltation of joy, and with a far-fetch’d sigh, cried, ‘This is a precious cordial indeed,’ and so lick’d the dish, saying, ‘It is so precious that ’tis pity to put ever any meat upon it.’ So she went to her chamber57, and in the morning she was found stone dead.” Did ever rueful tale have such triumphant58 ending?
Of other letter-writers, Charles Lamb and Madame de Sévigné are perhaps best suited for our dozy hours, because they are sure to put us into a good and amiable59 frame of mind, fit for fair slumber and the ivory gates. Moreover, the bulk of Madame de Sévigné’s correspondence is so great that, unless we have been very faithful and constant readers, we are likely to open into something which is new to us; and as for Lamb, those who love him at all love him so well that it matters little which of his letters they read, or how often they have read them before. Only it is best to select those written in the meridian60 of his life. The earlier ones are too painful, the later ones too{9} sad. Let us take him at his happiest, and be happy with him for an hour; for, unless we go cheerfully to bed, the portals of horn open for us with sullen61 murmur62, and fretful dreams, more disquieting63 than even the troubled thoughts of day, flit batlike round our melancholy64 pillows.
Miss Austen is likewise the best of midnight friends. There stand her novels, few in number and shabby with much handling, and the god Hermes smiles upon them kindly65. We have known them well for years. There is no fresh nook to be explored, no forgotten page to be revisited. But we will take one down, and re-read for the fiftieth time the history of the theatricals66 at Mansfield Park; and see Mr. Yates ranting67 by himself in the dining-room, and the indefatigable68 lovers rehearsing amorously70 on the stage, and poor Mr. Rushworth stumbling through his two-and-forty speeches, and Fanny Price, in the chilly71 little schoolroom, listening disconsolately as her cousin Edmund and Mary Crawford go through their parts with more spirit and animation72 than the occasion seems to demand. When Sir Thomas returns, most inopportunely, from{10} Antigua, we lay down the book with a sigh of gentle satisfaction, knowing that we shall find all these people in the morning just where they belong, and not, after the fashion of some modern novels, spirited overnight to the antipodes, with a breakneck gap of months or years to be spanned by our drooping73 imaginations. Sir Walter Scott tells us, with tacit approbation74, of an old lady who always had Sir Charles Grandison read to her when she felt drowsy75; because, should she fall asleep and waken up again, she would lose nothing of the story, but would find the characters just where she had left them, “conversing in the cedar-parlour.” It would be possible to take a refreshing76 nap—did our sympathy allow us such an alleviation—while Clarissa Harlowe is writing, on some tiny scraps77 of hidden paper, letters which fill a dozen printed pages.
Lovers of George Borrow are wont78 to claim that he is one of the choicest of bedside comrades. Mr. Birrell, indeed, stoutly79 maintains that slumber, healthy and calm, follows the reading of his books just as it follows a brisk walk or rattling80 drive. “A single chapter of{11} Borrow is air and exercise.” Neither need we be very wide awake when we skim over his pages. He can be read with half-closed eyes, and we feel his stir and animation pleasantly from without, just as we feel the motion of a carriage when we are heavy with sleep. Peacock is too clever, and his cleverness has too much meaning and emphasis for this lazy delight. Yet, nevertheless, “The Misfortunes of Elphin” is an engaging book to re-read—if one knows it well already—in moments of drowsy satisfaction. Then will the convivial81 humor of “Seithenyn ap Seithyn” awake a sympathetic echo in our hearts, shorn for the nonce of all moral responsibility. Then will the roar of the ocean surging through the rotten dikes make the warm chimney corner doubly grateful. Then is the reader pleased to follow the fortunes of the uncrowned prince among a people who, having “no pamphleteering societies to demonstrate that reading and writing are better than meat and drink,” lived without political science, and lost themselves contentedly82 “in the grossness of beef and ale.” Peacock, moreover, in spite of his keenness and virility83, is easily forgotten. We can “read{12} him new,” and double our enjoyment84. His characters seldom have any substantiality. We remember the talk, but not the talkers, and so go blithely85 back to those scenes of glad good-fellowship, to that admirable conservatism and that caustic86 wit.
Let us, then, instead of striving so strenuously87 to remember all we read, be grateful that we can occasionally forget. Mr. Samuel Pepys, who knew how to extract a fair share of pleasure out of life, frankly88 admits that he delighted in seeing an old play over again, because he was wise enough to commit none of it to memory; and Mr. Lang, who gives his vote to “Pepys’s Diary” as the very prince of bedside books, the one “which may send a man happily to sleep with a smile on his lips,” declares it owes its fitness for this post to the ease with which it can be forgotten. “Your deeds and misdeeds,” he writes, “your dinners and kisses, glide89 from our recollections, and being read again, surprise and amuse us afresh. Compared with you, Montaigne is dry, Boswell is too full of matter; but one can take you up anywhere, and anywhere lay you down, certain of being diverted by the picture of that{13} companion with whom you made your journey through life.... You are perpetually the most amusing of gossips, and, of all who have gossiped about themselves, the only one who tells the truth.”
And the poets allied90 with Hermes and happy slumber,—who are they? Mr. Browning is surely not one of the kindly group. I would as lief read Mr. George Meredith’s prose as Mr. Browning’s verse in that hour of effortless enjoyment. But Wordsworth holds some placid41 moments in his keeping, and we may wander on simple errands by his side, taking good care never to listen to philosophy, but only looking at all he shows us, until our hearts are surfeited91 with pleasure, and the golden daffodils dance drowsily92 before our closing eyes. Keats belongs to dreamier moods, when, as we read, the music of his words, the keen creative magic of his style, lure93 us away from earth. We leave the darkness of night, and the grayness of morning. We cease thinking, and are content to feel. It is an elfin storm we hear beating against the casement94; it is the foam95 of fairy seas that washes on the shore.{14}
wrapped in soft, slumberous97 satisfaction, we are but vaguely98 conscious of the enchanted99 air we breathe, or of our own unutterable well-being100. There is no English poem, save only “Christabel,” which can lead us like “The Eve of St. Agnes” straight to the ivory gates, and waft101 us gently from waking dreams to the mistier102 visions of sleep. But there are many English poets—Herrick, and Marvell, and Gray, and Cowper, and Tennyson—who have bedside verses for us all. Herrick, indeed, though breathing the freshness of morning, is a delightful companion for night. He calls us so distinctly and seductively to leave, as he did, the grievous cares of life; to close our ears to the penetrating103 voice of duty; to turn away our eyes from the black scaffold of King Charles; and to watch, with him, the blossoms shaken in the April wind, and the whitethorn of May time blooming on the hills, and the sheen of Julia’s robe, as she goes by with laughter. This is not a voice to sway us at broad noon, when we are striving painfully to do our little share of work; but Hesperus should bring some respite even to the dutiful, and in our dozy hours it is sweet to lay aside all labor104, and keenness, and altruism105. Adonis, says the old myth, fled from the amorous69 arms of Aphrodite to the cold Queen of Shadows who could promise him nothing but repose106. Worn with passion, wearied of delight, he lay at the feet of Persephone, and bartered107 away youth, strength, and love for the waters of oblivion and the coveted108 blessing109 of sleep.
A KITTEN.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
prattle
|
|
| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
dozy
|
|
| adj.困倦的；愚笨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
veracity
|
|
| n.诚实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
niggardly
|
|
| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
disconsolately
|
|
| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
brink
|
|
| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
tingling
|
|
| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ravenous
|
|
| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
stimulating
|
|
| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
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： |
|
|
|
|
23
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
gilds
|
|
| 把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 )； 给…上金色； 作多余的修饰（反而破坏原已完美的东西）； 画蛇添足 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
halcyon
|
|
| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
soothe
|
|
| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
slumbers
|
|
| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
memoirs
|
|
| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lore
|
|
| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
ethical
|
|
| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
benign
|
|
| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
provocative
|
|
| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
placidly
|
|
| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
tolerance
|
|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
turbulence
|
|
| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
withheld
|
|
| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
reticent
|
|
| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
valor
|
|
| n.勇气，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
brittle
|
|
| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
beguiling
|
|
| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
narrated
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
intercepting
|
|
| 截取（技术），截接 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
meridian
|
|
| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
disquieting
|
|
| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
theatricals
|
|
| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
ranting
|
|
| v.夸夸其谈( rant的现在分词 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
indefatigable
|
|
| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
amorous
|
|
| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
amorously
|
|
| adv.好色地，妖艳地；脉；脉脉；眽眽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
approbation
|
|
| n.称赞；认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
refreshing
|
|
| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
stoutly
|
|
| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
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： |
|
|
|
|
81
convivial
|
|
| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
contentedly
|
|
| adv.心满意足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
virility
|
|
| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
blithely
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
caustic
|
|
| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
strenuously
|
|
| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
surfeited
|
|
| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
drowsily
|
|
| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
lure
|
|
| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
havened
|
|
| v.港口，安全地方( haven的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
slumberous
|
|
| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
well-being
|
|
| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
waft
|
|
| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
mistier
|
|
| misty（多雾的，被雾笼罩的）的比较级形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
103
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
altruism
|
|
| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
bartered
|
|
| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
coveted
|
|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |