We leave Bridgwater by St. Mary’s church and the street called curiously3, “Penel Orlieu,” whose name derives5 from a combination of Pynel Street and Orlewe Street, two thoroughfares that have long been conjoined. “Pynel,” or “Penelle,” was the name of a bygone Bridgwater family.
Up Wembdon Hill, we come out of the town by its only residential6 suburb. Motor-cars have absolutely ruined this road out of Bridgwater, and on through Cannington and Nether Stowey, to Minehead and Porlock. It is a long succession of holes, interspersed8 with bumpy9 patches, and on typical summer days the air is heavy with the dust raised by passing cars; dust that has only begun to settle when another comes along, generally at an illegal speed, and raises some more. The hedges and wayside trees between Bridgwater and Nether Stowey are nowadays, from this cause, a curious and woeful sight, and the village of Nether Stowey itself is, for the same reason, made to wear a shameful10 draggletailed appearance. The dust off the limestone11 road is of the whiteness 140of flour, but looks, as it lies heavily on the foliage12, singularly like snow. The effect of a landscape heavily enshrouded in white, under an intensely blue August sky, is unimaginably weird13: as though the unthinkable—a summer snowstorm—had occurred.
Cannington, whose name seems temptingly like that of Kennington—K?ningtun, the King’s town—in South London, especially as it was once the property of Alfred the Great, is really the “Cantuctone,” i.e. Quantock town, mentioned in Alfred’s will, in which, inter7 alia, he gives the manor14 to his son Eadweard.
CANNINGTON.
The village stands well above the Parret valley, and is described by Leland as a “praty uplandische” place. A stream that wanders to this side and that, and in its incertitude15 loses its way and distributes itself in shallow pools and between gravelly banks, over a wide area, is the traveller’s introduction to Cannington. Here a comparatively modern bridge carries the dusty highway over the stream, leaving to contemplative folk the original packhorse bridge by which in olden times the water was crossed when floods rendered impracticable the usual practice of fording it. The group formed by the tall red sandstone tower of the church seen from here, amid the trees, with the long rambling16 buildings of the “Anchor” inn below, and the packhorse bridge to the left, is charming. The present writer said as much to the chauffeur17 of a motorcar, halted here by the roadside. It seemed a 141favourable opportunity for testing the attitude of such an one towards scenery and these interesting vestiges18 of eld.
“Bridge, ain’t it?” he asked, jerking a dirty finger in that direction.
“Yes: that is the old packhorse bridge, in use before wheeled traffic came much this way.”
“Our ancestors had none.”
“They went through the stream.”
“Kerridges too?”
“Yes, such as the carriages of those times were.”
“’Eavens,” said he, summing up; “what ’eathenish times to live in!” And he proceeded with his work, which turned out, on closer inspection22, to be that of plentifully23 oiling the fore19 and aft identification-plates of his car, to the end that the dust which so thickly covered the roads should adhere to them and obscure alike the index-letters and the numbers. He was obviously proposing to travel well up to legal limit.
The church is a noble example of the Perpendicular24 period, with an ancient Court House adjoining, the property of the Roman Catholic Lord Clifford of Chudleigh. It was made the home of a French Benedictine sisterhood in 1807; and is now a Roman Catholic Industrial School for boys. The tall, timeworn enclosing walls of its grounds form a prominent feature of the village.
142One of the monuments on the walls of the church, in the course of a flatulent epitaph upon the virtues25 of various members of the Rogers family, of early seventeenth-century date, indulges in a lamentable26 pun. The subject under consideration is “Amy, daughter of Henry Rogers.” “Shee,” we are told, “did Amy-able live.” Deplorable!
Cannington stands at the entrance to the Quantock country, that delightful27 rural district of wooded hills and secluded28 combes which remains29 very much the same as it was just over a century ago, when Coleridge and his friends first made it known. The Quantock Hills run for some twelve miles in a north-westerly direction, from Taunton to the sea at West Quantoxhead; the high road from Bridgwater to Minehead crossing the ridge2 of them at Quantoxhead. The highest point of this range is Will’s Neck, midway, rising to 1262 feet. The capital of the Quantock country, although by no means situated30 on or near the ridge, is Nether Stowey. Behind that village rises the camp-crowned hill of Danesborough, which, although not itself remarkably31 high, is so situated that it commands an exceptionally fine panoramic32 view extending over the flat lands that border the Parret estuary33, and over the semicircular sweep of Bridgwater Bay.
NETHER STOWEY; GAZEBO AT STOWEY COURT.
Some wild humorist, surely, that was, who pretended to derive4 the name of the Quantocks from a supposititious exclamation34 by Julius C?sar, who is supposed to have exclaimed, 145standing on the crest35 of Danesborough, behind Nether Stowey, “Quantum ad hoc!” That is, “How much from here!” in allusion36 to the view from that point. Serious persons, however, tell us that the name is the Celtic “Cantoc” or “Gwantog;” i.e. “full of combes.”
Peculiarly beautiful though the Quantock scenery is, it is probable that the especially delicate beauty of it would never have attracted outside attention, had it not been for the association during a brief space at Nether Stowey of Coleridge and his friends. We will spare some time to visit Nether Stowey, and see what manner of setting was that in which the “Ancient Mariner” and other of Coleridge’s poetry was wrought38.
The entrance to Stowey from the direction of Bridgwater is particularly imposing39. You come downhill, and then sharply round a bend to the right, where a group of Scotch40 firs introduces Stowey Court and the adjoining parish church: the view up the road towards the village made majestic41 and old-world by another grouping of firs beyond the curious early eighteenth-century gazebo that looks out in stately fashion from the garden wall of the Court. From this, and from similar summerhouse-like buildings, our great-great-grandfathers and grandmothers glanced from their walled gardens upon the coaches and the road-traffic of a bygone age. The roofs and gables, and the uppermost mullioned windows of the Court are glimpsed over the tall walls.
Although Stowey Court dated originally from 146the fifteenth century, when it was built by Touchet, Lord Audley, and although it formed an outpost of the Royalists during the struggles of Charles the First with his Parliament, the building is not nowadays of much interest, and the church is of less, having been rebuilt in 1851, with the exception of the tower.
The romantic promise of this prelude42 to Stowey is scarcely supported by the appearance of the village street. It is a long street of houses for the most part of suburban43 appearance, running along the main road, with a fork at the further end, along the road to Taunton, where stands a modern Jubilee44 clock-tower beside the old village lock-up. The clock-tower seems to most people a poor exchange for the small but picturesque45 old market-house that until comparatively recent years stood in the middle of the street, with a streamlet running by.
To Leland, writing in the reign46 of Henry the Eighth, Stowey was “a poore village. It stondith yn a Botom emong Hilles.” The situation is correctly described, and no doubt the condition of Stowey was all that Leland says of it, but no one could nowadays describe it truthfully as “poor,” although it would be altogether correct to write it down as desperately47 commonplace. There is nothing poetic48 about the village at this time o’ day, and its position on a much-travelled main road has brought a constant stream of fast-travelling motor-cars and waggons, together with a frequent service of Great Western Railway 147motor-omnibuses, with the result that a loathsome49 mingled50 odour of petrol and fried lubricating oil and a choking dust pervade51 the long street all the summer. The local hatred52 of motor-cars—a deep-seated and intense detestation of them and those who drive them and travel in them—is, perhaps, surprising to a mere53 passer-by, who may just mention the subject to a villager; but it is only necessary to stay a day and a night in Stowey, and then enough will be seen and heard and smelt54 to convert the most mild-mannered person to an equal hatred.
They are naturally tolerant people at Stowey, and not disposed to be censorious. If you do not interfere55 with their comfort and well-being56, you are welcome to exist on the face of the earth, as far as they are concerned, and joy go with you. They even tolerate the notorious Agapemoneites of Spaxton, two miles away, the dwellers57 in the Abode58 of Love; and are prepared, without active resentment59, to allow the Rev60. Hugh Smyth-Pigott to style himself Jesus Christ and to cohabit with any lady—or any number of ladies—he pleases, and to style the resultant offspring Power, or Glory, or Catawampus, or Fried Fish, or anything that may seem good to him, with no more than a little mild amusement. “They doan’ intervere wi’ we, and us woan’ intervere wi’ they,” is the village consensus61 of expressed opinion, greatly to the wrath62 of certain good Bridgwater folk, who come around, raving63 that the Agapemoneites ought to be swept off the 148fair land of the Quantocks, and when none will take on the office of broom, denounce all as Laodiceans, neither hot nor cold, and so fit only to be spewed out. But it surely rests rather with Spaxton and Charlinch to perform the suggested expulsion; and even then, anything of the kind would be distinctly illegal, for it is part of the law of this free and enlightened and Christian64 country that any man may, if it pleases him to do so (and he can find others of the opposite sex to join him), set up a harem, and even proclaim himself the Messiah, without let or hindrance65. The law no more regards him as a fit target for soot67, flour, or antique eggs, or even for tar66 and feathers, than a respectable person.
The “Abode of Love,” founded in 1845 by the notorious “Brother Prince,” a scoundrelly clergyman who appears never to have been unfrocked, is a mansion68 maintained in the most luxurious69 style, but completely secluded from the highway, upon which it fronts, by substantial walls. In the time of “Brother Prince,” the flagstaff surmounting70 the strong, iron-studded gateway71, and supported by the effigy72 of a rampant73 lion, was made to fly a flag bearing the Holy Lamb, but this practice appears to be now discontinued.
Many inquisitive74 people nowadays visit Spaxton to view the exterior75 of the place where these notorious blasphemers live. None find entrance, for recent happenings have made the inmates76 extremely shy of strangers. It is notorious that 149a raid was made upon the place one night towards the close of 1908, and that Pigott, the successor of Brother Prince, narrowly escaped being tarred and feathered by some adventurous77 spirits, who came down from London and, chartering a motor-car, drove up from Bridgwater to the Abode. Climbing the walls, they “bonneted,” with a policeman’s helmet filled with tarred feathers, the first man they met. This, however, proved to be only an elderly disciple78, and not Pigott himself; and the intruders found themselves presently in custody79, and were next day brought before the magistrates80 at Bridgwater, and both fined and severely81 reprimanded. The magistrates were bound to observe the law and to punish an assault; but the attempted tarring and feathering aroused a great deal of enthusiasm at Bridgwater, where the only regret expressed was that it had not been successful.
No one can complain that clerical opinion in that town is not freely ventilated. Here is an extract from a sermon preached by the vicar of St. Mary’s:
“Near to our town for some years past, alas82, has sprung up one of the most unhappy and miserable83 heresies84 that the world can show. Of course there have been heresies very brilliant and very beautiful. But here is a heresy85 foul86, horrible, and bad, and a heresy with not one single redeeming87 point in it. A few years ago the head of this movement, now living in the little village under the shelter of the beautiful 150Quantocks, made public proclamation in London that he was the very Lord Jesus Christ, and that he should judge the world. This man escaped at the risk of his neck—for however lethargic88 some people might be, these Londoners were not—to the quiet of the country. Here the old heresy, with a new name and with new horrible details, came into prominence89 again. It had quietly settled down, and men hoped that it would have died out, but the events of the past six months have revived it all again. None can pretend to be ignorant of what has happened, and none could pretend to be ignorant of the awful and blasphemous90 claims that have been made in the name of a wretched child born into a wretched world.”
But although Nether Stowey is tolerant of all these things, it is not calm when motor-cars are under discussion. It would raise licences to ￡50 per annum, reduce speed to ten miles an hour on the open roads and three miles in villages and towns, and both heavily fine and award long terms of imprisonment91 to any who transgressed92 these suggested limits. Also, Nether Stowey suggests the reintroduction of turnpike-gates; or, to speak by the card, “tarnpayke-ge?ts.” By all this, it will be perceived that automobiles93 have become a nuisance, a terror, and a source of injury to Nether Stowey; as they have to countless94 other villages similarly circumstanced.
151THE MOTOR TERROR
Upon the pleasant country road
The motor-lorry runs;
Its build is huge and clumsy, and
It weighs some seven tons.
It sounds like gatling-guns!
Hark! down the village street there comes
The motor “charry bong”:
And, gracious heavens! how it hums!
’Tis tall, and broad, and long;
And see its mountain-range of seats,
Old Giles, who hobbled down our street,
Now he’s in—Paradise.
A Panhard took him in the rear,
They gave the chauffeur “three months’ hard”
When tried at next Assize.
And awkward equipoise,
Now fleets on Sundays past the church,
You cannot hear the parson preach;
It drowns the organ’s voice.
And children from the Sunday School
Hang on behind, before
Our little Billy lost his hold:
Now he’s (alas!) no more!
They rolled him pretty flat. His soul’s
Gone to the Distant Shore.
152Racing, toot-tooting, slithering,
The private owner goes;
The dust he raises fills the eyes,
His petrol-reek the nose;
His face he hides behind a mask:
For the lesson thou hast taught:
Thus hast thou shown us how our lives
So you may, reckless, go your way
And take your murd’ring sport!
THE COLERIDGE COTTAGE, NETHER STOWEY
The cottage at Nether Stowey occupied by Coleridge, from 1797 to 1800, stands at the further end of the village, and is, indeed, the last house on the Minehead road. It duly bears an ornamental104 tablet proclaiming the fact of the poet’s residence here in those critical years. Sentiment, however, is not a little dashed at finding the house to be an extremely commonplace one; now, owing to a succession of alterations105, enlarged and made to look like an exceedingly unattractive specimen106 of a typical suburban “villa” of the first half of the nineteenth century, when stucco was rampant and red brick had not come into vogue107. A scheme appears at the present time to be under contemplation by which the house is to be purchased and presented to the nation, as a memorial of the poet. It is to become something in the way of a “Coleridge Reading Room,” or Village Institute; but at the moment of writing, it is a lodging-house. A few years ago it was the 153“Coleridge Cottage” inn. Such have been the varied108 fortunes of this home, for those short four years, of “the bright-eyed Mariner,” as Wordsworth calls him. When it is further said that a storey has been added to the house, and that the thatch109 of Coleridge’s time has been replaced by pantiles, it will be considered, perhaps, that the value of it as a literary landmark110 can be but small. Coleridge himself had no love for it, as may be seen in his later references to Nether Stowey, in which he refers to it as a “miserable cottage,” and “the old hovel.” But the years he passed in this place were the most productive of his career. It was while walking along the 154hills to Watchet, that he composed “The Ancient Mariner” and the first part of “Christabel.” Close at hand, at Alfoxden, was Wordsworth, poetising on primroses111 and the infinitely112 trivial; and at Stowey itself was the amiable113 Thomas Poole, literary and political dilettante114, friend and host of this circle in general. Southey sometimes came, and friends with visionary schemes for the regeneration of the social system, then in some danger of being overturned, following upon the popular upheaval115 of the French Revolution, severely exercised the conventional minds of the local squires116 and farmers with their unconventional ways and rash speech.
The habits of these friends, accustomed to discuss and severely criticise117 the doings of the Government, often to dress in a peculiar37 manner, and to take long, apparently118 aimless walks in lonely places, no matter what the weather, when honest country folk were cosily119 within doors, or asleep and snoring, presently attracted the notice of the neighbours, to the extent that whispers of those suspicious doings and this wild talk were conveyed to the local magistrates, and the Government eventually thought it worth while to send down an emissary to keep a watch. The spy chanced to be a person with a long nose. He readily enough tracked their movements along the hills and dales of Quantock, and overheard much of their talk: probably because the friends knew perfectly120 well that they were under suspicion and were being watched, and were 155humorously inclined to make the spy’s eavesdropping121 as fruitful as they could of incident. Prominent among their jokes was the discussion, in his hearing, of Spinosa: that philosopher’s name being pronounced for the occasion “Spynosa.” This the long-nosed one took to be an allusion to himself. Coleridge, he reported to his employers to be “a crack-brained talking fellow; but that Wordsworth is either a smuggler122 or a traitor123, and means mischief124. He never speaks to any one, haunts lonely places, walks by moonlight, and is always ‘booing’ about by himself.” The curious notion of the amiable Wordsworth being mischievous125 is distinctly entertaining.
NETHER STOWEY.
The friends were generally gay and light-hearted, in spite of philosophising upon ways and means of setting the world right by moral suasion; 156and picnics punctuated126 the summer days. One of these, at Alfoxden, has attained127 a certain fame. There were present on this occasion: Coleridge, William and Dorothy Wordsworth, and Cottle; the good-natured, providential Cottle, friend in need of literary babes and sucklings. The provisions consisted of brandy, bread-and-cheese, and lettuces128. Coleridge, in his clumsy way, broke the precious brandy-bottle, the salt was spilled, a tramp stole the cheese, and so all that remained was bread and lettuces.
The “Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth,” the poet’s sister and companion at Alfoxden and elsewhere, have been published, but it cannot be said that they add greatly to one’s intellectual appreciation129 of the society formed by these friends, nor do they impress the reader with the mental powers of the lady, or with her knowledge of country life. Here and there are such passages as “saw a glow-worm,” or “heard the nightingale;” as though such sights and sounds were things remarkable130 in the Quantocks. To have been deaf to the nightingale in his season, or not to have noticed the glow-worm’s glimmer131: those would have been incidents of an evening’s walk much better worth remarking for their singularity in these still unspoiled hills.
But let us have a few specimen days from Dorothy Wordsworth’s diary, to taste her quality. March 1798, for example, will serve:
“29th.—Coleridge dined with us.”
157“30th.—Walked I know not where.”
“31st.—Walked.”
And then “April 1st. Walked by moonlight.” What utter drivel and self-confessed inanity133; exasperating134 in its baldness, when an account of what Coleridge said on the occasion of his driving with them would have given us reading the world would now probably be glad enough to possess!
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bumpy
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| adj.颠簸不平的，崎岖的 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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incertitude
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| n.疑惑，不确定 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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23
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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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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25
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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28
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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panoramic
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| adj. 全景的 | |
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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exclamation
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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43
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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44
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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46
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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50
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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51
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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52
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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55
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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56
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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57
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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58
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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59
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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60
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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61
consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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62
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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63
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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64
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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65
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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66
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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67
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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68
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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69
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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70
surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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71
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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72
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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73
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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74
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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76
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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77
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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79
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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80
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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82
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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83
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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heresies
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| n.异端邪说，异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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85
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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86
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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87
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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88
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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92
transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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94
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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skid
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| v.打滑 n.滑向一侧；滑道 ，滑轨 | |
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99
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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100
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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weirdest
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| 怪诞的( weird的最高级 )； 神秘而可怕的； 超然的； 古怪的 | |
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102
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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103
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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104
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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105
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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106
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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107
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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108
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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109
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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110
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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111
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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112
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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113
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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114
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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115
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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116
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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117
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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118
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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119
cosily
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| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
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120
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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121
eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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122
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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123
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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124
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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125
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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126
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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127
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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128
lettuces
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| n.莴苣，生菜（ lettuce的名词复数 ）；生菜叶 | |
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129
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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130
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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131
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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132
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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133
inanity
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| n.无意义，无聊 | |
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134
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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