To touch the coast on the left-hand of the Parret estuary1 is to adventure into a little-visited land. But although the way is long—the distance is six miles to Steart Point—the road is sufficiently2 easy, being downhill from Cannington to Cannington Park, scene of the battle of Cynuit, and to Otterhampton; and then flat for the remaining four miles. At Otterhampton, a village of a few farms and cottages, the church contains a memorial to a former rector, the Rev3. Dr. Jeffery, who held the living for no fewer than sixty-seven years, from 1804 to 1871.
The river bends abruptly4 and nears the road at a point a mile and a half out, where the little waterside hamlet of Combwich—“Cummidge,” as it is styled locally—stands looking on to muddy creeks5 and the broad grey bosom6 of the Parret itself, with a colour like that of a London fog. Bridgwater spire7 is plainly visible, far off to the right, across the levels: sailing barges8 are loading the bricks made here from the kilns9 close at hand, and carts rattle10 and rumble11 along the few narrow 159alleys that form the only streets of the place. Away across the river, a whitewashed12 house marks the position of a little-used ferry from the out-of-the-world district of Pawlett Hams to this even more outlandish peninsula of Steart.
Steart Point thrusts out a long tongue of land over against Burnham, whose houses and tall white lighthouse seem so near across the levels, yet are almost two miles distant, over the rivermouth and the mud-flats. The name of “Steart” has come down to us little altered from Anglo-Saxon times, an “a” replacing the “o” with which it appears to have originally been spelled. It is the same name as that of the Start in South Devon, and signifies a boldly projecting neck of land, “starting” out to sea. Otherwise there is no likeness13 between that Devonian promontory14 of cruel, black jagged rocks and this flat, muddy and shingly15 fillet of land.
The fisher village of Steart is a singular place: a fishing village without boats! The shrimps16, eels17 and flounders usually caught here are taken in nets set by the men of Steart going down to the sea at low water on “mud-horses.” Everything is conditioned here by the deep mud of the foreshore, which may only be crossed by special appliances, evolved locally. Chief among these is the “mud-horse,” which, it may at once be guessed, is no zoological freak. If it is related to anything else on earth, it may perhaps be set down as a hybrid18 production: a cross between a towel-horse and a toboggan sledge19.
160When the fishermen of Steart prepare to go forth20 a-fishing, they proceed to undress themselves to the extent of taking off their trousers and putting on a cut-down pair, very little larger than bathing-drawers. Mud-boots clothe their feet. Then they bring down their wooden “horses,” and, leaning against the upright breast-high framework, give a vigorous push, and so go slithering along the buttery surface of the flats; the nearest approach to that fabulous21 body of cavalry22, the “Horse Marines,” any one is ever likely to see:
There was an old fellow of Steart,
When they asked “Any luck?”—
“Up to eyes in the muck!”
Said that rueful old fellow of Steart.
The traveller has to pass the little church and scattered25 cottages of Otterhampton on the way to Steart; and on the return, if he wishes to keep near the coast, he comes through Stockland Bristol, a pretty rustic26 village, with prosperous-looking manor-house and an entirely27 modern church. Beyond it are Upper Cock and Lower Cock farms, that take their names from a tumulus down in the levels near the estuary known as “Ubberlowe.”
“Upper Cock,” in its original form, was “Hubba Cock”; “Cock” signifying a heap, and comparing with “haycock.” “Ubbalowe” is properly “Hubbalowe,” i.e. “Hubba’s heap,” both names pointing to the probability that here was buried the chieftain Hubba, who, as we have already seen, fell at Cynuit.
161From this point a succession of winding28 lanes leads down again to the curving shore of Bridgwater Bay at Stolford. Here meadows, a farmstead with well-filled rickyards, and a compound heavily walled and buttressed29 against flooding from the salt marshes30, border upon a raised beach of very large blue-grey stones, which replaces the mud that gathers round the Parret estuary. Here at low spring tides traces may yet be found of the submarine forest off-shore. A sample of the foreshore taken at Stolford usually suffices explorers, and fully31 satisfies their curiosity; for the clattering32 loose stones of the heaped-up beach form an extremely tiring exercise-ground.
THE “MUD HORSE.”
These level lands of highly productive 162meadows, lying out of the beaten track, below the greatly frequented high road that runs out of Bridgwater to Nether33 Stowey, and so on along the ridge34 to Holford and West Quantoxhead, are much more extensive than a casual glance at the map would convey. They are at one point over five miles across. The centre of this district is Stogursey, which is, as it were, a kind of capital, if a large agricultural village may be thus dignified35.
Stogursey is a considerable village, taking the second half of its name from the de Courcy family, who once owned it, but the thick speech of Somerset rendered the place-name into “Stogursey” so long ago that even maps have adopted the debased form; some, however, inserting a small (Stoke Courcy) in brackets, under the generally accepted form. The visitor will at the same time notice, in the title of the local parish magazine, that efforts are being made by the clergy36 to restore the original name. The church was built by those old Norman lords, but the family died out so very long ago, that no memorials of them remain in it; and the net result of all their ancient state and glory is—a name! It is a large and fine church, in the Norman and Transitional Norman styles; consisting of a large and lofty nave37 without aisles39, a central tower, north and south transepts, and deep chancel. The clustered shafts40 supporting the central tower have elaborately sculptured Norman capitals of a distinctly Byzantine 163character. A variant41 of the place-name is seen on a monument to one Peregrine Palmer, where it appears as “Stoke Curcy.” The Palmer family is seen, on another monument, revelling42 in a pun beneath the Palmer coat of arms: in this wise, “Palma virtuti.”
STOLFORD.
But the Verney aisle38 of this beautiful church contains more interesting memorials than those of Palmers; notably43 two altar-tombs with effigies44 of the Verneys of Fairfield. The earliest is that of Sir Ralph Verney, 1352. The other, that of Sir John Verney, who died in 1461, is of very beautiful workmanship, and displays, among other shields of arms, the punning device of the family: three ferns—“verns,” as a rural Somerset man would say, in that famous “Zummerzet” doric that is not yet wholly extinct.
No one could justly declare the village of Stogursey to be picturesque45. Nor is it ugly; but at the radiant close of some summer day, when an afterglow remains46 in the sky, the village takes a beautiful colouring that cries aloud for the efforts 164of some competent watercolourist. It is an effect, as you look eastward47 down the long broad village street to the church, standing48 in a low situation at the end, of a rich red-yellow, like that of a ripening49 cornfield, on houses, cottages, and church alike, with the lead-sheathed spire gleaming like oxidised silver against the chilly50 blue-grey of the eastern sky at evening, spangled already, before the sun has finally gone to bed, with the cold, unimpassioned twinkle of the stars. Daylight heavily discounts this romantic effect, for then you perceive that the lovely hue51 on the church-tower at evening was the dying sunset’s transfiguration of the yellow plaster with which the tower was faced at some time in the Georgian period.
But Stogursey has a castle, or the remains of one, styled by villagers “the Bailey.” The stranger looks in vain for it in the village street.
Stogursey Castle stands in a meadow, surrounded by a stream which in the olden days was made, not only to form the moat, but to turn the wheels of the Castle mill. The mill-leat still runs on one side of the lane branching from the main village street; a lane now smelling violently of tanneries, and lined with cottages of a decrepit52 “has been” character; for it should be said that Stogursey is a decaying place. Changes in method of agriculture; changes in methods of communication, making for swifter and cheaper import of corn and other products of the soil; changes, in fact, in everything have all conspired53 165to injuriously affect the place. The few remaining local shops do not look prosperous, and the village is full of private houses whose windows clearly show them to have once been shops, that gave up the pretence54 of business long ago. These bay-windowed, many-paned shop-fronts retired55 from business are familiar all over rural England. The villagers generally turn them to account as conservatories56 for geraniums and other flowers, and a pleasant sight, treated in this way, they often are. But there is a future for the Stogursey district; if not for the shopkeepers, certainly for the farmers. No light railway yet serves it, but the need of such an enterprise is great; and when it comes it will effect great changes in local fortunes.
STOGURSEY CASTLE.
166“Stoke,” as it was styled originally, is a place of greater antiquity58 than any neighbouring village, as its name would imply; indicating as it does a stockaded post in a wild and dangerous district innocent of settled houses.
That post was probably on the site of the castle whose scanty59 ruins remain. The de Courcy castle was destroyed as early as the time of King John, when it passed by the second marriage of Alice de Courcy to one Fulke de Breauté, who set up here as a robber lord, and issued from this stronghold from time to time for the purpose of levying60 involuntary contributions from all who passed to and fro on the highway yonder, from Bridgwater to Quantoxhead. His castle can never have been strong, for its situation forbade strength, but the district was remote and little known, and people who were plundered61 on the ridgeway road had little inducement to plunge62 down here after this forceful taker of secular63 tithes64. But de Breauté’s proceedings65 at length grew so scandalous that a strong force was sent at the instance of Hubert de Burgh, Chief Justiciar of the realm, and this thieves’ kitchen was burnt and more or less levelled with the ground. The subsequent history of the castle is vague, but it would appear to have been at some time rebuilt, for it was again, and finally, destroyed in 1455. A glance at the remains will show that it could never have been seriously defended against any determined66 attack. The moat, still in places filled with water, was deep as could be made, 167for it was the only external defence. Fragments of curtain-wall and portions of towers with loop-holes for arrows remain; and the entrance-towers may yet be traced, although a modern cottage has been built on to them, in all the incongruousness of red brick and rough-cast plaster. Such is the modern economical way with the shattered walls of this old robber’s hold. For the rest, the enclosure is a tangled67 mass of undergrowth and ivy-clad ruins of walls, and the meadow without is uneven68 with the ancient foundations of outworks that disappeared centuries ago.
The roads leading back from Stogursey to the coast have a distressing69 lack of signposts, and the district is for long distances without habitations, so that the way to Lilstock may well be missed. That they are fine roads for the cyclist, with never a motor-car about, is not sufficient to recompense the explorer who cannot find his way. And Lilstock—Little Stock originally; that is to say, some ancient small coastwise stockaded fort—is, perhaps, not worth finding, after all; for it appears to consist solely70 of a tin tabernacle, by way of church, and a lonely cottage amid elms, at the end of everything; a veritable dead-end. You climb to the lonely beach and have it all to yourself; the grey sea lazily splashing amid the ooze71 and scattered boulders72, and a great empty sky above.
It is all the same beside the sea to Kilve, and rough walking too; the rebuilt church of Kilton 168prominent inland, on the left; very modern, but with a relic73 of a century ago in the shape of a battered74 old barrel-organ with a set of mechanical psalm75 and hymn76 tunes57, that used to be ground out every Sunday to the long-suffering congregation, who must, by dint77 of sheer damnable iteration, have come to loathe78 this unchanging psalmody with a peculiar79 hatred80.
We come now into the marches of West Somerset, where the folk-speech still to some extent remains; but the famous broad “Zummerzet” speech of these parts nowadays survives in its olden force only in the pages of dialect novels. The dialect novel is a thing of convention, like the dramatic stage, and is not necessarily a direct transcript81 from life. In novels of rural life, in rustic plays, and in illustrated82 jokes in which villagers appear, the countryman still wears a smock-frock and talks as his great-grandfather was accustomed to talk. Frequently, too, he wears a beaver83 hat, with a nap on it as luxuriant as the bristles84 of a boot-brush; and he is made to smoke “churchwarden” clay pipes about a yard long. Real rustics85 do not do these things nowadays. I only wish they did; for then exploring in the byways would be much more interesting. Nowadays, the unaccustomed Londoner can quite easily understand anything a Somersetshire man, even of the most rustic type, has to say.
This, however, is not to be taken as an assertion that all the old characteristic words and phrases 169have died out, or that the accent is altogether a thing of the past. The Somerset speech is really part and parcel of that delightful86 West of England trick of the tongue which still grows gradually more noticeable to the stranger as he progresses westward87. You will not notice this in any measure until you have passed an imaginary line, which may be drawn88 from Oxford89 in the north, to Southampton in the south, passing on the way such places as Wantage, Newbury, Andover, and Winchester. Westward of this frontier-line, the West of England, linguistically90, commences. Somerset, by some unexplained accident, was notoriously the home of the broadest speech; but recent years have witnessed the singular phenomena91 (singular when taken in conjunction) of Somerset folk-speech losing much of its old-time character, and that of Devon, which had also largely fallen into disuse, returning in almost its olden strength.
Much of this old manner of talking has been preserved in the publications of the English Dialect Society, in which we find embedded92, among more stolid93 phrases, amusing scraps94 of rustic dialogues, illustrating95 the local shibboleths96. Here we have, for example, a rural domestic quarrel, rendered in broad “Zummerzet.” It has not been thought desirable to reproduce the somewhat pedantic97 inflection-marks given in the Society’s publications, tending as they do towards the unnecessary mystification of those who do not happen to be philologists98. The spelling has also been altered 170here and there, to bring it more into line with the enunciation99 usually heard by the ordinary person.
The woman in this first specimen100 says, “Uneebaudee mud su waul bee u tooüd uundur u aaruz bee u foauz tu leave saeumz aay bee, laung u dhee. Tuz skandluz un sheemfeal aew aay bee zaard.”[3]
3. “Anybody might so well be a toad101 under a harrow as be forced to live same as I be, long of thee. ’Tis scandalous and shameful102 how I be served.”
To this pitiful complaint the husband answers, “U uumunz auvees zaard wuul neef uur udn aat ubeawt, un dhee aart nuvvur aat ubeawt.”[4]
4. “A woman’s always served well if her isn’t hit about; and thee art never hit about.”
Here is another example from the collection already quoted from:
“Taumee, haut bee yue aiteen on? Spaat ut aewt turaaklee!”
Perhaps the reader may be left to translate this. But how about the following, spoken by a waggoner on a hot day? “Mudn maek zu boalz t’ax vur koop u zaydur, aay spoüz? Aay zuuree aay bee dhaat druy, aay küdn spaat zik-spuns.”[5]
5. “Mustn’t make so bold as to ask for a cup of cider, I suppose? I assure you I be that dry, I couldn’t spit sixpence.”
Here again is some time-honoured “Zummerzet.” “Come, soce! Yur’s yur jolly goed health. Drink ut oop tu onct!”
“Naw; daze103 muy ole buttonz neef aay due! Aay diddn nuvvur hold wi’ u-swillen of ut deown 171same uz thaet. Hurry no maen’s cattle tul ye’ve got’n ass24 o’ yur aeown! Hurry, hurry; ’tuz this yur hurryen what tarns104 everythen arsy-varsy vor me! Muy uymurz! what ood muy oal graanfer saay tu th’ likes of ut? Wooden dh’oal maen laet aewt!”
KILVE CHURCH.
Among the curious expressions found in this last speech, that of “soce” is prominent. The word is a familiar expression in these parts. It is used between equals, and is equivalent to “my boy,” “old chap,” etc. Philologists generally consider it to be a survival from monastic times, when itinerant105 monkish106 preachers are supposed to have been styled, “socii,” i.e. “associates,” or “brethren,” or to have themselves used the expression in addressing their congregations.
“This yur,” that is to say, reduced to ordinary pronunciation, “this here” is, on the other hand, equivalent to a strong disapproval107 of the subject 172under discussion. It means “this new-fangled,” unfamiliar108, or unpleasant thing.
The village of Kilve lies down along a lane leading to the right from the road just past Holford, and rambles109 disjointedly down to the rugged110 little church. Church, ruined priory, and a large farmhouse111 stand grouped together in the meadows, beside the little brook112 called Kilve Pill, a quarter of a mile from the low blue-has cliffs of the muddy and boulder-strewn lonely shore sung by Wordsworth, as “Kilve’s delightful shore.”
Kilve church is as rude and rugged as some old fortress113, and probably its tower was originally designed with a view to defence. It is constructed of very rudely shaped blocks of blue limestone114, many of them of great size, mortared together in rough fashion. For the rest, it is a small aisleless building, chiefly of Norman date, with a south transept-chapel of Perpendicular115 character, and a simple Norman bowl-font.
Giant, widespreading poplar trees adjoin the Priory farmhouse and the ruins of the Priory, or Kilve Chantry. This was a foundation by one Sir Simon de Furneaux, in 1329, to house five priests. The particular reasons that induced Sir Simon to establish his chantry in this lonely spot do not appear, for the history of the place is vague; but whatever they were, they did not appeal to Sir Richard Stury, to whom the property came, some sixty years later, on his marriage with Alice, the last of this branch of the Furneaux family. He abolished the establishment, and 173the building stood empty for centuries, or was used as a barn by the neighbouring farmer. Another use, not so much spoken of, was as a storehouse for smuggled116 goods. A long succession of farmers at the Priory farm were, in fact, more smugglers than farmers. The church-tower was said also to have been used by them. The present roofless condition of the buildings is due to a fire, many years ago, supposed to have been caused by a conflagration117 of these smuggled spirits.
KILVE; THE CHANTRY.
In these latter days, now that many townsfolk on holiday seek quiet, secluded118 spots, there are few among the rustic cottages of Kilve that do not house visitors, and nowadays the Priory farm is in summer as much a boarding-house as farmstead; while amateur geologists119 may be found at low water on the “delightful,” if muddy, shore, searching for “St. Keyna’s serpents”; or, in other words, ammonites, which, with other 174fossils, abound120 in the blue lias clay. They are “St. Keyna’s serpents,” because the saint, coming to Somerset, transformed all the snakes of these parts into stone!
Kilve, in common with other villages situated121 on this part of the Somerset shore, indulges in a curious kind of sport: that of “hunting the conger.” It is in the autumn that the unfortunate conger-eel is taken unawares, through the low tides that then generally prevail. The conger, known here as the “glatt,” is the big brother of the ordinary sand-eel, who is dug out of the foreshore, all round our coasts. He lives in the blue lias mud hereabouts, generally beneath the boulders that are sprinkled about the shore like currants in a bun; and is clever enough, in the ordinary way, to have his home well below low-water mark. But the treacherous122 spring-tides are the undoing123 of him; laying bare perhaps a hundred and sixty feet more of mud than usual. At such times a large proportion of the rustic population anywhere near the shore assembles and proceeds to the muddy or sandy flats, accompanied by fox-terriers and other dogs, and armed with stout124 six or eight-feet-long sticks, cut from the hedges and sharpened at one end to a chisel-like edge. If there be by any chance a belated visitor in those October days when hunting the glatt is usually in full swing he is apt to imagine the simple villagers are trying to take a rise out of his ignorance of country life, when, in answer to his questions, they tell him they are off hunting 175conger-eels—and with dogs! But it is simple truth. Hunting the wild red deer on Exmoor is the aristocratic sport of this countryside, and hunting the conger is the democratic; and where in a purely125 inland district your sporting rustic may keep his lurcher, here the rural sportsman values his terrier or spaniel in proportion to his merits as “a good fish dog.”
There is not that smartness among the pursuers of the glatt which is the mark of the hunting-field in the chase of the fox or the deer, and renders a fox-hunt or a meet of staghounds so spectacular a sight. Smart clothes are not the proper equipment of the glatt-hunter, whose hunting chiefly consists in wading126, ankle-deep, through the mud, heaving up huge boulders, and mud-whacking after the wriggling127, writhing128 congers, while the dogs rush frantically129 among the crowd, scraping holes in the mud and essaying the not very easy task of seizing the slippery fish. In fact, the oldest clothes are not too bad for this sport; and the spectacle of a company of such sportsmen as these, properly habited for the occasion, is rather that of an assemblage of scarecrows than that of a number of self-respecting members of the community. That this precaution of wearing the oldest possible garments is not an excess of caution becomes abundantly evident at the conclusion of a rousing day’s sport, when the mud has been flying in proportion to the enthusiasm of the chase, and every one has become abundantly splashed, from top to toe. The congers, 176or “glatts,” captured on these occasions scale, as a rule, about four or five pounds, but occasionally run to twenty pounds.
Over the meadows by church-path from Kilve to East Quantoxhead, is a pleasant stroll, bringing you into the village by the old watermill and the village pond. Not, mark you, an ordinary village pond with muddy margin130 and half-submerged old superannuated131 pails and the like discarded objects long past use, but a crystal-clear lakelet, with stone and turf parapet, well-stocked with trout—and the fishing preserved too, members of that branch of the Luttrell family living in the adjoining manor-house coming down occasionally to cast a fly. This is not angling in such public circumstances as might be supposed, for the village is very small and retired, and few strangers find their way hither. Indeed, things here are so little conventional that you enter the churchyard through a farmyard.
Church and manor-house stand side by side, both built of the local blue-grey limestone. In the chancel of the little aisleless church, stands a Luttrell altar-tomb of alabaster132, inscribed133 to Hugh Luttrell, 1522, and his son, Andrew, 1538, with shields displaying their arms and those of the Wyndhams and other families with whom they have intermarried.
ST. AUDRIES.
The large, square-shaped manor-house adjoining is the ancient home of the Luttrells, who were seated here at East Quantoxhead long centuries before they acquired the greater estates 177of Dunster and Minehead; being descended134 on the distaff side from that Ralph Paganel who held this and other manors135 from William the Conqueror136.
The tall, ugly masonry137 retaining-wall that fringes the hollow road for a long distance as you come uphill from East to West Quantoxhead, is that of St. Audries, the park of Sir Alexander Acland Hood138. Where this ends, on the hilltop, the lovely park, sloping down to the seashore, is disclosed, like a dream of beauty. West Quantoxhead and St. Audries are convertible139 terms, the parish church being dedicated140 to St. Etheldreda, popularly known in medi?val times as “St. Audrey.” The mansion141 in the park, the rectory, the post-office, and a few scattered cottages constitute all the village. The church itself is modern, having been built by Sir Peregrine Acland Hood in 1857. It is far better, architecturally, than the mere142 date of it would suggest; doubtless because the architect relied more upon the traditional local style than on his own initiative. Although having stood for over half a century, the church looks astonishingly new. The mansion itself, a happy combination of stateliness and domestic comfort, and built of red brick and stone, is glimpsed romantically between the fine clumps143 of trees with which the park is studded; and in a cleft144 you note the blue sea—for the Severn Sea is not so muddy and so dun-coloured under sunny conditions as some would have us suppose. Down on the beach, where a waterfall plunges145 boldly 178over the cliffs of curiously146 stratified rock, the Somerset coast proves itself again to be more picturesque than it is generally allowed to be. The Devon and Somerset staghounds sometimes meet on the lawn, in front of St. Audries House, as the Quantock pack were used to do.
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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kilns
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| n.窑( kiln的名词复数 )；烧窑工人 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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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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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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buttressed
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| v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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31
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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32
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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33
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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34
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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35
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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36
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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37
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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38
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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39
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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40
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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41
variant
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| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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42
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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43
notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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44
effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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45
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
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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47
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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50
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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51
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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52
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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53
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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54
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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56
conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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57
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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58
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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59
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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60
levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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61
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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64
tithes
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| n.（宗教捐税）什一税，什一的教区税，小部分( tithe的名词复数 ) | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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66
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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67
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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68
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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69
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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70
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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71
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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72
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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73
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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74
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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75
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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76
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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77
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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78
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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79
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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80
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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81
transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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82
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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84
bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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85
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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86
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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87
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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88
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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89
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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90
linguistically
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| adv. 语言的, 语言学的 | |
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91
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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92
embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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93
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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94
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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95
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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96
shibboleths
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| n.（党派、集团等的）准则( shibboleth的名词复数 )；教条；用语；行话 | |
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97
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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98
philologists
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| n.语文学( philology的名词复数 ) | |
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99
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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100
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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101
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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102
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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103
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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104
tarns
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| n.冰斗湖，山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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105
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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106
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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107
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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108
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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109
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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110
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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111
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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112
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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113
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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114
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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115
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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116
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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117
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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118
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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119
geologists
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| 地质学家，地质学者( geologist的名词复数 ) | |
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120
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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121
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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122
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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123
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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125
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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126
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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127
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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128
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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129
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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130
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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131
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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132
alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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133
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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134
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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135
manors
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| n.庄园（manor的复数形式） | |
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136
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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137
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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138
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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139
convertible
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| adj.可改变的，可交换，同意义的；n.有活动摺篷的汽车 | |
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140
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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141
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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142
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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143
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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144
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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145
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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146
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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