THE five children of our parents have all written and published books. We have thus followed their example and an hereditary4 impulse which made writing an easy method of expression for us.
My father published a history of the Greek revolution while he was still under thirty. Although essentially5 a man of action, he was accustomed throughout his long life to write reports, pamphlets and letters to the newspapers—in a word, to elicit6 the interest and good-will of his fellow-men in his work.
My mother is best known as the author of the “Battle Hymn7 of the Republic,” but she also published many volumes of verse and prose. In later years she appealed much to the public, and especially to her fellow-women.
Sister Julia wrote stories and verses from her earliest childhood. She published a volume of poems, entitled Stray Chords, and a little book, Philosophic8? Qu?stor, describing the Concord9 School of Philosophy. Our mother considered this, her eldest10 daughter, as the most talented of her children. Brother Harry11 did not turn to literature until a later period in life. His works, although primarily technical and scientific, are thought to show a gift for literary expression. The award of gold medals on both sides of the Atlantic and of decorations by foreign governments was doubtless won by lucidity13 of expression as well as technical merit.
Sister Laura began to write rhymes for children soon after her marriage. They were published in Saint Nicholas, with illustrations by J. A. Mitchell, afterward14 the editor of Life. Their merit and charm were quickly recognized. She at once won the favor of the public, and has held it ever since. Captain January is the best known of her many books. She is also the author of Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe and, in collaboration15 with sister Maud, of Julia Ward12 Howe. In the preparation of the last-named book, I gave some assistance.
Sister Maud published novels and stories before her marriage. Her later books, Beata Roma, Two in Italy, etc., telling of her life and experience in the Eternal City and elsewhere, have won a genuine success.
Thus when I began to think of adding a little to our income, writing for the newspapers and magazines seemed the easiest thing to do. We had now four children, each of whom, as we held, had brought us good fortune. This pleasant theory was probably suggested by Bret Harte’s “Luck of Roaring Camp.”
They certainly brought us an incentive16 for new effort, which is the best form of good fortune. In story-writing I was not very successful. My natural mode of expression was in sketches18 and essays, often of a humorous character.
My mother was much interested in my new venture, and gave me letters to various editors, including Mrs. J. C. Croly (“Jennie June”), the editor of Demorest’s Magazine. She was extremely kind to me, and I wrote many articles for her. Mrs. Croly was very fair, if not pale, with blue eyes and light hair. Her face wore a rather worried expression, for her life was not an easy one. Her husband was then living, but his invalid19 condition added to her cares. She held pleasant evening receptions, at one of which I heard Marshall P. Wilder, the humorist. He had a real power of mimicry20, but his delineations were not always pleasant. One of them was “The Idiot Boy.”
In these days I made pilgrimages to editorial dens22, and was surprised at the wonderful flow of conversation issuing from the mouths of powerful personages. Why do editors talk so much to the neophyte23? They kindly24 gave me a great deal of information, but it was gradually borne in upon me that they talked in order to protect themselves from boredom25 at my hands. Did they not know, from long and painful experience, just what every beginner at the trade would inevitably26 say? Hence they forestalled27 my uninteresting remarks—and answered my unformed questions in the proper way. I noticed that, after a certain amount of information had been imparted to me, the editor would take up a paper and become deeply absorbed in its contents. This was the signal for me to go. I soon learned not to invade the editor in his den3, unless he or she encouraged me to do so.
Sunday P.M.,
Nov. 1, ’85.
Dearest Laura,—I was werry plose and thankful to receive your kind letter with so many addresses—werry nice kind & tanky much.
But oh! Lovely as is a Haddress, it is perhaps the right address which fills us with the most lasting30 joy—as hennabling a feller to find the zbodd, as it were.
I went to the Tribune Building—there was no Andrews Bazar there—the hoary31 bearded Janitor32 suggested Morse building the jan. of latter, said try Tract33 Building. At last after I had wandered up and down a kindly news paper advertising34 man told me he didn’t think there was “no such a person.” Or rather he told me he thought it had changed its name and become “The American Bazaar” where of he gimme the number but was too tired to look it up that day.
Newport life furnished an excellent opportunity for summer correspondence. We lived near enough the town to enjoy something of its pleasures, yet far enough away to avoid absorption in the whirlpool of gaiety. When we were girls going into society we should have preferred to be nearer the center of things. But the six-mile trip to Newport was in reality a blessing35. It enabled us to view the summer doings with a critical though friendly eye.
Those who suppose that Newport society is entirely36 composed of frivolous37 people do not know the place. Its matchless climate, delightful38 air and peaceful beauty have always attracted people of quiet tastes, men of letters and artists. Colonel Waring, who did such important work in conquering yellow fever, lived for many years in Newport, where he had a model farm.
He was a very handsome man, with dark eyes, gray hair, and a waxed mustache. In the early days of the Town and Country Club he took part in the “admirable fooleries” of which Colonel Higginson and my mother have both given accounts. Kate Field often came to the meetings, but did not, so far as I remember, take any part in the program. When at Newport she stayed at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Sanford, in the latter’s villa39 on the Point. From her “Juliet” window with its little balcony hung high in the air she could look out over the peaceful waters of the harbor and watch the beautiful Newport sunsets. Kate Field had very handsome hair which at one time she wore floating over her shoulders. This fashion, which lasted only a short time, was not becoming to her. As she was rather short, the long and heavy hair tended to dwarf40 her height, while its mass seemed out of proportion to her slender figure.
The diction of General Cullom, one of the officers of the Town and Country Club, was peculiar41. When at a loss for a word, he deliberately42 remarked, “Pup-pup-pup,” occasionally changing it for “Pam-pam-pam.” To hear this courtly, elderly gentleman say with perfect gravity, “Did you go, pam-pam-pam to the Casino this morning?” was surprising.
When General Cullom kindly offered to give before the club a talk on the French chateaux, illustrated43 by lantern slides, we all felt anxiety. Wonderful to say, neither “pup-pups” nor “pam-pams” marred44 the smoothness of the address!
Prof. Alexander Agassiz, whose summers were spent at Newport, when he was not traveling about the world on his yacht, gave an illustrated lecture on the Panama Canal which was of especial interest. The French had then abandoned their attempt and the United States had not yet undertaken to build it. A series of mournful lantern slides showed the wrecks45 of the French machinery46, and the excavations47, which seemed small enough compared with the gigantic nature of the undertaking48. Professor Agassiz was clearly of the opinion that, owing to the overflowing49 of the Chágres River, it was not possible to build a canal at that point.
Charles Dudley Warner, who read extremely well, gave us, with realistic effect, his delightful sketch17, “The Bear Is Coming on.” We almost saw the raspberry-bushes and felt the animal bearing down upon us. Another sketch, relating to heaven and hell, was witty50, but too frivolous in tone to suit the orthodox members of the club. They were rather scandalized at it.
In the summer of 1881 we had the happiness of counting our aunt Louisa and her family as our quasi-neighbors. She had been the family beauty, but was less clever than her sisters Julia and Annie. She was a woman of much charm and, like Uncle Sam, showed signs of her French descent. With her husband and their daughter Margaret she spent the season at one of the cliff cottages at Newport. “Daisy” was a débutante; and interested in the gaieties of the season. Hence her half-brother, Marion Crawford, who loved the quiet of the country, spent much of his time with us at “Oak Glen.” He was devoted51 to my mother and she was very fond of him. Her house in Boston and her Newport home were harbors of refuge to him in the years of his bachelorhood, many of which he spent in this country. We found him the most delightful of housemates. Genial52, cheery and charming, he never availed himself of the masculine privilege of grumbling53, but took things as he found them. Mother said of him, “He is as easy as an old shoe.” My youngest child, John Howe Hall, was born that summer. The stairs at “Oak Glen” were rather fatiguing54 for me to climb, when I first came down-stairs after his birth. So Cousin Marion, who was both tall and strong, would pick me up like a baby and carry me up-stairs. He was a very handsome man, with blue eyes like his father’s, regular features, and curly brown hair. This, alas55! was already beginning to show a small bare place on the crown, in spite of his mother’s faithful efforts with hair tonic56.
Sister Maud spent the summer of 1881 with my aunt, Mrs. Mailliard, who then lived on a great ranch57 in California. Some of her experiences there are described in her novel, The San Rosario Ranch. My mother was invited to take part in amateur theatricals58 at Newport during this eventful season. In spite of her sixty-seven years, she was the first of the company to master her lines.
She acted her part with spirit and gaiety, but could not resist the temptation to “gag” the lines. Thus in speaking of doctors who arranged, in Bob Sawyer style, to have themselves called out, she mentioned the names of Doctor Cleveland and other physicians spending the summer in Newport.
As bad luck would have it, this gentleman, who had a large practice, was actually summoned from the hall and arose to go, blushing furiously!
Crawford had come to America, intending to live here. He thought seriously of taking up the profession of philology60, having a talent for languages. As he possessed61 a good voice, he also thought of going on the operatic stage. His ear for music was somewhat faulty, but this defect, he was assured, need not, after the proper training of his voice, prevent his singing correctly.
While he was in an undecided frame of mind he wrote, as an experiment, his first novel, Mr. Isaacs. Its immediate62 success banished63 all doubt as to his career.
It was in the “little green parlor” at “Oak Glen” that he composed a large part of this story. Here, also, sister Maud and I often sat with our writing. The little green parlor is a grassy64 crescent surrounded on all sides by a hedge of tall cedar-trees. These have now grown so tall as almost to conceal65 the house from the view of passers-by.
In these days Messrs. Dana Estes & Co. proposed to my mother the preparation of a book on manners, dwelling66 especially on the origin of customs. She did not care to undertake it, but Crawford thought he might possibly do so, and sister Maud wrote a chapter. When both abandoned the idea it seemed to me a great pity to let this opportunity go to waste. I wrote to Mr. Estes, asking whether he would like me to write the book. He approved of my suggestion, and Social Customs was the result. I was glad to carry out, within certain limits, his plan of noting the meaning and origin of customs. It was not possible, however, with the time at my command, to make an exhaustive historic study of the subject. But I was able to analyze67 it and so present general rules, rather than a mass of unexplained technical details. Looking thus at the matter, from an outside point of view, it was possible to treat it with a light touch instead of in the ponderous68 vein69 formerly70 considered necessary. I thought it right to speak occasionally of the humorous aspects of the subject, while emphasizing the intrinsic value and importance of good manners. The critics hailed the book as a new departure in the literature of the subject, and spoke71 very handsomely of it. It was especially gratifying to receive from the Brussels Institute of Sociology a good-sized volume containing, among other things, a notice of my book. The following letter accompanied it:
Instituts Solvay.
Institut de Sociologie Bruxelles (Belgium).
Madame:—The attention of a group of searchers at the Solvay Institute of Sociology has been directed upon one of your last works, and they are anxious to have a biographical note relating to you inserted in the sociological record recently organized at the said institute.
Yours sincerely,
D. Warnoth, Chief of the Service of Documentation.
It has been already said that the case of Laura Bridgman excited deep interest. My father’s reports were awaited as eagerly as novels, and were translated into several foreign languages. In 1846, when she had been nine years under instruction, he thought of writing an account of her education and of communicating with Messrs. Harper about its publication.
He never found time to carry out his purpose. There was always some class of unfortunates who needed his championship, some wrong that must be set right. It is deeply to be regretted that he never had the leisure to tell the story of his most conspicuous73 achievement. The materials were all at hand. A minute account of Laura’s progress had been kept in the school journals. There were also my father’s own reports, notes and correspondence, as well as Laura’s letters and the journals which she kept for some years. By the desire of our brother-in-law, Michael Anagnos, and with his help, sister Maud and I undertook to carry out our father’s intention and tell the story of Laura Bridgman. Our chief difficulty lay in the wealth of material. We held many consultations74, but to my sister belongs the chief credit of the work. My share consisted principally in describing the technical part of Laura’s education.
The work was of absorbing interest. In tracing this drama of the birth of a human soul, we felt an echo of the thrill which came to my father when he saw Laura’s face suddenly “lighted up with a human expression: it was no longer a dog or parrot—it was an immortal75 spirit, eagerly seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits!”
No wonder that he exclaimed, “Eureka!”
His graphic72 description of these first wonderful steps is quoted—with due credit to Doctor Howe—in Dickens’ American Notes.
Since Laura’s was the first case of the sort in the world, it was necessary for my father to devise his own methods. A special teacher was employed for her, several devoted women filling this post in turn.
My father always superintended her education, and recorded every step—telling us how he taught her the use of prepositions, adjectives and verbs.
An excellent speller herself, in her later years she taught the little blind children how to spell. Laura Bridgman had the pride of intellect, in spite of her infirmities, and was inclined to look down upon people of inferior mind or education. The lessons in conduct which the ordinary child learns from the example of those around him Laura had to learn from books or from conversation with her teacher. Moral, ethical76, and later spiritual problems aroused her deep interest. Her writings—and they are many—show a soul as white and innocent as that of a little child.
Laura was well trained in the domestic arts. She was an exquisite77 needlewoman, her darning being a “poem in linen78.” She could also knit and crochet79 extremely well, making the fine beaded purses then in fashion. Indeed, the sale of her handiwork contributed to her own support. She kept her room in beautiful order, dusting the most delicate objects without injury to them. One of Laura’s amusements was to arrange my mother’s bureau drawers. The latter disliked having any one meddle80 with her things, but Laura’s touch was so delicate that she was allowed thus to officiate as “mistress of the wardrobe.”
Best of all, she enjoyed life in spite of her many deprivations81, making the most of the little pleasures that came to her. The following is one of her “poems”:
LIGHT AND DARKNESS
BY
Laura Bridgman
Light represents day.
Light is whiter than snow.
Darkness is nightlike.
It looks as black as iron
Darkness is a sorrow.
Light yields a shooting joy through the human [heart].
Light is sweet as honey, but
Darkness is bitter as salt and even vinegar.
Light is finer than gold and even finest gold.
Joy is a real light,
Joy is a blazing flame.
Darkness is frosty.
A good sleep is a white curtain.
A bad sleep is a black curtain.
In the late ’eighties the father of Helen Keller wrote to Mr. Anagnos, then director of the Perkins Institution, asking his assistance in the education of his little daughter. My brother-in-law chose Miss Annie Sullivan, herself partially84 blind and a graduate of the Institution, for Helen’s instructor85. Miss Sullivan spent six months studying Doctor Howe’s reports before entering upon her task. Every step that Laura had taken little Helen now followed exactly. Her progress was more rapid, as that of my father’s later blind deaf-mute pupils had been. But the details of her case were very much like that of Laura Bridgman. Helen spent three years at the Perkins Institution under the charge of her special teacher, Miss Sullivan.
There I had the pleasure of seeing her a number of times in her childhood, and of talking with her in the finger language. When we spoke of a brook86, she illustrated its movements by dancing. I noticed with surprise that she did not move about with the perfect freedom common to the blind children brought up at the Institution. They were accustomed to walk about alone, and to dash up and down stairs with utter fearlessness. Whether Helen later learned to go about in this way I cannot say. When she was about fifteen, we met again at the Kindergarten for the Blind, an off-shoot of the Perkins Institution founded and administered by Mr. Anagnos. In conversing87 with Helen I was struck with her intelligence. In these days I heard her talk with her voice as well as with her fingers.
Helen wrote me the following letter, after reading my sketch of my father’s life, published in the Wide Awake magazine.
South Boston, Mass.,
December 2, 1890.
My dear Mrs. Hall,—I want to tell you how much I enjoyed hearing about your dear Father, and all the brave, generous things he did for the Greeks, and for all who were poor and unhappy. I think the children who read Wide Awake must have been greatly interested in your story, but they cannot love Dr. Howe as we little blind girls do. Teacher says, she would not have known how to teach me if your Father had not taught Laura Bridgman first, and that is why I feel so grateful to him. How dreadful it would have been if I could not have learned like other boys and girls! I am sure I should have been very sorrowful with no one to talk to me, and so would Edith and many others, but it is too sad to think about, is it not? When you come to Boston I hope you will tell me more about your Father, and what you did when you were a little girl. Mr. Anagnos is going to show me Byron’s helmet some day. Teacher sends her kind regards to you.
Lovingly your little friend,
Helen A. Keller.
In these years Edwin Booth spent the summer at his pretty red-roofed villa, “Boothden,” on Indian Avenue. It was then a quiet and retired88 part of the island of Rhode Island, yet within easy reach of Newport. The house was placed so near the rocky shore that the ocean breezes might have been too boisterous89 had not awnings90 screened the wide piazzas91. A large and pleasant boat-house equipped with a sitting- or lounging-room stood on the shore.
“Boothden” was only four miles from “Oak Glen,” so that we were country neighbors of Mr. Booth and his charming daughter. We had the pleasure of seeing them from time to time. When we were invited to take luncheon at their villa, to meet Joseph Jefferson, his wife and daughter, and William Warren, the veteran comedian92 of the Boston Museum, it seemed too wonderful to be true.
Miss Edwina Booth (whom I remembered as Baby Booth) received us with a grace and charm that vividly93 recalled her lovely young mother, dead many years before. The resemblance to Mrs. Booth was almost startling. It seemed as if the beloved wife, young and fair as of old, had returned to this earth. We saw the same slender figure, the same movements, as I fancied. What a strange thing is the inheritance of gesture! There could have been no conscious imitation, for Miss Booth could not have remembered her mother.
The three distinguished94 actors had rashly gone for a sail in Mr. Booth’s yacht. It is always rash to go out in a sail-boat if you expect to return at any particular hour.
When they finally arrived their entrance was like a scene upon the stage. Their behavior was not at all theatrical59, but they were mariners95 returning from a stormy trip. A good stiff breeze had blown them all about, the waves had given them a good wetting, while Mr. Jefferson had lost his hat overboard.
They took all these small mishaps96 in the best possible humor, as a part of life’s comedy. Joe Jefferson had substituted a red bandanna97 handkerchief for the lost hat and treated the whole affair as a delightful joke. Presently we all sat down to a luncheon elegant and elaborate, after the fashion of the time, the table being faultless in its service and appointments.
Joseph Jefferson was brilliant and delightful, evidently enjoying the conversation. The geniality98 and cheeriness of his stage characters were but a reflection of his own sunny disposition99. If he had stood in the shoes of Rip Van Winkle, Caleb Plummer, or Bob Acres, he would have taken life as cheerfully as they did. After seeing him in private life I understood better the spirit of his acting100. The Jefferson of the parlor was the Jefferson of the stage, save that the man himself was more brilliant, more original than the men of a simple type whom he habitually102 portrayed103. He possessed that highest form of art which conceals104 itself. At the Booth luncheon he talked of many things—of art, his pictures, the proper light for the stage, his children, his farm in Florida, his delight in roaming through the woods with his fishing-rod.
We enjoyed hearing many theatrical anecdotes105 which gave us peeps behind the scenes. Mr. Jefferson told us of a mistake he once made in “Lend Me Five Shillings.” Forgetting that he had already delivered certain lines, he repeated them—no applause followed! Just as he was wondering what the matter was, the actress with whom he was playing whispered, “You have repeated your lines.” William Warren confessed that he had had a somewhat similar experience in “Our American Cousin,” when he struck a match by the right end, lighting106 it, to his horror and surprise. According to the play, he should have struck the wrong end—and the mistake drove his part out of his head for a moment, when a fellow-actor gave him his lines, in a stage whisper! William Warren, “the Boston favorite,” was a relative of Joseph Jefferson or of Mrs. Jefferson. They called him “Uncle William,” and all treated him with the most affectionate respect. He was the eldest of the three actors, and already in failing health. Hence he was grave and quiet in manner when we saw him in private life, although inimitably funny on the stage. It seldom happens that so excellent an actor is content to remain all his life a member of a stock company, performing in a single city—but this was Warren’s choice. The strong affection in which he was held was doubtless a compensation to this inimitable actor for the loss of a wider fame. He died not long after this time.
We found our hospitable107 and kindly host, Edwin Booth, little changed from the old days when we had so devoutly108 admired him. There were the same charm and simplicity109 of manner, the same sense of humor. His eyes still had the old fire, while the cheerful serenity110 of middle life replaced the buoyant happiness of his younger days. He spoke very simply of the time when he was a young man. I did not like to think that Edwin Booth ever could grow old. He was still in the prime of life, handsome and vigorous.
Of his profession, of the stage and of Shakespeare, he liked to talk, and we liked only too well to listen. He had recently brought home from Germany some of the tokens of intense admiration111 that were showered upon him there—wreaths of silver, and perhaps of gold, also.
What to do with these he did not know. Mantel lambrequins then afflicted112 the world. I fear it was I who suggested that the classic garlands might be sewn on these with decorative113 effect!
Edwin Booth was too reserved and too kind-hearted to play the habitual101 mimic21, yet he could, upon occasion, imitate to the life the person described. Once, when telling us of an experience in the far West while he was traveling with his father, he suddenly became a knock-kneed, shambling man. In a moment he was again Edwin Booth, grave and dignified114.
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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boredom
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inevitably
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forestalled
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apropos
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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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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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hoary
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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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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37
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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38
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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39
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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40
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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41
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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42
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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43
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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44
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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45
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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46
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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47
excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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48
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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49
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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50
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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51
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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53
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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54
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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55
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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56
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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57
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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58
theatricals
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| 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 | |
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59
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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philology
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| n.语言学；语文学 | |
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61
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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63
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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67
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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69
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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71
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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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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79
crochet
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| n.钩针织物；v.用钩针编制 | |
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80
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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81
deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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82
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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83
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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84
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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85
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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86
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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88
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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89
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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90
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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91
piazzas
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| n.广场，市场( piazza的名词复数 ) | |
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92
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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93
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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94
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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97
bandanna
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| n.大手帕 | |
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98
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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99
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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100
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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101
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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102
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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103
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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104
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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106
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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107
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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108
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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109
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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110
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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111
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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112
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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114
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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