Among this people, indeed, so wise in their generation, dinner has a kind of sanctity quite independent of the dishes that may be set upon the table; so that, if it be only a mutton-chop, they treat it with due reverence27, and are rewarded with a degree of enjoyment15 which such reckless devourers as ourselves do not often find in our richest abundance. It is good to see how staunch they are after fifty or sixty years of heroic eating, still relying upon their digestive powers and indulging a vigorous appetite; whereas an American has generally lost the one and learned to distrust the other long before reaching the earliest decline of life; and thenceforward he makes little account of his dinner, and dines at his peril28, if at all. I know not whether my countrymen will allow me to tell them, though I think it scarcely too much to affirm, that on this side of the water, people never dine. At any rate, abundantly as Nature has provided us with most of the material requisites30, the highest possible dinner has never yet been eaten in America. It is the consummate31 flower of civilization and refinement32; and our inability to produce it, or to appreciate its admirable beauty, if a happy inspiration should bring it into bloom, marks fatally the limit of culture which we have attained33.
It is not to be supposed, however, that the mob of cultivated Englishmen know how to dine in this elevated sense. The unpolishable ruggedness34 of the national character is still an impediment to them, even in that particular line where they are best qualified36 to excel. Though often present at good men's feasts, I remember only a single dinner, which, while lamentably37 conscious that many of its higher excellences38 were thrown away upon me, I yet could feel to be a perfect work of art. It could not, without unpardonable coarseness, be styled a matter of animal enjoyment, because, out of the very perfection of that lower bliss39, there had arisen a dream-like development of spiritual happiness. As in the masterpieces of painting and poetry, there was a something intangible, a final deliciousness that only fluttered about your comprehension, vanishing whenever you tried to detain it, and compelling you to recognize it by faith rather than sense. It seemed as if a diviner set of senses were requisite29, and had been partly supplied, for the special fruition of this banquet, and that the guests around the table (only eight in number) were becoming so educated, polished, and softened, by the delicate influences of what they ate and drunk, as to be now a little more than mortal for the nonce. And there was that gentle, delicious sadness, too, which we find in the very summit of our most exquisite40 enjoyments, and feel it a charm beyond all the gayety through which it keeps breathing its undertone. In the present case, it was worth a heavier sigh, to reflect that such a festal achievement,—the production of so much art, skill, fancy, invention, and perfect taste,—the growth of all the ages, which appeared to have been ripening41 for this hour, since man first began to eat and to moisten his food with wine,—must lavish42 its happiness upon so brief a moment, when other beautiful things can be made a joy forever. Yet a dinner like this is no better than we can get, any day, at the rejuvenescent Cornhill Coffee-House, unless the whole man, with soul, intellect, and stomach, is ready to appreciate it, and unless, moreover, there is such a harmony in all the circumstances and accompaniments, and especially such a pitch of well-according minds, that nothing shall jar rudely against the guest's thoroughly43 awakened44 sensibilities. The world, and especially our part of it, being the rough, ill-assorted, and tumultuous place we find it, a beefsteak is about as good as any other dinner.
The foregoing reminiscence, however, has drawn46 me aside from the main object of my sketch47, in which I purposed to give a slight idea of those public, or partially48 public banquets, the custom of which so thoroughly prevails among the English people, that nothing is ever decided49 upon, in matters of peace and war, until they have chewed upon it in the shape of roast-beef, and talked it fully over in their cups. Nor are these festivities merely occasional, but of stated recurrence50 in all considerable municipalities and associated bodies. The most ancient times appear to have been as familiar with them as the Englishmen of to-day. In many of the old English towns, you find some stately Gothic hall or chamber51 in which the Mayor and other authorities of the place have long held their sessions; and always, in convenient contiguity52, there is a dusky kitchen, with an immense fireplace where an ox might be roasting at his ease, though the less gigantic scale of modern cookery may now have permitted the cobwebs to gather in its chimney. St. Mary's Hall, in Coventry, is so good a specimen53 of an ancient banqueting-room, that perhaps I may profitably devote a page or two to the description of it.
In a narrow street, opposite to St. Michael's Church, one of the three famous spires54 of Coventry, you behold55 a mediaeval edifice56, in the basement of which is such a venerable and now deserted57 kitchen as I have above alluded58 to, and, on the same level, a cellar, with low stone pillars and intersecting arches, like the crypt of a cathedral. Passing up a well-worn staircase, the oaken balustrade of which is as black as ebony, you enter the fine old hall, some sixty feet in length, and broad and lofty in proportion. It is lighted by six windows of modern stained glass, on one side, and by the immense and magnificent arch of another window at the farther end of the room, its rich and ancient panes59 constituting a genuine historical piece, in which are represented some of the kingly personages of old times, with their heraldic blazonries. Notwithstanding the colored light thus thrown into the hall, and though it was noonday when I last saw it, the panelling of black-oak, and some faded tapestry62 that hung round the walls, together with the cloudy vault63 of the roof above, made a gloom, which the richness only illuminated into more appreciable64 effect. The tapestry is wrought65 with figures in the dress of Henry VI.'s time (which is the date of the hall), and is regarded by antiquaries as authentic66 evidence both for the costume of that epoch67, and, I believe, for the actual portraiture68 of men known in history. They are as colorless as ghosts, however, and vanish drearily69 into the old stitch-work of their substance when you try to make them out. Coats-of-arms were formerly70 emblazoned all round the hall, but have been almost rubbed out by people hanging their overcoats against them or by women with dishclouts and scrubbing-brushes, obliterating71 hereditary glories in their blind hostility72 to dust and spiders' webs. Full-length portraits of several English kings, Charles II. being the earliest, hang on the walls; and on the dais, or elevated part of the floor, stands an antique chair of state, which several royal characters are traditionally said to have occupied while feasting here with their loyal subjects of Coventry. It is roomy enough for a person of kingly bulk, or even two such, but angular and uncomfortable, reminding me of the oaken settles which used to be seen in old-fashioned New England kitchens.
Overhead, supported by a self-sustaining power, without the aid of a single pillar, is the original ceiling of oak, precisely73 similar in shape to the roof of a barn, with all the beams and rafters plainly to be seen. At the remote height of sixty feet, you hardly discern that they are carved with figures of angels and doubtless many other devices, of which the admirable Gothic art is wasted in the duskiness that has so long been brooding there. Over the entrance of the hall, opposite the great arched window, the party-colored radiance of which glimmers74 faintly through the interval75, is a gallery for minstrels; and a row of ancient suits of armor is suspended from its balustrade. It impresses me, too (for, having gone so far, I would fain leave nothing untouched upon), that I remember, somewhere about these venerable precincts, a picture of the Countess Godiva on horseback, in which the artist has been so niggardly76 of that illustrious lady's hair, that, if she had no ampler garniture, there was certainly much need for the good people of Coventry to shut their eyes. After all my pains, I fear that I have made but a poor hand at the description, as regards a transference of the scene from my own mind to the reader's. It gave me a most vivid idea of antiquity77 that had been very little tampered78 with; insomuch that, if a group of steel-clad knights80 had come clanking through the doorway81, and a bearded and beruffed old figure had handed in a stately dame82, rustling83 in gorgeous robes of a long-forgotten fashion, unveiling a face of beauty somewhat tarnished84 in the mouldy tomb, yet stepping majestically85 to the trill of harp86 and viol from the minstrels' gallery, while the rusty87 armor responded with a hollow ringing sound beneath,—why, I should have felt that these shadows, once so familiar with the spot, had a better right in St. Mary's Hall than I, a stranger from a far country which has no Past. But the moral of the foregoing description is to show how tenaciously88 this love of pompous89 dinners, this reverence for dinner as a sacred institution, has caught hold of the English character; since, from the earliest recognizable period, we find them building their civic90 banqueting-halls as magnificently as their palaces or cathedrals.
I know not whether the hall just described is now used for festive91 purposes, but others of similar antiquity and splendor92 still are. For example, there is Barber-Surgeons' Hall, in London, a very fine old room, adorned93 with admirably carved wood-work on the ceiling and walls. It is also enriched with Holbein's masterpiece, representing a grave assemblage of barbers and surgeons, all portraits (with such extensive beards that methinks one half of the company might have been profitably occupied in trimming the other), kneeling before King Henry VIII. Sir Robert Peel is said to have offered a thousand pounds for the liberty of cutting out one of the heads from this picture, he conditioning to have a perfect facsimile painted in. The room has many other pictures of distinguished94 members of the company in long-past times, and of some of the monarchs95 and statesmen of England, all darkened with age, but darkened into such ripe magnificence as only age could bestow96. It is not my design to inflict97 any more specimens98 of ancient hall-painting on the reader; but it may be worth while to touch upon other modes of stateliness that still survive in these time-honored civic feasts, where there appears to be a singular assumption of dignity and solemn pomp by respectable citizens who would never dream of claiming any privilege of rank outside of their own sphere. Thus, I saw two caps of state for the warden99 and junior warden of the company, caps of silver (real coronets or crowns, indeed, for these city-grandees) wrought in open-work and lined with crimson100 velvet101. In a strong-closet, opening from the hall, there was a great deal of rich plate to furnish forth102 the banquet-table, comprising hundreds of forks and spoons, a vast silver punch-bowl, the gift of some jolly king or other, and, besides a multitude of less noticeable vessels103, two loving-cups, very elaborately wrought in silver gilt104, one presented by Henry VIII., the other by Charles II. These cups, including the covers and pedestals, are very large and weighty, although the bowl-part would hardly contain more than half a pint105 of wine, which, when the custom was first established, each guest was probably expected to drink off at a draught106. In passing them from hand to hand adown a long table of compotators, there is a peculiar107 ceremony which I may hereafter have occasion to describe. Meanwhile, if I might assume such a liberty, I should be glad to invite the reader to the official dinner-table of his Worship, the Mayor, at a large English seaport108 where I spent several years.
The Mayor's dinner-parties occur as often as once a fortnight, and, inviting109 his guests by fifty or sixty at a time, his Worship probably assembles at his board most of the eminent110 citizens and distinguished personages of the town and neighborhood more than once during his year's incumbency111, and very much, no doubt, to the promotion112 of good feeling among individuals of opposite parties and diverse pursuits in life. A miscellaneous party of Englishmen can always find more comfortable ground to meet upon than as many Americans, their differences of opinion being incomparably less radical113 than ours, and it being the sincerest wish of all their hearts, whether they call themselves Liberals or what not, that nothing in this world shall ever be greatly altered from what it has been and is. Thus there is seldom such a virulence114 of political hostility that it may not be dissolved in a glass or two of wine, without making the good liquor any more dry or bitter than accords with English taste.
The first dinner of this kind at which I had the honor to be present took place during assize-time, and included among the guests the judges and the prominent members of the bar. Reaching the Town Hall at seven o'clock, I communicated my name to one of several splendidly dressed footmen, and he repeated it to another on the first staircase, by whom it was passed to a third, and thence to a fourth at the door of the reception-room, losing all resemblance to the original sound in the course of these transmissions; so that I had the advantage of making my entrance in the character of a stranger, not only to the whole company, but to myself as well. His Worship, however, kindly116 recognized me, and put me on speaking-terms with two or three gentlemen, whom I found very affable, and all the more hospitably117 attentive118 on the score of my nationality. It is very singular how kind an Englishman will almost invariably be to an individual American, without ever bating a jot119 of his prejudice against the American character in the lump. My new acquaintances took evident pains to put me at my ease; and, in requital120 of their good-nature, I soon began to look round at the general company in a critical spirit, making my crude observations apart, and drawing silent inferences, of the correctness of which I should not have been half so well satisfied a year afterwards as at that moment.
There were two judges present, a good many lawyers, and a few officers of the army in uniform. The other guests seemed to be principally of the mercantile class, and among them was a ship-owner from Nova Scotia, with whom I coalesced121 a little, inasmuch as we were born with the same sky over our heads, and an unbroken continuity of soil between his abode122 and mine. There was one old gentleman, whose character I never made out, with powdered hair, clad in black breeches and silk stockings, and wearing a rapier at his side; otherwise, with the exception of the military uniforms, there was little or no pretence123 of official costume. It being the first considerable assemblage of Englishmen that I had seen, my honest impression about then was, that they were a heavy and homely124 set of people, with a remarkable125 roughness of aspect and behavior, not repulsive126, but beneath which it required more familiarity with the national character than I then possessed always to detect the good breeding of a gentleman. Being generally middle-aged127, or still further advanced, they were by no means graceful128 in figure; for the comeliness129 of the youthful Englishman rapidly diminishes with years, his body appearing to grow longer, his legs to abbreviate130 themselves, and his stomach to assume the dignified131 prominence132 which justly belongs to that metropolis133 of his system. His face (what with the acridity134 of the atmosphere, ale at lunch, wine at dinner, and a well-digested abundance of succulent food) gets red and mottled, and develops at least one additional chin, with a promise of more; so that, finally, a stranger recognizes his animal part at the most superficial glance, but must take time and a little pains to discover the intellectual. Comparing him with an American, I really thought that our national paleness and lean habit of flesh gave us greatly the advantage in an aesthetic135 point of view. It seemed to me, moreover, that the English tailor had not done so much as he might and ought for these heavy figures, but had gone on wilfully136 exaggerating their uncouthness137 by the roominess of their garments; he had evidently no idea of accuracy of fit, and smartness was entirely139 out of his line. But, to be quite open with the reader, I afterwards learned to think that this aforesaid tailor has a deeper art than his brethren among ourselves, knowing how to dress his customers with such individual propriety140 that they look as if they were born in their clothes, the fit being to the character rather than the form. If you make an Englishman smart (unless he be a very exceptional one, of whom I have seen a few), you make him a monster; his best aspect is that of ponderous141 respectability.
To make an end of these first impressions, I fancied that not merely the Suffolk bar, but the bar of any inland county in New England, might show a set of thin-visaged men, looking wretchedly worn, sallow, deeply wrinkled across the forehead, and grimly furrowed143 about the mouth, with whom these heavy-checked English lawyers, slow-paced and fat-witted as they must needs be, would stand very little chance in a professional contest. How that matter might turn out, I am unqualified to decide. But I state these results of my earliest glimpses at Englishmen, not for what they are worth, but because I ultimately gave them up as worth little or nothing. In course of time, I came to the conclusion that Englishmen of all ages are a rather good-looking people, dress in admirable taste from their own point of view, and, under a surface never silken to the touch, have a refinement of manners too thorough and genuine to be thought of as a separate endowment,—that is to say, if the individual himself be a man of station, and has had gentlemen for his father and grandfather. The sturdy Anglo-Saxon nature does not refine itself short of the third generation. The tradesmen, too, and all other classes, have their own proprieties144. The only value of my criticisms, therefore, lay in their exemplifying the proneness145 of a traveller to measure one people by the distinctive146 characteristics of another,—as English writers invariably measure us, and take upon themselves to be disgusted accordingly, instead of trying to find out some principle of beauty with which we may be in conformity148.
In due time we were summoned to the table, and went thither149 in no solemn procession, but with a good deal of jostling, thrusting behind, and scrambling150 for places when we reached our destination. The legal gentlemen, I suspect, were responsible for this indecorous zeal151, which I never afterwards remarked in a similar party. The dining-hall was of noble size, and, like the other rooms of the suite152, was gorgeously painted and gilded153 and brilliantly illuminated. There was a splendid table-service, and a noble array of footmen, some of them in plain clothes, and others wearing the town-livery, richly decorated with gold-lace, and themselves excellent specimens of the blooming young manhood of Britain. When we were fairly seated, it was certainly an agreeable spectacle to look up and down the long vista154 of earnest faces, and behold them so resolute155, so conscious that there was an important business in hand, and so determined156 to be equal to the occasion. Indeed, Englishman or not, I hardly know what can be prettier than a snow-white table-cloth, a huge heap of flowers as a central decoration, bright silver, rich china, crystal glasses, decanters of Sherry at due intervals157, a French roll and an artistically159 folded napkin at each plate, all that airy portion of a banquet, in short, that comes before the first mouthful, the whole illuminated by a blaze of artificial light, without which a dinner of made-dishes looks spectral160, and the simplest viands are the best. Printed bills-of-fare were distributed, representing an abundant feast, no part of which appeared on the table until called for in separate plates. I have entirely forgotten what it was, but deem it no great matter, inasmuch as there is a pervading161 commonplace and identicalness in the composition of extensive dinners, on account of the impossibility of supplying a hundred guests with anything particularly delicate or rare. It was suggested to me that certain juicy old gentlemen had a private understanding what to call for, and that it would be good policy in a stranger to follow in their footsteps through the feast. I did not care to do so, however, because, like Sancho Panza's dip out of Camacho's caldron, any sort of pot-luck at such a table would be sure to suit my purpose; so I chose a dish or two on my own judgment162, and, getting through my labors163 betimes, had great pleasure in seeing the Englishmen toil164 onward165 to the end.
They drank rather copiously166, too, though wisely; for I observed that they seldom took Hock, and let the Champagne168 bubble slowly away out of the goblet169, solacing170 themselves with Sherry, but tasting it warily171 before bestowing172 their final confidence. Their taste in wines, however, did not seem so exquisite, and certainly was not so various, as that to which many Americans pretend. This foppery of an intimate acquaintance with rare vintages does not suit a sensible Englishman, as he is very much in earnest about his wines, and adopts one or two as his lifelong friends, seldom exchanging them for any Delilahs of a moment, and reaping the reward of his constancy in an unimpaired stomach, and only so much gout as he deems wholesome173 and desirable. Knowing well the measure of his powers, he is not apt to fill his glass too often. Society, indeed, would hardly tolerate habitual174 imprudences of that kind, though, in my opinion, the Englishmen now upon the stage could carry off their three bottles, at need, with as steady a gait as any of their forefathers175. It is not so very long since the three-bottle heroes sank finally under the table. It may be (at least, I should be glad if it were true) that there was an occult sympathy between our temperance reform, now somewhat in abeyance176, and the almost simultaneous disappearance177 of hard-drinking among the respectable classes in England. I remember a middle-aged gentleman telling me (in illustration of the very slight importance attached to breaches178 of temperance within the memory of men not yet old) that he had seen a certain magistrate179, Sir John Linkwater, or Drinkwater,—but I think the jolly old knight79 could hardly have staggered under so perverse180 a misnomer181 as this last,—while sitting on the magisterial182 bench, pull out a crown-piece and hand it to the clerk. "Mr. Clerk," said Sir John, as if it were the most indifferent fact in the world, "I was drunk last night. There are my five shillings."
During the dinner, I had a good deal of pleasant conversation with the gentlemen on either side of me. One of them, a lawyer, expatiated183 with great unction on the social standing61 of the judges. Representing the dignity and authority of the Crown, they take precedence, during assize-time, of the highest military men in the kingdom, of the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, of the Archbishops, of the royal Dukes, and even of the Prince of Wales. For the nonce, they are the greatest men in England. With a glow of professional complacency that amounted to enthusiasm, my friend assured me, that, in case of a royal dinner, a judge, if actually holding an assize, would be expected to offer his arm and take the Queen herself to the table. Happening to be in company with some of these elevated personages, on subsequent occasions, it appeared to me that the judges are fully conscious of their paramount185 claims to respect, and take rather more pains to impress them on their ceremonial inferiors than men of high hereditary rank are apt to do. Bishops184, if it be not irreverent to say so, are sometimes marked by a similar characteristic. Dignified position is so sweet to an Englishman, that he needs to be born in it, and to feel it thoroughly incorporated with his nature from its original germ, in order to keep him from flaunting186 it obtrusively187 in the faces of innocent bystanders.
My companion on the other side was a thick-set, middle-aged man, uncouth138 in manners, and ugly where none were handsome, with a dark, roughly hewn visage, that looked grim in repose188, and secured to hold within itself the machinery189 of a very terrific frown. He ate with resolute appetite, and let slip few opportunities of imbibing190 whatever liquids happened to be passing by. I was meditating191 in what way this grisly featured table-fellow might most safely be accosted192, when he turned to me with a surly sort of kindness, and invited me to take a glass of wine. We then began a conversation that abounded193, on his part, with sturdy sense, and, somehow or other, brought me closer to him than I had yet stood to an Englishman. I should hardly have taken him to be an educated man, certainly not a scholar of accurate training; and yet he seemed to have all the resources of education and trained intellectual power at command. My fresh Americanism, and watchful194 observation of English characteristics, appeared either to interest or amuse him, or perhaps both. Under the mollifying influences of abundance of meat and drink, he grew very gracious (not that I ought to use such a phrase to describe his evidently genuine good-will), and by and by expressed a wish for further acquaintance, asking me to call at his rooms in London and inquire for Sergeant195 Wilkins,—throwing out the name forcibly, as if he had no occasion to be ashamed of it. I remembered Dean Swift's retort to Sergeant Bettesworth on a similar announcement,—"Of what regiment196, pray, sir?"—and fancied that the same question might not have been quite amiss, if applied197 to the rugged35 individual at my side. But I heard of him subsequently as one of the prominent men at the English bar, a rough customer, and a terribly strong champion in criminal cases; and it caused me more regret than might have been expected, on so slight an acquaintanceship, when, not long afterwards, I saw his death announced in the newspapers. Not rich in attractive qualities, he possessed, I think, the most attractive one of all,—thorough manhood.
After the cloth was removed, a goodly group of decanters were set before the Mayor, who sent them forth on their outward voyage, full freighted with Port, Sherry, Madeira, and Claret, of which excellent liquors, methought, the latter found least acceptance among the guests. When every man had filled his glass, his Worship stood up and proposed a toast. It was, of course, "Our gracious Sovereign," or words to that effect; and immediately a band of musicians, whose preliminary footings and thrummings I had already heard behind me, struck up "God save the Queen," and the whole company rose with one impulse to assist in singing that famous national anthem198. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen a body of men, or even a single man, under the active influence of the sentiment of Loyalty199; for, though we call ourselves loyal to our country and institutions, and prove it by our readiness to shed blood and sacrifice life in their behalf, still the principle is as cold and hard, in an American bosom200, as the steel spring that puts in motion a powerful machinery. In the Englishman's system, a force similar to that of our steel spring is generated by the warm throbbings of human hearts. He clothes our bare abstraction in flesh and blood,—at present, in the flesh and blood of a woman,—and manages to combine love, awe201, and intellectual reverence, all in one emotion, and to embody202 his mother, his wife, his children, the whole idea of kindred, in a single person, and make her the representative of his country and its laws. We Americans smile superior, as I did at the Mayor's table; and yet, I fancy, we lose some very agreeable titillations of the heart in consequence of our proud prerogative203 of caring no more about our President than for a man of straw, or a stuffed scarecrow straddling in a cornfield.
But, to say the truth, the spectacle struck me rather ludicrously, to see this party of stout204 middle-aged and elderly gentlemen, in the fulness of meat and drink, their ample and ruddy faces glistening205 with wine, perspiration206, and enthusiasm, rumbling207 out those strange old stanzas208 from the very bottom of their hearts and stomachs, which two organs, in the English interior arrangement, lie closer together than in ours. The song seemed to me the rudest old ditty in the world; but I could not wonder at its universal acceptance and indestructible popularity, considering how inimitably it expresses the national faith and feeling as regards the inevitable209 righteousness of England, the Almighty's consequent respect and partiality for that redoubtable210 little island, and his presumed readiness to strengthen its defence against the contumacious211 wickedness and knavery212 of all other principalities or republics. Tennyson himself, though evidently English to the very last prejudice, could not write half so good a song for the purpose. Finding that the entire dinner-table struck in, with voices of every pitch between rolling thunder and the squeak213 of a cart-wheel, and that the strain was not of such delicacy214 as to be much hurt by the harshest of them, I determined to lend my own assistance in swelling215 the triumphant216 roar. It seemed but a proper courtesy to the first Lady in the land, whose guest, in the largest sense, I might consider myself. Accordingly, my first tuneful efforts (and probably my last, for I purpose not to sing any more, unless it he "Hail Columbia" on the restoration of the union) were poured freely forth in honor of Queen Victoria. The Sergeant smiled like the carved head of a Swiss nutcracker, and the other gentlemen in my neighborhood, by nods and gestures, evinced grave approbation218 of so suitable a tribute to English superiority; and we finished our stave and sat down in an extremely happy frame of mind.
Other toasts followed in honor of the great institutions and interests of the country, and speeches in response to each were made by individuals whom the Mayor designated or the company called for. None of them impressed me with a very high idea of English postprandial oratory219. It is inconceivable, indeed, what ragged221 and shapeless utterances222 most Englishmen are satisfied to give vent5 to, without attempting anything like artistic158 shape, but clapping on a patch here and another there, and ultimately getting out what they want to say, and generally with a result of sufficiently224 good sense, but in some such disorganized mass as if they had thrown it up rather than spoken it. It seemed to me that this was almost as much by choice as necessity. An Englishman, ambitious of public favor, should not be too smooth. If an orator220 is glib226, his countrymen distrust him. They dislike smartness. The stronger and heavier his thoughts, the better, provided there be an element of commonplace running through them; and any rough, yet never vulgar force of expression, such as would knock an opponent down, if it hit him, only it must not be too personal, is altogether to their taste; but a studied neatness of language, or other such superficial graces, they cannot abide227. They do not often permit a man to make himself a fine orator of malice228 aforethought, that is, unless he be a nobleman (as, for example, Lord Stanley, of the Derby family), who, as an hereditary legislator and necessarily a public speaker, is bound to remedy a poor natural delivery in the best way he can. On the whole, I partly agree with them, and, if I cared for any oratory whatever, should be as likely to applaud theirs as our own. When an English speaker sits down, you feel that you have been listening to a real man, and not to an actor; his sentiments have a wholesome earth-smell in them, though, very likely, this apparent naturalness is as much an art as what we expend229 in rounding a sentence or elaborating a peroration230.
It is one good effect of this inartificial style, that nobody in England seems to feel any shyness about shovelling231 the untrimmed and untrimmable ideas out of his mind for the benefit of an audience. At least, nobody did on the occasion now in hand, except a poor little Major of Artillery232, who responded for the Army in a thin, quavering voice, with a terribly hesitating trickle233 of fragmentary ideas, and, I question not, would rather have been bayoneted in front of his batteries than to have said a word. Not his own mouth, but the cannon234's, was this poor Major's proper organ of utterance223.
While I was thus amiably235 occupied in criticising my fellow-guests, the Mayor had got up to propose another toast; and listening rather inattentively to the first sentence or two, I soon became sensible of a drift in his Worship's remarks that made me glance apprehensively236 towards Sergeant Wilkins. "Yes," grumbled237 that gruff personage, shoving a decanter of Port towards me, "it is your turn next"; and seeing in my face, I suppose, the consternation239 of a wholly unpractised orator, he kindly added, "It is nothing. A mere7 acknowledgment will answer the purpose. The less you say, the better they will like it." That being the case, I suggested that perhaps they would like it best if I said nothing at all. But the Sergeant shook his head. Now, on first receiving the Mayor's invitation to dinner, it had occurred to me that I might possibly be brought into my present predicament; but I had dismissed the idea from my mind as too disagreeable to be entertained, and, moreover, as so alien from my disposition240 and character that Fate surely could not keep such a misfortune in store for me. If nothing else prevented, an earthquake or the crack of doom241 would certainly interfere242 before I need rise to speak. Yet here was the Mayor getting on inexorably,—and, indeed, I heartily243 wished that he might get on and on forever, and of his wordy wanderings find no end.
If the gentle reader, my kindest friend and closest confidant, deigns244 to desire it, I can impart to him my own experience as a public speaker quite as indifferently as if it concerned another person. Indeed, it does concern another, or a mere spectral phenomenon, for it was not I, in my proper and natural self, that sat there at table or subsequently rose to speak. At the moment, then, if the choice had been offered me whether the Mayor should let off a speech at my head or a pistol, I should unhesitatingly have taken the latter alternative. I had really nothing to say, not an idea in my head, nor, which was a great deal worse, any flowing words or embroidered245 sentences in which to dress out that empty Nothing, and give it a cunning aspect of intelligence, such as might last the poor vacuity246 the little time it had to live. But time pressed; the Mayor brought his remarks, affectionately eulogistic247 of the United States and highly complimentary248 to their distinguished representative at that table, to a close, amid a vast deal of cheering; and the band struck up "Hail Columbia," I believe, though it might have been "Old Hundred," or "God save the Queen" over again, for anything that I should have known or cared. When the music ceased, there was an intensely disagreeable instant, during which I seemed to rend249 away and fling off the habit of a lifetime, and rose, still void of ideas, but with preternatural composure, to make a speech. The guests rattled250 on the table, and cried, "Hear!" most vociferously251, as if now, at length, in this foolish and idly garrulous252 world, had come the long-expected moment when one golden word was to be spoken; and in that imminent253 crisis, I caught a glimpse of a little bit of an effusion of international sentiment, which it might, and must, and should do to utter.
Well; it was nothing, as the Sergeant had said. What surprised me most, was the sound of my own voice, which I had never before heard at a declamatory pitch, and which impressed me as belonging to some other person, who, and not myself, would be responsible for the speech: a prodigious254 consolation255 and encouragement under the circumstances! I went on without the slightest embarrassment256, and sat down amid great applause, wholly undeserved by anything that I had spoken, but well won from Englishmen, methought, by the new development of pluck that alone had enabled me to speak at all. "It was handsomely done!" quoth Sergeant Wilkins; and I felt like a recruit who had been for the first time under fire.
I would gladly have ended my oratorical257 career then and there forever, but was often placed in a similar or worse position, and compelled to meet it as I best might; for this was one of the necessities of an office which I had voluntarily taken on my shoulders, and beneath which I might be crushed by no moral delinquency on my own part, but could not shirk without cowardice258 and shame. My subsequent fortune was various. Once, though I felt it to be a kind of imposture259, I got a speech by heart, and doubtless it might have been a very pretty one, only I forgot every syllable260 at the moment of need, and had to improvise261 another as well as I could. I found it a better method to prearrange a few points in my mind, and trust to the spur of the occasion, and the kind aid of Providence262, for enabling me to bring them to bear. The presence of any considerable proportion of personal friends generally dumbfounded me. I would rather have talked with an enemy in the gate. Invariably, too, I was much embarrassed by a small audience, and succeeded better with a large one,— the sympathy of a multitude possessing a buoyant effect, which lifts the speaker a little way out of his individuality and tosses him towards a perhaps better range of sentiment than his private one. Again, if I rose carelessly and confidently, with an expectation of going through the business entirely at my ease, I often found that I had little or nothing to say; whereas, if I came to the charge in perfect despair, and at a crisis when failure would have been horrible, it once or twice happened that the frightful263 emergency concentrated my poor faculties264, and enabled me to give definite and vigorous expression to sentiments which an instant before looked as vague and far off as the clouds in the atmosphere. On the whole, poor as my own success may have been, I apprehend265 that any intelligent man with a tongue possesses the chief requisite of oratorical power, and may develop many of the others, if he deems it worth while to bestow a great amount of labor26 and pains on an object which the most accomplished266 orators267, I suspect, have not found altogether satisfactory to their highest impulses. At any rate, it must be a remarkably268 true man who can keep his own elevated conception of truth when the lower feeling of a multitude is assailing269 his natural sympathies, and who can speak out frankly270 the best that there is in him, when by adulterating it a little, or a good deal, he knows that he may make it ten times as acceptable to the audience.
This slight article on the civic banquets of England would be too wretchedly imperfect, without an attempted description of a Lord Mayor's dinner at the Mansion272 House in London. I should have preferred the annual feast at Guildhall, but never had the good fortune to witness it. Once, however, I was honored with an invitation to one of the regular dinners, and gladly accepted it,—taking the precaution, nevertheless, though it hardly seemed necessary, to inform the City-King, through a mutual273 friend, that I was no fit representative of American eloquence274, and must humbly275 make it a condition that I should not be expected to open my mouth, except for the reception of his Lordship's bountiful hospitality. The reply was gracious and acquiescent276; so that I presented myself in the great entrance-hall of the Mansion House, at half past six o'clock, in a state of most enjoyable freedom from the pusillanimous277 apprehensions279 that often tormented280 me at such times. The Mansion House was built in Queen Anne's days, in the very heart of old London, and is a palace worthy281 of its inhabitant, were he really as great a man as his traditionary state and pomp would seem to indicate. Times are changed, however, since the days of Whittington, or even of Hogarth's Industrious282 Apprentice283, to whom the highest imaginable reward of lifelong integrity was a seat in the Lord Mayor's chair. People nowadays say that the real dignity and importance have perished out of the office, as they do, sooner or later, out of all earthly institutions, leaving only a painted and gilded shell like that of an Easter egg, and that it is only second-rate and third-rate men who now condescend284 to be ambitious of the Mayoralty. I felt a little grieved at this; for the original emigrants285 of New England had strong sympathies with the people of London, who were mostly Puritans in religion and Parliamentarians in politics, in the early days of our country; so that the Lord Mayor was a potentate286 of huge dimensions in the estimation of our forefathers, and held to be hardly second to the prime minister of the throne. The true great men of the city now appear to have aims beyond city greatness, connecting themselves with national politics, and seeking to be identified with the aristocracy of the country.
In the entrance-hall I was received by a body of footmen dressed in a livery of blue coats and buff breeches, in which they looked wonderfully like American Revolutionary generals, only bedizened with far more lace and embroidery287 than those simple and grand old heroes ever dreamed of wearing. There were likewise two very imposing288 figures, whom I should have taken to be military men of rank, being arrayed in scarlet289 coats and large silver epaulets; but they turned out to be officers of the Lord Mayor's household, and were now employed in assigning to the guests the places which they were respectively to occupy at the dinner-table. Our names (for I had included myself in a little group of friends) were announced; and ascending290 the staircase, we met his Lordship in the doorway of the first reception-room, where, also, we had the advantage of a presentation to the Lady Mayoress. As this distinguished couple retired291 into private life at the termination of their year of office, it is inadmissible to make any remarks, critical or laudatory292, on the manners and bearing of two personages suddenly emerging from a position of respectable mediocrity into one of pre-eminent dignity within their own sphere. Such individuals almost always seem to grow nearly or quite to the full size of their office. If it were desirable to write an essay on the latent aptitude293 of ordinary people for grandeur294, we have an exemplification in our own country, and on a scale incomparably greater than that of the Mayoralty, though invested with nothing like the outward magnificence that gilds295 and embroiders296 the latter. If I have been correctly informed, the Lord Mayor's salary is exactly double that of the President of the United States, and yet is found very inadequate297 to his necessary expenditure298.
There were two reception-rooms, thrown into one by the opening of wide folding-doors; and though in an old style, and not yet so old as to be venerable, they are remarkably handsome apartments, lofty as well as spacious299, with carved ceilings and walls, and at either end a splendid fireplace of white marble, ornamented300 with sculptured wreaths of flowers and foliage301. The company were about three hundred, many of them celebrities302 in politics, war, literature, and science, though I recollect303 none preeminently distinguished in either department. But it is certainly a pleasant mode of doing honor to men of literature, for example, who deserve well of the public, yet do not often meet it face to face, thus to bring them together under genial auspices304, in connection with persons of note in other lines. I know not what may be the Lord Mayor's mode or principle of selecting his guests, nor whether, during his official term, he can proffer305 his hospitality to every man of noticeable talent in the wide world of London, nor, in fine, whether his Lordship's invitation is much sought for or valued; but it seemed to me that this periodical feast is one of the many sagacious methods which the English have contrived306 for keeping up a good understanding among different sorts of people. Like most other distinctions of society, however, I presume that the Lord Mayor's card does not often seek out modest merit, but comes at last when the recipient308 is conscious of the bore, and doubtful about the honor.
One very pleasant characteristic, which I never met with at any other public or partially public dinner, was the presence of ladies. No doubt, they were principally the wives and daughters of city magnates; and if we may judge from the many sly allusions310 in old plays and satirical poems, the city of London has always been famous for the beauty of its women and the reciprocal attractions between them and the men of quality. Be that as it might, while straying hither and thither through those crowded apartments, I saw much reason for modifying certain heterodox opinions which I had imbibed311, in my Transatlantic newness and rawness, as regarded the delicate character and frequent occurrence of English beauty. To state the entire truth (being, at this period, some years old in English life), my taste, I fear, had long since begun to be deteriorated312 by acquaintance with other models of feminine loveliness than it was my happiness to know in America. I often found, or seemed to find, if I may dare to confess it, in the persons of such of my dear countrywomen as I now occasionally met, a certain meagreness, (Heaven forbid that I should call it scrawniness!) a deficiency of physical development, a scantiness313, so to speak, in the pattern of their material make, a paleness of complexion314, a thinness of voice,—all of which characteristics, nevertheless, only made me resolve so much the more sturdily to uphold these fair creatures as angels, because I was sometimes driven to a half-acknowledgment, that the English ladies, looked at from a lower point of view, were perhaps a little finer animals than they. The advantages of the latter, if any they could really be said to have, were all comprised in a few additional lumps of clay on their shoulders and other parts of their figures. It would be a pitiful bargain to give up the ethereal charm of American beauty in exchange for half a hundred-weight of human clay!
At a given signal we all found our way into an immense room, called the Egyptian Hall, I know not why, except that the architecture was classic, and as different as possible from the ponderous style of Memphis and the Pyramids. A powerful band played inspiringly as we entered, and a brilliant profusion315 of light shone down on two long tables, extending the whole length of the hall, and a cross-table between them, occupying nearly its entire breadth. Glass gleamed and silver glistened316 on an acre or two of snowy damask, over which were set out all the accompaniments of a stately feast. We found our places without much difficulty, and the Lord Mayor's chaplain implored317 a blessing318 on the food,—a ceremony which the English never omit, at a great dinner or a small one, yet consider, I fear, not so much a religious rite147 as a sort of preliminary relish319 before the soup.
The soup, of course, on this occasion, was turtle, of which, in accordance with immemorial custom, each guest was allowed two platefuls, in spite of the otherwise immitigable law of table-decorum. Indeed, judging from the proceedings321 of the gentlemen near me, I surmised322 that there was no practical limit, except the appetite of the guests and the capacity of the soup-tureens. Not being fond of this civic dainty, I partook of it but once, and then only in accordance with the wise maxim323, always to taste a fruit, a wine, or a celebrated324 dish, at its indigenous325 site; and the very fountain-head of turtle-soup, I suppose, is in the Lord Mayor's dinner-pot. It is one of those orthodox customs which people follow for half a century without knowing why, to drink a sip326 of rum-punch, in a very small tumbler, after the soup. It was excellently well-brewed, and it seemed to me almost worth while to sup the soup for the sake of sipping327 the punch. The rest of the dinner was catalogued in a bill-of-fare printed on delicate white paper within an arabesque328 border of green and gold. It looked very good, not only in the English and French names of the numerous dishes, but also in the positive reality of the dishes themselves, which were all set on the table to be carved and distributed by the guests. This ancient and honest method is attended with a good deal of trouble, and a lavish effusion of gravy329, yet by no means bestowed330 or dispensed331 in vain, because you have thereby332 the absolute assurance of a banquet actually before your eyes, instead of a shadowy promise in the bill-of-fare, and such meagre fulfilment as a single guest can contrive307 to get upon his individual plate. I wonder that Englishmen, who are fond of looking at prize-oxen in the shape of butcher's-meat, do not generally better estimate the aesthetic gormandism of devouring333 the whole dinner with their eyesight, before proceeding320 to nibble334 the comparatively few morsels336 which, after all, the most heroic appetite and widest stomachic capacity of mere mortals can enable even an alderman really to eat. There fell to my lot three delectable337 things enough, which I take pains to remember, that the reader may not go away wholly unsatisfied from the Barmecide feast to which I have bidden him,— a red mullet, a plate of mushrooms, exquisitely338 stewed339, and part of a ptarmigan, a bird of the same family as the grouse340, but feeding high up towards the summit of the Scotch341 mountains, whence it gets a wild delicacy of flavor very superior to that of the artificially nurtured342 English game-fowl. All the other dainties have vanished from my memory as completely as those of Prospero's banquet after Ariel had clapped his wings over it. The band played at intervals inspiriting us to new efforts, as did likewise the sparkling wines which the footmen supplied from an inexhaustible cellar, and which the guests quaffed343 with little apparent reference to the disagreeable fact that there comes a to-morrow morning after every feast. As long as that shall be the case, a prudent344 man can never have full enjoyment of his dinner.
Nearly opposite to me, on the other side of the table, sat a young lady in white, whom I am sorely tempted271 to describe, but dare not, because not only the supereminence of her beauty, but its peculiar character, would cause the sketch to be recognized, however rudely it might be drawn. I hardly thought that there existed such a woman outside of a picture-frame, or the covers of a romance: not that I had ever met with her resemblance even there, but, being so distinct and singular an apparition345; she seemed likelier to find her sisterhood in poetry and picture than in real life. Let us turn away from her, lest a touch too apt should compel her stately and cold and soft and womanly grace to gleam out upon my page with a strange repulsion and unattainableness in the very spell that made her beautiful. At her side, and familiarly attentive to her, sat a gentleman of whom I remember only a hard outline of the nose and forehead, and such a monstrous346 portent347 of a beard that you could discover no symptom of a mouth, except, when he opened it to speak, or to put in a morsel335 of food. Then, indeed, you suddenly became aware of a cave hidden behind the impervious348 and darksome shrubbery. There could be no doubt who this gentleman and lady were. Any child would have recognized them at a glance. It was Bluebeard and a new wife (the loveliest of the series, but with already a mysterious gloom overshadowing her fair young brow) travelling in their honeymoon349, and dining, among other distinguished strangers, at the Lord Mayor's table.
After an hour or two of valiant350 achievement with knife and fork came the dessert; and at the point of the festival where finger-glasses are usually introduced, a large silver basin was carried round to the guests, containing rose-water, into which we dipped the ends of our napkins and were conscious of a delightful fragrance351, instead of that heavy and weary odor, the hateful ghost of a defunct352 dinner. This seems to be an ancient custom of the city, not confined to the Lord Mayor's table, but never met with westward353 of Temple Bar.
During all the feast, in accordance with another ancient custom, the origin or purport354 of which I do not remember to have heard, there stood a man in armor, with a helmet on his head, behind his Lordship's chair. When the after-dinner wine was placed on the table, still another official personage appeared behind the chair, and proceeded to make a solemn and sonorous355 proclamation (in which he enumerated356 the principal guests, comprising three or four noblemen, several baronets, and plenty of generals, members of Parliament, aldermen, and other names of the illustrious, one of which sounded strangely familiar to my ears), ending in some such style as this: "and other gentlemen and ladies, here present, the Lord Mayor drinks to you all in a loving-cup,"—giving a sort, of sentimental357 twang to the two words,—"and sends it round among you!" And forthwith the loving-cup—several of them, indeed, on each side of the tables—came slowly down with all the antique ceremony.
The fashion of it is thus. The Lord Mayor, standing up and taking the covered cup in both hands, presents it to the guest at his elbow, who likewise rises, and removes the cover for his Lordship to drink, which being successfully accomplished, the guest replaces the cover and receives the cup into his own hands. He then presents it to his next neighbor, that the cover may be again removed for himself to take a draught, after which the third person goes through a similar manoeuvre358 with a fourth, and he with a fifth, until the whole company find themselves inextricably intertwisted and entangled359 in one complicated chain of love. When the cup came to my hands, I examined it critically, both inside and out, and perceived it to be an antique and richly ornamented silver goblet, capable of holding about a quart of wine. Considering how much trouble we all expended360 in getting the cup to our lips, the guests appeared to content themselves with wonderfully moderate potations. In truth, nearly or quite the original quart of wine being still in the goblet, it seemed doubtful whether any of the company had more than barely touched the silver rim4 before passing it to their neighbors,—a degree of abstinence that might be accounted for by a fastidious repugnance to so many compotators in one cup, or possibly by a disapprobation of the liquor. Being curious to know all about these important matters, with a view of recommending to my countrymen whatever they might usefully adopt, I drank an honest sip from the loving-cup, and had no occasion for another,—ascertaining it to be Claret of a poor original quality, largely mingled361 with water, and spiced and sweetened. It was good enough, however, for a merely spectral or ceremonial drink, and could never have been intended for any better purpose.
The toasts now began in the customary order, attended with speeches neither more nor less witty362 and ingenious than the specimens of table-eloquence which had heretofore delighted me. As preparatory to each new display, the herald60, or whatever he was, behind the chair of state, gave awful notice that the Right Honorable the Lord Mayor was about to propose a toast. His Lordship being happily delivered thereof, together with some accompanying remarks, the band played an appropriate tune217, and the herald again issued proclamation to the effect that such or such a nobleman, or gentleman, general, dignified clergyman, or what not, was going to respond to the Right Honorable the Lord Mayor's toast; then, if I mistake not, there was another prodigious flourish of trumpets363 and twanging of stringed instruments; and finally the doomed364 individual, waiting all this while to be decapitated, got up and proceeded to make a fool of himself. A bashful young earl tried his maiden365 oratory on the good citizens of London, and having evidently got every word by heart (even including, however he managed it, the most seemingly casual improvisations of the moment), he really spoke225 like a book, and made incomparably the smoothest speech I ever heard in England.
The weight and gravity of the speakers, not only on this occasion, but all similar ones, was what impressed me as most extraordinary, not to say absurd. Why should people eat a good dinner, and put their spirits into festive trim with Champagne, and afterwards mellow366 themselves into a most enjoyable state of quietude with copious167 libations of Sherry and old Port, and then disturb the whole excellent result by listening to speeches as heavy as an after-dinner nap, and in no degree so refreshing367? If the Champagne had thrown its sparkle over the surface of these effusions, or if the generous Port had shone through their substance with a ruddy glow of the old English humor, I might have seen a reason for honest gentlemen prattling368 in their cups, and should undoubtedly369 have been glad to be a listener. But there was no attempt nor impulse of the kind on the part of the orators, nor apparent expectation of such a phenomenon on that of the audience. In fact, I imagine that the latter were best pleased when the speaker embodied370 his ideas in the figurative language of arithmetic, or struck upon any hard matter of business or statistics, as a heavy-laden bark bumps upon a rock in mid-ocean. The sad severity, the too earnest utilitarianism, of modern life, have wrought a radical and lamentable371 change, I am afraid, in this ancient and goodly institution of civic banquets. People used to come to them, a few hundred years ago, for the sake of being jolly; they come now with an odd notion of pouring sober wisdom into their wine by way of wormwood-bitters, and thus make such a mess of it that the wine and wisdom reciprocally spoil one another.
Possibly, the foregoing sentiments have taken a spice of acridity from a circumstance that happened about this stage of the feast, and very much interrupted my own further enjoyment of it. Up to this time, my condition had been exceedingly felicitous372, both on account of the brilliancy of the scene, and because I was in close proximity373 with three very pleasant English friends. One of them was a lady, whose honored name my readers would recognize as a household word, if I dared write it; another, a gentleman, likewise well known to them, whose fine taste, kind heart, and genial cultivation374 are qualities seldom mixed in such happy proportion as in him. The third was the man to whom I owed most in England, the warm benignity375 of whose nature was never weary of doing me good, who led me to many scenes of life, in town, camp, and country, which I never could have found out for myself, who knew precisely the kind of help a stranger needs, and gave it as freely as if he had not had a thousand more important things to live for. Thus I never felt safer or cosier376 at anybody's fireside, even my own, than at the dinner-table of the Lord Mayor.
Out of this serene377 sky came a thunderbolt. His Lordship got up and proceeded to make some very eulogistic remarks upon "the literary and commercial"—I question whether those two adjectives were ever before married by a copulative conjunction, and they certainly would not live together in illicit378 intercourse379, of their own accord—"the literary and commercial attainments380 of an eminent gentleman there present," and then went on to speak of the relations of blood and interest between Great Britain and the aforesaid eminent gentleman's native country. Those bonds were more intimate than had ever before existed between two great nations, throughout all history, and his Lordship felt assured that that whole honorable company would join him in the expression of a fervent381 wish that they might be held inviolably sacred, on both sides of the Atlantic, now and forever. Then came the same wearisome old toast, dry and hard to chew upon as a musty sea-biscuit, which had been the text of nearly all the oratory of my public career. The herald sonorously382 announced that Mr. So-and-so would now respond to his Right Honorable Lordship's toast and speech, the trumpets sounded the customary flourish for the onset383, there was a thunderous rumble238 of anticipatory384 applause, and finally a deep silence sank upon the festive hall.
All this was a horrid385 piece of treachery on the Lord Mayor's part, after beguiling386 me within his lines on a pledge of safe-conduct; and it seemed very strange that he could not let an unobtrusive individual eat his dinner in peace, drink a small sample of the Mansion House wine, and go away grateful at heart for the old English hospitality. If his Lordship had sent me an infusion387 of ratsbane in the loving-cup, I should have taken it much more kindly at his hands. But I suppose the secret of the matter to have been somewhat as follows.
All England, just then, was in one of those singular fits of panic excitement (not fear, though as sensitive and tremulous as that emotion), which, in consequence of the homogeneous character of the people, their intense patriotism388, and their dependence389 for their ideas in public affairs on other sources than their own examination and individual thought, are more sudden, pervasive390, and unreasoning than any similar mood of our own public. In truth, I have never seen the American public in a state at all similar, and believe that we are incapable391 of it. Our excitements are not impulsive392, like theirs, but, right or wrong, are moral and intellectual. For example, the grand rising of the North, at the commencement of this war, bore the aspect of impulse and passion only because it was so universal, and necessarily done in a moment, just as the quiet and simultaneous getting-up of a thousand people out of their chairs would cause a tumult45 that might be mistaken for a storm. We were cool then, and have been cool ever since, and shall remain cool to the end, which we shall take coolly, whatever it may be. There is nothing which the English find it so difficult to understand in us as this characteristic. They imagine us, in our collective capacity, a kind of wild beast, whose normal condition is savage393 fury, and are always looking for the moment when we shall break through the slender barriers of international law and comity394, and compel the reasonable part of the world, with themselves at the head, to combine for the purpose of putting us into a stronger cage. At times this apprehension278 becomes so powerful (and when one man feels it, a million do), that it resembles the passage of the wind over a broad field of grain, where you see the whole crop bending and swaying beneath one impulse, and each separate stalk tossing with the selfsame disturbance395 as its myriad396 companions. At such periods all Englishmen talk with a terrible identity of sentiment and expression. You have the whole country in each man; and not one of them all, if you put him strictly397 to the question, can give a reasonable ground for his alarm. There are but two nations in the world—our own country and France—that can put England into this singular state. It is the united sensitiveness of a people extremely well-to-do, careful of their country's honor, most anxious for the preservation398 of the cumbrous and moss-grown prosperity which they have been so long in consolidating399, and incompetent400 (owing to the national half-sightedness, and their habit of trusting to a few leading minds for their public opinion) to judge when that prosperity is really threatened.
If the English were accustomed to look at the foreign side of any international dispute, they might easily have satisfied themselves that there was very little danger of a war at that particular crisis, from the simple circumstance that their own Government had positively401 not an inch of honest ground to stand upon, and could not fail to be aware of the fact. Neither could they have met Parliament with any show of a justification402 for incurring403 war. It was no such perilous404 juncture405 as exists now, when law and right are really controverted406 on sustainable or plausible407 grounds, and a naval408 commander may at any moment fire off the first cannon of a terrible contest. If I remember it correctly, it was a mere diplomatic squabble, in which the British ministers, with the politic115 generosity409 which they are in the habit of showing towards their official subordinates, had tried to browbeat410 us for the purpose of sustaining an ambassador in an indefensible proceeding; and the American Government (for God had not denied us an administration of statesmen then) had retaliated411 with stanch412 courage and exquisite skill, putting inevitably413 a cruel mortification414 upon their opponents, but indulging them with no pretence whatever for active resentment415.
Now the Lord Mayor, like any other Englishman, probably fancied that War was on the western gale416, and was glad to lay hold of even so insignificant417 an American as myself, who might be made to harp on the rusty old strings418 of national sympathies, identity of blood and interest, and community of language and literature, and whisper peace where there was no peace, in however weak an utterance. And possibly his Lordship thought, in his wisdom, that the good feeling which was sure to be expressed by a company of well-bred Englishmen, at his august and far-famed dinner-table, might have an appreciable influence on the grand result. Thus, when the Lord Mayor invited me to his feast, it was a piece of strategy. He wanted to induce me to fling myself, like a lesser419 Curtius, with a larger object of self-sacrifice, into the chasm420 of discord421 between England and America, and, on my ignominious422 demur423, had resolved to shove me in with his own right-honorable hands, in the hope of closing up the horrible pit forever. On the whole, I forgive his Lordship. He meant well by all parties,—himself, who would share the glory, and me, who ought to have desired nothing better than such an heroic opportunity,—his own country, which would continue to get cotton and breadstuffs, and mine, which would get everything that men work with and wear.
As soon as the Lord Mayor began to speak, I rapped upon my mind, and it gave forth a hollow sound, being absolutely empty of appropriate ideas. I never thought of listening to the speech, because I knew it all beforehand in twenty repetitions from other lips, and was aware that it would not offer a single suggestive point. In this dilemma424, I turned to one of my three friends, a gentleman whom I knew to possess an enviable flow of silver speech, and obtested him, by whatever he deemed holiest, to give me at least an available thought or two to start with, and, once afloat, I would trust to my guardian-angel for enabling me to flounder ashore425 again. He advised me to begin with some remarks complimentary to the Lord Mayor, and expressive426 of the hereditary reverence in which his office was held,—at least, my friend thought that there would be no harm in giving his Lordship this little sugar-plum, whether quite the fact or no,—was held by the descendants of the Puritan forefathers. Thence, if I liked, getting flexible with the oil of my own eloquence, I might easily slide off into the momentous427 subject of the relations between England and America, to which his Lordship had made such weighty allusion309.
Seizing this handful of straw with a death-grip, and bidding my three friends bury me honorably, I got upon my legs to save both countries, or perish in the attempt. The tables roared and thundered at me, and suddenly were silent again. But, as I have never happened to stand in a position of greater dignity and peril, I deem it a stratagem428 of sage142 policy here to close these Sketches429, leaving myself still erect430 in so heroic an attitude.
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1 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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2 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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3 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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4 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
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5 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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6 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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7 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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8 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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9 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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10 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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11 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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12 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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13 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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14 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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15 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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16 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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17 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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18 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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19 consolatory | |
adj.慰问的,可藉慰的 | |
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20 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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21 viands | |
n.食品,食物 | |
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22 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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23 sonnet | |
n.十四行诗 | |
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24 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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25 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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26 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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27 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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28 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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29 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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30 requisites | |
n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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31 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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32 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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33 attained | |
(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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34 ruggedness | |
险峻,粗野; 耐久性; 坚固性 | |
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35 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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36 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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37 lamentably | |
adv.哀伤地,拙劣地 | |
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38 excellences | |
n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 );(只用于所修饰的名词后)杰出的;卓越的;出类拔萃的 | |
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39 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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40 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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41 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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42 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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43 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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44 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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45 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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46 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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47 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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48 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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49 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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50 recurrence | |
n.复发,反复,重现 | |
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51 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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52 contiguity | |
n.邻近,接壤 | |
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53 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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54 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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55 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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56 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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57 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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58 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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60 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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61 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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62 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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63 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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64 appreciable | |
adj.明显的,可见的,可估量的,可觉察的 | |
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65 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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66 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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67 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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68 portraiture | |
n.肖像画法 | |
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69 drearily | |
沉寂地,厌倦地,可怕地 | |
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70 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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71 obliterating | |
v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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72 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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73 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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74 glimmers | |
n.微光,闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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76 niggardly | |
adj.吝啬的,很少的 | |
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77 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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78 tampered | |
v.窜改( tamper的过去式 );篡改;(用不正当手段)影响;瞎摆弄 | |
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79 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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80 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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81 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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82 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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83 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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84 tarnished | |
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
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85 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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86 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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87 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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88 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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89 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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90 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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91 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
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92 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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93 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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94 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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95 monarchs | |
君主,帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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96 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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97 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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98 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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99 warden | |
n.监察员,监狱长,看守人,监护人 | |
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100 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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101 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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102 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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103 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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104 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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105 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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106 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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107 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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108 seaport | |
n.海港,港口,港市 | |
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109 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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110 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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111 incumbency | |
n.职责,义务 | |
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112 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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113 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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114 virulence | |
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
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115 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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116 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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117 hospitably | |
亲切地,招待周到地,善于款待地 | |
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118 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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119 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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120 requital | |
n.酬劳;报复 | |
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121 coalesced | |
v.联合,合并( coalesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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123 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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124 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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125 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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126 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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127 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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128 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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129 comeliness | |
n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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130 abbreviate | |
v.缩写,使...简略,缩短 | |
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131 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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132 prominence | |
n.突出;显著;杰出;重要 | |
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133 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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134 acridity | |
n.辛辣,狠毒;苛性;极苦 | |
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135 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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136 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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137 uncouthness | |
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138 uncouth | |
adj.无教养的,粗鲁的 | |
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139 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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140 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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141 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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142 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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143 furrowed | |
v.犁田,开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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145 proneness | |
n.俯伏,倾向 | |
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146 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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147 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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148 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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149 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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150 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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151 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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152 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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153 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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154 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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155 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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156 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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157 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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158 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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159 artistically | |
adv.艺术性地 | |
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160 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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161 pervading | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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162 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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163 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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164 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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165 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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166 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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167 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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168 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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169 goblet | |
n.高脚酒杯 | |
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170 solacing | |
v.安慰,慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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171 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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172 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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173 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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174 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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175 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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176 abeyance | |
n.搁置,缓办,中止,产权未定 | |
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177 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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178 breaches | |
破坏( breach的名词复数 ); 破裂; 缺口; 违背 | |
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179 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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180 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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181 misnomer | |
n.误称 | |
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182 magisterial | |
adj.威风的,有权威的;adv.威严地 | |
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183 expatiated | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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185 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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186 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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187 obtrusively | |
adv.冒失地,莽撞地 | |
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188 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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189 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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190 imbibing | |
v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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191 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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192 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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193 abounded | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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195 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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196 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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197 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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198 anthem | |
n.圣歌,赞美诗,颂歌 | |
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199 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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200 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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201 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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202 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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203 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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205 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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206 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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207 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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208 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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209 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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210 redoubtable | |
adj.可敬的;可怕的 | |
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211 contumacious | |
adj.拒不服从的,违抗的 | |
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212 knavery | |
n.恶行,欺诈的行为 | |
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213 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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214 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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215 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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216 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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217 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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218 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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219 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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220 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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221 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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222 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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223 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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224 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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225 spoke | |
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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226 glib | |
adj.圆滑的,油嘴滑舌的 | |
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227 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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228 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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229 expend | |
vt.花费,消费,消耗 | |
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230 peroration | |
n.(演说等之)结论 | |
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231 shovelling | |
v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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232 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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233 trickle | |
vi.淌,滴,流出,慢慢移动,逐渐消散 | |
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234 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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235 amiably | |
adv.和蔼可亲地,亲切地 | |
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236 apprehensively | |
adv.担心地 | |
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237 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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238 rumble | |
n.隆隆声;吵嚷;v.隆隆响;低沉地说 | |
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239 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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240 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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241 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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242 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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243 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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244 deigns | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
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245 embroidered | |
adj.绣花的 | |
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246 vacuity | |
n.(想象力等)贫乏,无聊,空白 | |
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247 eulogistic | |
adj.颂扬的,颂词的 | |
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248 complimentary | |
adj.赠送的,免费的,赞美的,恭维的 | |
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249 rend | |
vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
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250 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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251 vociferously | |
adv.喊叫地,吵闹地 | |
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252 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
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253 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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254 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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255 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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256 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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257 oratorical | |
adj.演说的,雄辩的 | |
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258 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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259 imposture | |
n.冒名顶替,欺骗 | |
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260 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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261 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
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262 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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263 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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264 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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265 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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266 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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267 orators | |
n.演说者,演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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268 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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269 assailing | |
v.攻击( assail的现在分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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270 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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271 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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272 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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273 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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274 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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275 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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276 acquiescent | |
adj.默许的,默认的 | |
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277 pusillanimous | |
adj.懦弱的,胆怯的 | |
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278 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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279 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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280 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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281 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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282 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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283 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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284 condescend | |
v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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285 emigrants | |
n.(从本国移往他国的)移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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286 potentate | |
n.统治者;君主 | |
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287 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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288 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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289 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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290 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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291 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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292 laudatory | |
adj.赞扬的 | |
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293 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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294 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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295 gilds | |
把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 ); 给…上金色; 作多余的修饰(反而破坏原已完美的东西); 画蛇添足 | |
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296 embroiders | |
v.(在织物上)绣花( embroider的第三人称单数 );刺绣;对…加以渲染(或修饰);给…添枝加叶 | |
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297 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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298 expenditure | |
n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出;使用,消耗 | |
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299 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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300 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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301 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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302 celebrities | |
n.(尤指娱乐界的)名人( celebrity的名词复数 );名流;名声;名誉 | |
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303 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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304 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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305 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
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306 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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307 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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308 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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309 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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310 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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311 imbibed | |
v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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312 deteriorated | |
恶化,变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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313 scantiness | |
n.缺乏 | |
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314 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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315 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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316 glistened | |
v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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317 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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318 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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319 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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320 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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321 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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322 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
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323 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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324 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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325 indigenous | |
adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
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326 sip | |
v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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327 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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328 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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329 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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330 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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331 dispensed | |
v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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332 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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333 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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334 nibble | |
n.轻咬,啃;v.一点点地咬,慢慢啃,吹毛求疵 | |
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335 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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336 morsels | |
n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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337 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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338 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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339 stewed | |
adj.焦虑不安的,烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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340 grouse | |
n.松鸡;v.牢骚,诉苦 | |
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341 scotch | |
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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342 nurtured | |
养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
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343 quaffed | |
v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
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344 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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345 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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346 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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347 portent | |
n.预兆;恶兆;怪事 | |
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348 impervious | |
adj.不能渗透的,不能穿过的,不易伤害的 | |
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349 honeymoon | |
n.蜜月(假期);vi.度蜜月 | |
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350 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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351 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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352 defunct | |
adj.死亡的;已倒闭的 | |
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353 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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354 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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355 sonorous | |
adj.响亮的,回响的;adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;n.感人,堂皇 | |
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356 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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357 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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358 manoeuvre | |
n.策略,调动;v.用策略,调动 | |
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359 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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360 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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361 mingled | |
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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362 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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363 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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364 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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365 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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366 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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367 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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368 prattling | |
v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 );发出连续而无意义的声音;闲扯;东拉西扯 | |
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369 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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370 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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371 lamentable | |
adj.令人惋惜的,悔恨的 | |
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372 felicitous | |
adj.恰当的,巧妙的;n.恰当,贴切 | |
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373 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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374 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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375 benignity | |
n.仁慈 | |
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376 cosier | |
adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的比较级 );亲切友好的 | |
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377 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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378 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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379 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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380 attainments | |
成就,造诣; 获得( attainment的名词复数 ); 达到; 造诣; 成就 | |
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381 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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382 sonorously | |
adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;堂皇地;朗朗地 | |
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383 onset | |
n.进攻,袭击,开始,突然开始 | |
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384 anticipatory | |
adj.预想的,预期的 | |
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385 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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386 beguiling | |
adj.欺骗的,诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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387 infusion | |
n.灌输 | |
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388 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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389 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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390 pervasive | |
adj.普遍的;遍布的,(到处)弥漫的;渗透性的 | |
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391 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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392 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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393 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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394 comity | |
n.礼让,礼仪;团结,联合 | |
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395 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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396 myriad | |
adj.无数的;n.无数,极大数量 | |
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397 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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398 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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399 consolidating | |
v.(使)巩固, (使)加强( consolidate的现在分词 );(使)合并 | |
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400 incompetent | |
adj.无能力的,不能胜任的 | |
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401 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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402 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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403 incurring | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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404 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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405 juncture | |
n.时刻,关键时刻,紧要关头 | |
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406 controverted | |
v.争论,反驳,否定( controvert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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407 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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408 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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409 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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410 browbeat | |
v.欺侮;吓唬 | |
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411 retaliated | |
v.报复,反击( retaliate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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412 stanch | |
v.止住(血等);adj.坚固的;坚定的 | |
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413 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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414 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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415 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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416 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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417 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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418 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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419 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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420 chasm | |
n.深坑,断层,裂口,大分岐,利害冲突 | |
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421 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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422 ignominious | |
adj.可鄙的,不光彩的,耻辱的 | |
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423 demur | |
v.表示异议,反对 | |
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424 dilemma | |
n.困境,进退两难的局面 | |
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425 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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426 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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427 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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428 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
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429 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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430 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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