"Good West Indjy as ever I tasted," said Mrs. Hagburn; "and there stands her broken pitcher4, on the hearth5. Ah, empty! I never could bring my mind to taste it; but now I'm sorry I never did, for I suppose nobody in the world can make any more of it."
Septimius, meanwhile, had betaken himself to the hill-top, which was his place of refuge on all occasions when the house seemed too stifled6 to contain him; and there he walked to and fro, with a certain kind of calmness and indifference7 that he wondered at; for there is hardly anything in this world so strange as the quiet surface that spreads over a man's mind in his greatest emergencies: so that he deems himself perfectly8 quiet, and upbraids9 himself with not feeling anything, when indeed he is passion-stirred. As Septimius walked to and fro, he looked at the rich crimson10 flowers, which seemed to be blooming in greater profusion12 and luxuriance than ever before. He had made an experiment with these flowers, and he was curious to know whether that experiment had been the cause of Aunt Keziah's death. Not that he felt any remorse13 therefor, in any case, or believed himself to have committed a crime, having really intended and desired nothing but good. I suppose such things (and he must be a lucky physician, methinks, who has no such mischief14 within his own experience) never weigh with deadly weight on any man's conscience. Something must be risked in the cause of science, and in desperate cases something must be risked for the patient's self. Septimius, much as he loved life, would not have hesitated to put his own life to the same risk that he had imposed on Aunt Keziah; or, if he did hesitate, it would have been only because, if the experiment turned out disastrously15 in his own person, he would not be in a position to make another and more successful trial; whereas, by trying it on others, the man of science still reserves himself for new efforts, and does not put all the hopes of the world, so far as involved in his success, on one cast of the die.
By and by he met Sibyl Dacy, who had ascended16 the hill, as was usual with her, at sunset, and came towards him, gazing earnestly in his face.
"They tell me poor Aunt Keziah is no more," said she.
"She is dead," said Septimius.
"The flower is a very famous medicine," said the girl, "but everything depends on its being applied18 in the proper way."
"Do you know the way, then?" asked Septimius.
"No; you should ask Doctor Portsoaken about that," said Sibyl.
Doctor Portsoaken! And so he should consult him. That eminent19 chemist and scientific man had evidently heard of the recipe, and at all events would be acquainted with the best methods of getting the virtues20 out of flowers and herbs, some of which, Septimius had read enough to know, were poison in one phase and shape of preparation, and possessed21 of richest virtues in others; their poison, as one may say, serving as a dark and terrible safeguard, which Providence22 has set to watch over their preciousness; even as a dragon, or some wild and fiendish spectre, is set to watch and keep hidden gold and heaped-up diamonds. A dragon always waits on everything that is very good. And what would deserve the watch and ward17 of danger of a dragon, or something more fatal than a dragon, if not this treasure of which Septimius was in quest, and the discovery and possession of which would enable him to break down one of the strongest barriers of nature? It ought to be death, he acknowledged it, to attempt such a thing; for how hanged would be life if he should succeed; how necessary it was that mankind should be defended from such attempts on the general rule on the part of all but him. How could Death be spared?–then the sire would live forever, and the heir never come to his inheritance, and so he would at once hate his own father, from the perception that he would never be out of his way. Then the same class of powerful minds would always rule the state, and there would never be a change of policy. [Here several pages are missing.–ED.]
Through such scenes Septimius sought out the direction that Doctor Portsoaken had given him, and came to the door of a house in the olden part of the town. The Boston of those days had very much the aspect of provincial23 towns in England, such as may still be seen there, while our own city has undergone such wonderful changes that little likeness24 to what our ancestors made it can now be found. The streets, crooked25 and narrow; the houses, many gabled, projecting, with latticed windows and diamond panes26; without sidewalks; with rough pavements.
Septimius knocked loudly at the door, nor had long to wait before a serving-maid appeared, who seemed to be of English nativity; and in reply to his request for Doctor Portsoaken bade him come in, and led him up a staircase with broad landing-places; then tapped at the door of a room, and was responded to by a gruff voice saying, "Come in!" The woman held the door open, and Septimius saw the veritable Doctor Portsoaken in an old, faded morning-gown, and with a nightcap on his head, his German pipe in his mouth, and a brandy-bottle, to the best of our belief, on the table by his side.
"Come in, come in," said the gruff doctor, nodding to Septimius. "I remember you. Come in, man, and tell me your business."
Septimius did come in, but was so struck by the aspect of Dr. Portsoaken's apartment, and his gown, that he did not immediately tell his business. In the first place, everything looked very dusty and dirty, so that evidently no woman had ever been admitted into this sanctity of a place; a fact made all the more evident by the abundance of spiders, who had spun27 their webs about the walls and ceiling in the wildest apparent confusion, though doubtless each individual spider knew the cordage which he had lengthened28 out of his own miraculous29 bowels30. But it was really strange. They had festooned their cordage on whatever was stationary31 in the room, making a sort of gray, dusky tapestry32, that waved portentously33 in the breeze, and flapped, heavy and dismal34, each with its spider in the centre of his own system. And what was most marvellous was a spider over the doctor's head; a spider, I think, of some South American breed, with a circumference35 of its many legs as big, unless I am misinformed, as a teacup, and with a body in the midst as large as a dollar; giving the spectator horrible qualms36 as to what would be the consequence if this spider should be crushed, and, at the same time, suggesting the poisonous danger of suffering such a monster to live. The monster, however, sat in the midst of the stalwart cordage of his web, right over the doctor's head; and he looked, with all those complicated lines, like the symbol of a conjurer or crafty37 politician in the midst of the complexity38 of his scheme; and Septimius wondered if he were not the type of Dr. Portsoaken himself, who, fat and bloated as the spider, seemed to be the centre of some dark contrivance. And could it be that poor Septimius was typified by the fascinated fly, doomed39 to be entangled40 by the web?
"Good day to you," said the gruff doctor, taking his pipe from his mouth. "Here I am, with my brother spiders, in the midst of my web. I told you, you remember, the wonderful efficacy which I had discovered in spiders' webs; and this is my laboratory, where I have hundreds of workmen concocting41 my panacea42 for me. Is it not a lovely sight?"
"A wonderful one, at least," said Septimius. "That one above your head, the monster, is calculated to give a very favorable idea of your theory. What a quantity of poison there must be in him!"
"Poison, do you call it?" quoth the grim doctor. "That's entirely43 as it may be used. Doubtless his bite would send a man to kingdom come; but, on the other hand, no one need want a better life-line than that fellow's web. He and I are firm friends, and I believe he would know my enemies by instinct. But come, sit down, and take a glass of brandy. No? Well, I'll drink it for you. And how is the old aunt yonder, with her infernal nostrum44, the bitterness and nauseousness of which my poor stomach has not yet forgotten?"
"My Aunt Keziah is no more," said Septimius.
"No more! Well, I trust in Heaven she has carried her secret with her," said the doctor. "If anything could comfort you for her loss, it would be that. But what brings you to Boston?"
"Only a dried flower or two," said Septimius, producing some specimens45 of the strange growth of the grave. "I want you to tell me about them."
The naturalist46 took the flowers in his hand, one of which had the root appended, and examined them with great minuteness and some surprise; two or three times looking in Septimius's face with a puzzled and inquiring air; then examined them again.
"Do you tell me," said he, "that the plant has been found indigenous47 in this country, and in your part of it? And in what locality?"
"Indigenous, so far as I know," answered Septimius. "As to the locality,"–he hesitated a little,–"it is on a small hillock, scarcely bigger than a molehill, on the hill-top behind my house."
The naturalist looked steadfastly48 at him with red, burning eyes, under his deep, impending49, shaggy brows; then again at the flower.
"Flower, do you call it?" said he, after a re?xamination. "This is no flower, though it so closely resembles one, and a beautiful one,–yes, most beautiful. But it is no flower. It is a certain very rare fungus50,–so rare as almost to be thought fabulous51; and there are the strangest superstitions53, coming down from ancient times, as to the mode of production. What sort of manure54 had been put into that hillock? Was it merely dried leaves, the refuse of the forest, or something else?"
Septimius hesitated a little; but there was no reason why he should not disclose the truth,–as much of it as Doctor Portsoaken cared to know.
"The hillock where it grew," answered he, "was a grave."
"A grave! Strange! strange!" quoth Doctor Portsoaken. "Now these old superstitions sometimes prove to have a germ of truth in them, which some philosopher has doubtless long ago, in forgotten ages, discovered and made known; but in process of time his learned memory passes away, but the truth, undiscovered, survives him, and the people get hold of it, and make it the nucleus56 of all sorts of folly57. So it grew out of a grave! Yes, yes; and probably it would have grown out of any other dead flesh, as well as that of a human being; a dog would have answered the purpose as well as a man. You must know that the seeds of fungi58 are scattered59 so universally over the world that, only comply with the conditions, and you will produce them everywhere. Prepare the bed it loves, and a mushroom will spring up spontaneously, an excellent food, like manna from heaven. So superstition52 says, kill your deadliest enemy, and plant him, and he will come up in a delicious fungus, which I presume to be this; steep him, or distil60 him, and he will make an elixir61 of life for you. I suppose there is some foolish symbolism or other about the matter; but the fact I affirm to be nonsense. Dead flesh under some certain conditions of rain and sunshine, not at present ascertained63 by science, will produce the fungus, whether the manure be friend, or foe64, or cattle."
"And as to its medical efficacy?" asked Septimius.
"That may be great for aught I know," said Portsoaken; "but I am content with my cobwebs. You may seek it out for yourself. But if the poor fellow lost his life in the supposition that he might be a useful ingredient in a recipe, you are rather an unscrupulous practitioner65."
"The person whose mortal relics66 fill that grave," said Septimius, "was no enemy of mine (no private enemy, I mean, though he stood among the enemies of my country), nor had I anything to gain by his death. I strove to avoid aiming at his life, but he compelled me."
"Many a chance shot brings down the bird," said Doctor Portsoaken. "You say you had no interest in his death. We shall see that in the end."
Septimius did not try to follow the conversation among the mysterious hints with which the doctor chose to involve it; but he now sought to gain some information from him as to the mode of preparing the recipe, and whether he thought it would be most efficacious as a decoction, or as a distillation67. The learned chemist supported most decidedly the latter opinion, and showed Septimius how he might make for himself a simpler apparatus68, with no better aids than Aunt Keziah's teakettle, and one or two trifling69 things, which the doctor himself supplied, by which all might be done with every necessary scrupulousness70.
"Let me look again at the formula," said he. "There are a good many minute directions that appear trifling, but it is not safe to neglect any minutiae71 in the preparation of an affair like this; because, as it is all mysterious and unknown ground together, we cannot tell which may be the important and efficacious part. For instance, when all else is done, the recipe is to be exposed seven days to the sun at noon. That does not look very important, but it may be. Then again, 'Steep it in moonlight during the second quarter.' That's all moonshine, one would think; but there's no saying. It is singular, with such preciseness, that no distinct directions are given whether to infuse, decoct, distil, or what other way; but my advice is to distil."
"I will do it," said Septimius, "and not a direction shall be neglected."
"I shall be curious to know the result," said Doctor Portsoaken, "and am glad to see the zeal72 with which you enter into the matter. A very valuable medicine may be recovered to science through your agency, and you may make your fortune by it; though, for my part, I prefer to trust to my cobwebs. This spider, now, is not he a lovely object? See, he is quite capable of knowledge and affection."
There seemed, in fact, to be some mode of communication between the doctor and his spider, for on some sign given by the former, imperceptible to Septimius, the many-legged monster let himself down by a cord, which he extemporized73 out of his own bowels, and came dangling74 his huge bulk down before his master's face, while the latter lavished75 many epithets76 of endearment77 upon him, ludicrous, and not without horror, as applied to such a hideous78 production of nature.
"I assure you," said Dr. Portsoaken, "I run some risk from my intimacy79 with this lovely jewel, and if I behave not all the more prudently80, your countrymen will hang me for a wizard, and annihilate81 this precious spider as my familiar. There would be a loss to the world; not small in my own case, but enormous in the case of the spider. Look at him now, and see if the mere55 uninstructed observation does not discover a wonderful value in him."
In truth, when looked at closely, the spider really showed that a care and art had been bestowed82 upon his make, not merely as regards curiosity, but absolute beauty, that seemed to indicate that he must be a rather distinguished83 creature in the view of Providence; so variegated84 was he with a thousand minute spots, spots of color, glorious radiance, and such a brilliance85 was attained86 by many conglomerated brilliancies; and it was very strange that all this care was bestowed on a creature that, probably, had never been carefully considered except by the two pair of eyes that were now upon it; and that, in spite of its beauty and magnificence, could only be looked at with an effort to overcome the mysterious repulsiveness87 of its presence; for all the time that Septimius looked and admired, he still hated the thing, and thought it wrong that it was ever born, and wished that it could be annihilated88. Whether the spider was conscious of the wish, we are unable to say; but certainly Septimius felt as if he were hostile to him, and had a mind to sting him; and, in fact, Dr. Portsoaken seemed of the same opinion.
"Aha, my friend," said he, "I would advise you not to come too near Orontes! He is a lovely beast, it is true; but in a certain recess89 of this splendid form of his he keeps a modest supply of a certain potent90 and piercing poison, which would produce a wonderful effect on any flesh to which he chose to apply it. A powerful fellow is Orontes; and he has a great sense of his own dignity and importance, and will not allow it to be imposed on."
Septimius moved from the vicinity of the spider, who, in fact, retreated, by climbing up his cord, and ensconced himself in the middle of his web, where he remained waiting for his prey91. Septimius wondered whether the doctor were symbolized92 by the spider, and was likewise waiting in the middle of his web for his prey. As he saw no way, however, in which the doctor could make a profit out of himself, or how he could be victimized, the thought did not much disturb his equanimity93. He was about to take his leave, but the doctor, in a derisive94 kind of way, bade him sit still, for he purposed keeping him as a guest, that night, at least.
"I owe you a dinner," said he, "and will pay it with a supper and knowledge; and before we part I have certain inquiries95 to make, of which you may not at first see the object, but yet are not quite purposeless. My familiar, up aloft there, has whispered me something about you, and I rely greatly on his intimations."
Septimius, who was sufficiently96 common-sensible, and invulnerable to superstitious97 influences on every point except that to which he had surrendered himself, was easily prevailed upon to stay; for he found the singular, charlatanic, mysterious lore98 of the man curious, and he had enough of real science to at least make him an object of interest to one who knew nothing of the matter; and Septimius's acuteness, too, was piqued99 in trying to make out what manner of man he really was, and how much in him was genuine science and self-belief, and how much quackery100 and pretension101 and conscious empiricism. So he stayed, and supped with the doctor at a table heaped more bountifully, and with rarer dainties, than Septimius had ever before conceived of; and in his simpler cognizance, heretofore, of eating merely to live, he could not but wonder to see a man of thought caring to eat of more than one dish, so that most of the meal, on his part, was spent in seeing the doctor feed and hearing him discourse102 upon his food.
"If man lived only to eat," quoth the doctor, "one life would not suffice, not merely to exhaust the pleasure of it, but even to get the rudiments103 of it."
When this important business was over, the doctor and his guest sat down again in his laboratory, where the former took care to have his usual companion, the black bottle, at his elbow, and filled his pipe, and seemed to feel a certain sullen104, genial105, fierce, brutal106, kindly107 mood enough, and looked at Septimius with a sort of friendship, as if he had as lief shake hands with him as knock him down.
"Now for a talk about business," said he.
Septimius thought, however, that the doctor's talk began, at least, at a sufficient remoteness from any practical business; for he began to question about his remote ancestry108, what he knew, or what record had been preserved, of the first emigrant109 from England; whence, from what shire or part of England, that ancestor had come; whether there were any memorial of any kind remaining of him, any letters or written documents, wills, deeds, or other legal paper; in short, all about him.
Septimius could not satisfactorily see whether these inquiries were made with any definite purpose, or from a mere general curiosity to discover how a family of early settlement in America might still be linked with the old country; whether there were any tendrils stretching across the gulf110 of a hundred and fifty years by which the American branch of the family was separated from the trunk of the family tree in England. The doctor partly explained this.
"You must know," said he, "that the name you bear, Felton, is one formerly111 of much eminence112 and repute in my part of England, and, indeed, very recently possessed of wealth and station. I should like to know if you are of that race."
Septimius answered with such facts and traditions as had come to his knowledge respecting his family history; a sort of history that is quite as liable to be mythical113, in its early and distant stages, as that of Rome, and, indeed, seldom goes three or four generations back without getting into a mist really impenetrable, though great, gloomy, and magnificent shapes of men often seem to loom11 in it, who, if they could be brought close to the naked eye, would turn out as commonplace as the descendants who wonder at and admire them. He remembered Aunt Keziah's legend and said he had reason to believe that his first ancestor came over at a somewhat earlier date than the first Puritan settlers, and dwelt among the Indians where (and here the young man cast down his eyes, having the customary American abhorrence114 for any mixture of blood) he had intermarried with the daughter of a sagamore, and succeeded to his rule. This might have happened as early as the end of Elizabeth's reign115, perhaps later. It was impossible to decide dates on such a matter. There had been a son of this connection, perhaps more than one, but certainly one son, who, on the arrival of the Puritans, was a youth, his father appearing to have been slain116 in some outbreak of the tribe, perhaps owing to the jealousy117 of prominent chiefs at seeing their natural authority abrogated118 or absorbed by a man of different race. He slightly alluded119 to the supernatural attributes that gathered round this predecessor120, but in a way to imply that he put no faith in them; for Septimius's natural keen sense and perception kept him from betraying his weaknesses to the doctor, by the same instinctive121 and subtle caution with which a madman can so well conceal122 his infirmity.
On the arrival of the Puritans, they had found among the Indians a youth partly of their own blood, able, though imperfectly, to speak their language,–having, at least, some early recollections of it,–inheriting, also, a share of influence over the tribe on which his father had grafted123 him. It was natural that they should pay especial attention to this youth, consider it their duty to give him religious instruction in the faith of his fathers, and try to use him as a means of influencing his tribe. They did so, but did not succeed in swaying the tribe by his means, their success having been limited to winning the half-Indian from the wild ways of his mother's people, into a certain partial, but decent accommodation to those of the English. A tendency to civilization was brought out in his character by their rigid124 training; at least, his savage125 wildness was broken. He built a house among them, with a good deal of the wigwam, no doubt, in its style of architecture, but still a permanent house, near which he established a corn-field, a pumpkin-garden, a melon-patch, and became farmer enough to be entitled to ask the hand of a Puritan maiden126. There he spent his life, with some few instances of temporary relapse into savage wildness, when he fished in the river Musquehannah, or in Walden, or strayed in the woods, when he should have been planting or hoeing; but, on the whole, the race had been redeemed127 from barbarism in his person, and in the succeeding generations had been tamed more and more. The second generation had been distinguished in the Indian wars of the provinces, and then intermarried with the stock of a distinguished Puritan divine, by which means Septimius could reckon great and learned men, scholars of old Cambridge, among his ancestry on one side, while on the other it ran up to the early emigrants128, who seemed to have been remarkable129 men, and to that strange wild lineage of Indian chiefs, whose blood was like that of persons not quite human, intermixed with civilized130 blood.
"I wonder," said the doctor, musingly131, "whether there are really no documents to ascertain62 the epoch132 at which that old first emigrant came over, and whence he came, and precisely133 from what English family. Often the last heir of some respectable name dies in England, and we say that the family is extinct; whereas, very possibly, it may be abundantly flourishing in the New World, revived by the rich infusion134 of new blood in a new soil, instead of growing feebler, heavier, stupider, each year by sticking to an old soil, intermarrying over and over again with the same respectable families, till it has made common stock of all their vices135, weaknesses, madnesses. Have you no documents, I say, no muniment deed?"
"None," said Septimius.
"No old furniture, desks, trunks, chests, cabinets?"
"You must remember," said Septimius, "that my Indian ancestor was not very likely to have brought such things out of the forest with him. A wandering Indian does not carry a chest of papers with him. I do remember, in my childhood, a little old iron-bound chest, or coffer, of which the key was lost, and which my Aunt Keziah used to say came down from her great-great-grandfather. I don't know what has become of it, and my poor old aunt kept it among her own treasures."
"Well, my friend, do you hunt up that old coffer, and, just as a matter of curiosity, let me see the contents."
"I have other things to do," said Septimius.
"Perhaps so," quoth the doctor, "but no other, as it may turn out, of quite so much importance as this. I'll tell you fairly: the heir of a great English house is lately dead, and the estate lies open to any well-sustained, perhaps to any plausible136, claimant. If it should appear from the records of that family, as I have some reason to suppose, that a member of it, who would now represent the older branch, disappeared mysteriously and unaccountably, at a date corresponding with what might be ascertained as that of your ancestor's first appearance in this country; if any reasonable proof can be brought forward, on the part of the representatives of that white sagamore, that wizard pow-wow, or however you call him, that he was the disappearing Englishman, why, a good case is made out. Do you feel no interest in such a prospect137?"
"Very little, I confess," said Septimius.
"Very little!" said the grim doctor, impatiently. "Do not you see that, if you make good your claim, you establish for yourself a position among the English aristocracy, and succeed to a noble English estate, an ancient hall, where your forefathers138 have dwelt since the Conqueror139; splendid gardens, hereditary140 woods and parks, to which anything America can show is despicable,–all thoroughly141 cultivated and adorned142, with the care and ingenuity143 of centuries; and an income, a month of which would be greater wealth than any of your American ancestors, raking and scraping for his lifetime, has ever got together, as the accumulated result of the toil144 and penury145 by which he has sacrificed body and soul?"
"That strain of Indian blood is in me yet," said Septimius, "and it makes me despise,–no, not despise; for I can see their desirableness for other people,–but it makes me reject for myself what you think so valuable. I do not care for these common aims. I have ambition, but it is for prizes such as other men cannot gain, and do not think of aspiring146 after. I could not live in the habits of English life, as I conceive it to be, and would not, for my part, be burdened with the great estate you speak of. It might answer my purpose for a time. It would suit me well enough to try that mode of life, as well as a hundred others, but only for a time. It is of no permanent importance."
"I'll tell you what it is, young man," said the doctor, testily147, "you have something in your brain that makes you talk very foolishly; and I have partly a suspicion what it is,–only I can't think that a fellow who is really gifted with respectable sense, in other directions, should be such a confounded idiot in this."
Septimius blushed, but held his peace, and the conversation languished148 after this; the doctor grimly smoking his pipe, and by no means increasing the milkiness149 of his mood by frequent applications to the black bottle, until Septimius intimated that he would like to go to bed. The old woman was summoned, and ushered150 him to his chamber151.
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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upbraids
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的第三人称单数 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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disastrously
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| ad.灾难性地 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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24
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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30
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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32
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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portentously
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34
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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35
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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36
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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37
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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38
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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39
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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40
entangled
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| 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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41
concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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42
panacea
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| n.万灵药；治百病的灵药 | |
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43
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
nostrum
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| n.秘方；妙策 | |
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45
specimens
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| 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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46
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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47
indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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49
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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50
fungus
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| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
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51
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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52
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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53
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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54
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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55
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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56
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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57
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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58
fungi
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| n.真菌，霉菌 | |
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59
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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60
distil
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| vt.蒸馏；提取…的精华，精选出 | |
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61
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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62
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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63
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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65
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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66
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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67
distillation
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| n.蒸馏，蒸馏法 | |
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68
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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69
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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70
scrupulousness
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| n.一丝不苟；小心翼翼 | |
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71
minutiae
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| n.微小的细节，细枝末节；（常复数）细节，小事( minutia的名词复数 ) | |
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72
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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73
extemporized
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| v.即兴创作，即席演奏( extemporize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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75
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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77
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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78
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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79
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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80
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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81
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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82
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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84
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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85
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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86
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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87
repulsiveness
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88
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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89
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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90
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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91
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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92
symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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94
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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95
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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96
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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97
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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98
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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99
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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100
quackery
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| n.庸医的医术，骗子的行为 | |
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101
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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102
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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103
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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104
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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105
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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106
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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107
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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108
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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109
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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110
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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111
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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112
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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113
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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114
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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115
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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116
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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117
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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118
abrogated
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| 废除（法律等）( abrogate的过去式和过去分词 )； 取消； 去掉； 抛开 | |
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119
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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121
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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122
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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123
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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124
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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125
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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126
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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127
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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128
emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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129
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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130
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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131
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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132
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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133
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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134
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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135
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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136
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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137
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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138
forefathers
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| 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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139
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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140
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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141
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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142
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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143
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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144
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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145
penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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146
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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147
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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148
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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149
milkiness
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| 乳状； 乳白色； 浑浊； 软弱 | |
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150
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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