DREAMING over New Zealand days and the many types and characters I have met destroys the continuity of actual events: my thoughts digress for a moment to various experiences and pictures which my memory has recorded. Memories, in the perspective of dead Time, vary with our moods. Sometimes the figures and events stand out vividly2, and at other times are illusive3, and seem some sad, intangible thing far away in the background of life.
The old bushman’s red beard and twinkling eyes; the squatting4 savages6 by their huts; the sensitive mouths and wondering eyes of the native girls; old scallawags; beachcombers; the noise of sailors on ships in the bay; Horncastle’s jovial7 face aglow8 with joy and drink; the palm-clad shores, and Apia’s primitive9 town, seem far-off dreams. I can still see Robert Louis Stevenson in Samoa; his tall, bony form, attired10 in white trousers, shirt and old shoes only, stands on the beach. His hand is arched over his watching eyes, his loose scarf blows out behind him to the gusty11 trade wind, as he stares seaward at the fading schooner12 that takes some friend away for ever. He looks like some memorial figure, the statue of a half poet, half pioneer gazing with aching eyes across the sea. The wind stirs the wisp of dark hair on the high, pale brow; the head is hatless and perfectly13 still, but the fine eyes are alive and full of far-away thoughts. Now he moves away and goes up the shore, and does not even see the smile of recognition on the face of the trading ship’s skipper, who passes with a Samoan sailor and one other. Like the memory of some tragical14 living picture it all flashes across my mind. I could think it all unreal, some far-off rocky, beautiful unknown isle15, set in the seas of my imagination, as I paint the stars, the skies, the breaking waves, the ships and the sailors coming into the harbour, or once more going seaward. At other times Samoa’s Isles16 come back vividly, and just as a sailor, far away at sea, stands on the fo’c’sle head and watches the big clouds shift on the horizon as they break and suddenly reveal blue tropical skies over the outstretched, unknown continent’s shores of singing waves and palm forests, so I see the past, and the figures move. The winds stir the trees, and the magical, musical voices of savage5 men and women sing and laugh, in a world that is now The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments of my boyhood.
As you can imagine, I have met many strange types of men and women in my travels, types both good and bad. I tramped many, many weary miles in the Australian bush when I was fifteen years of age. Often I tramped alone, when I could not get a congenial comrade. I was sometimes very lucky; and my reminiscences of those good comrades are the lights that shine down the dark tracks far away as I remember their eyes. One was a man of about thirty years of age. He was exceedingly cheerful and full of song and devilment. I can still see his refined face aglow as he sits under the scorched17 gum-trees smashing swamp mosquitoes on his hand or singing his favourite songs in a quiet, manly18 voice. We stayed together for two or three days at a sheep station, where the boss was a German. He was all right. But there were two German women and a son there too. When I played the violin to them, and turned around for the welcome and expected applause, they said: “Vell, dat vash little nize”; and then they shook their Teutonic square heads and, with their eyes and hands lifted to the shanty19 roof, said: “But, O-ez! you shoulds hear zem play that tunezz in Germanhy—O-o-o-o-e-z-z-z-z-z ze diff-er-enze!”
Then my boyish blood warmed up and I said: “Germans can’t play the violin. Paganini wasn’t a German. No German ever played except by science.”
“Mein Gott! Mein Gott! O, haves you never vash heards Vons Kriessburgh? He play that same tuenz vich you just now play so—phoo!”—here they shrugged20 their shoulders with disgust at my performance—“like dis,” and the two German women, who had faces like pasty pumpkins21 with glass eyes stuck in them, and the son, with his big moustache twirled at the ends, lifted their hands and eyes to the roof to express the ecstatic memory of the German’s violin-playing. Their mouths went “O, o-ez-e-z-z-z-z-z-z-ez,” emitting a strange sound that faded away in complete exhaustion22 as they sank down on to the three chairs like three puppets. Not only violin-playing, but everything, was wonderful in German art. If one said, “What a nice picture,” or “What nice butter,” they’d raise their eyebrows23 and sigh out that old crescendo24, “O, O-e-z-z-z,” and say: “Have yous never, never tasted German butter?” It was the same with eggs, beef, pork, men, boots, girls or any d——d thing!
My congenial comrade went off to New Zealand, and I ran across another one, who was most uncongenial for a time. We were tramping across the bush-lands, looking for work on stations and secretly hoping that we were not wanted. My friend was a short, thick-set, thick-necked fellow about two years older than I, with a slightly elevated, protruding25 chin and a mouth that talked from morn till night about his ancestry26. I forget now whether he said they were descendants of Julius C?sar’s invading horde27 or of William the Conqueror28. Anyway our friendship was one incessant29 argument.
I was just on six feet high, full of health and independent strength, and I found that I was supposed to walk beside him with my head hanging for shame because I was only a “common Englishman.” We were on a lonely bush track; ragged30 gum-trees fenced the broken sky-lines for miles and miles around us. The only onlookers31 were parrots and cockatoos, like vividly coloured leaves overhead. There was no sight or sound of human habitation in that vast, sombre solitude32 as we tramped along together. A feeling of grim exultation33 seemed to suddenly seize me. Once more I swallowed another pill of insult, and I looked down sideways at my blue-blooded companion. I thought of my ancestral forefathers34, and wondered if his ancestors had robbed my ancestors, and ravaged35 their lands and castles—my possible birthright!
He did not know what I was thinking of as he talked away. His short legs strutted36 along the track with the toes turned up, his nose and chin also inclined skyward, as once more he reminded me of my plebeian37 origin. Suddenly!—— Well, I’ll not tell you all, for why should we be proud of the animalistic strain that sometimes dominates our natures? Why be proud that suddenly a bolt seemed to fall from the blue, and one of the reputed descendants of the first Kaiser Bill got his deserts, and lay with his back in the dust, his Imperial nose and semi-conscious eyes staring half vacantly up at the Australian sky, while plebeian, old pioneer England, with a swag on his back, tramped away and faded on the horizon—triumphant—alone!
Ere sunset darkened the sky I lay ambushed38 in a clump39 of wattles by the forest, then peeped and saw my comrade coming slowly down the track with his toes turned down. I repented40 and thought: “Even if it’s true, he cannot help being the descendant of bloodthirsty ravishers, who killed old men and robbed my country’s churches. No, even he cannot help himself.” So I crept out and told him I repented, and once more we tramped along as comrades. So silent was he about William the Conqueror that you would have thought such a man had never lived. He admitted that night, as we sat by the camp fire, when I had explained my feelings to him, that his descent was only a family rumour41. Hearing that, I truly forgave him, and we lifted the billy can of cold tea and drank a united toast to the memory of Caractacus and Boadicea, and death to all descendants of the first great bloated Kaiser Bill who dare prove to us their murderous, cowardly ancestry!
Lake Rotorua and Mokoia Island, N.Z.
I met yet another gentleman of ancient emigrant42 blood in Tahiti. He was a gigantic old chap, a chief. I slept in his hut with four American runaway43 sailors, who were waiting with me for the next boat to call, so that we could clear out. Night after night that old chief would sit and tell us of the wonderful earlier days, when he was the great king of the inland dominions44, loved by all the tribes for his bravery and justice, and had had a special envoy45 sent out by Queen Victoria to represent her appreciation to the one true Christian46 monarch47 of the Southern Seas.
He had fine eyes, and they flashed as he told of these old days, and his tattooed48 frame swelled49 majestically50 over many a wild memory. He even shed tears as he sang to us old far-off songs of dead heroes, mighty52 chiefs and tender maids he had eaten at the cannibalistic festive53 board. One night we returned to the hut and found that the great monarch had bolted off with all our possessions; even my last shirt had gone! Two weeks later he was caught by the gendarmes54; then we heard that he was a ferocious55 cannibal of low origin, and that they had been trying to catch him for twelve months. He had killed a native boy, strangled him in the forest, and eaten him. Before we left we heard that he had been shot by the French Commissioners56. About six weeks after, while I was walking along the beach at Apia, I met him. He ran for his life, before my friend and I got a chance to recover from our astonishment57 and run in the opposite direction. The hired native sharpshooters had deliberately58 missed him, and the old scoundrel had fallen dead till nightfall only!
Another time I met an old dilapidated sundowner, a real specimen59 of the Australian bush-lands. It was miles up country where I first met him, sitting under his gum-trees by a creek60 making his billy boil. He gave me a hot drink and I gave him a tobacco plug; and as the billy boiled up again he said: “Where yer bound for?” “Anywhere,” I answered. “Wall, yer better come with me to Coomiranta Creek, ten miles off the western track, by Wangarris Yards; we can get plenty tucker there; and then on to the Sandy Hills and across Dead Girl’s Flat into Hompy Bom, that leads across Gum Creek into Dead Crow’s Paddock, two miles or more from Dead Man’s Hollow. Then strike the gullies by Riley’s ranch61, and there we can get another stock of tucker. He’s a real all right ’un Riley is, and not too bad either.”
And so he rambled62 on, as he wiped his grizzly63 grey beard, a beard so thick with spittle and tobacco juice that it acted as a kind of fly-catcher for him; the buzzing insects flapped their wings and struggled with their tangled64 feet in that awful hairy web till they were swept into Eternity65 by his brushing hand. Indeed his companionship was greatly esteemed66 by me, for as we tramped along under the sweltering sun I walked beside him untormented by the mosquitoes and the myriads68 of hissing69 flies that like a swarm70 of honeybees kept on his side, following his monstrous71 bushy beard as we travelled south.
His whole life was centred on the various stations by the known tracks and the grades of generosity72 in the hearts of the overseers and stockmen. These sundowners arrive at the stations at sunset and appeal for work just as the day’s work is finished and bolt off at daybreak into the bush, with their old brown blanket on their backs. Stolid73 old men some of them, they are real derelicts of the old days. They look like grey-bearded figure-heads of ships, fixed74 on weary, ragged bodies, as with their pipes in their mouths they pass and fade across the oceans of scrub, spinifex and sand, buccaneers on the high seas of Australian bush. My old sundowner hardly ever spoke75 as we wandered along under the gum-trees, as the magpies76 sat on the twigs77 and chuckled78, and bees moaned in the bush flowers of the hollows. We arrived in a bush town of about twenty wooden houses and two shops that sold all humanity requires. I played the violin, and he was delighted when I gave him all the money which he collected in his vast broad-rimmed hat.
“I say, matey, chum up with me,” he said, as his long-sleeping commercial eye opened and stared at the money. But I didn’t chum up with him; I was not built for a sundowner. I recall how he always said his prayers after he had tucked his blanket around his body and laid his head on the heaped bush grass. He was old then. I suppose he’s long been dead now, and lies somewhere in those far-away bush-lands.
I’ve seen some strange types in my time; but what are those types compared to the normal tribes I’ve seen and played to, laughed, loved and squabbled with. Little brown children clothed only in moonlight and sunlight, singing cheerfully by the South Sea breakers under the dark-fingered coco-palms. Sad little faces, some like deserted79 baby angels, looking up into my face—my children! Dishevelled, strange old bush mothers, crooning to their buds of humanity, tiny brown clinging hands and moving mouths at their kind, softly feeding brown breasts—my mothers! Old tattooed chiefs and grim-looking kings; rough-haired semi-savage girls; and youths jabbering80 in strange tongues, with hushed, secret voices, over the terrible white plague that had entered and stricken their primitive city of huts; the white-faced, fierce-looking invaders81 from across the seas. Ravishers of their maidens82! The scum of the Western cities prowling about the villages that had become the hot-beds of lust83 and sin’s terrible paradise. Missionaries84, with melancholy85, hollow voices, who seldom knew anything of the intense inner life of humanity and the great philosophy of happiness. Superstitious86, bigoted87 old chiefs cursing the white man’s Bible. Philosophical88 old brown men with high brows and keen dark eyes reflectively nodding their heads. South Sea Oldenburgs striving to convince grim South Sea Spinozas. Stalwart, dark tattooed Schopenhauers shouting about wind-baggery.
I can see again the ironical89 heathen chief sitting by his palatial90 hut. He is clever, a Voltaire of the Southern Seas. His strong face is tattooed; grim-looking are his little eyes as he grins and looks at the Marquesan coat-of-arms which he has invented and placed at his door—a large empty rum barrel and on top of it a Christian Bible!
I see the pretty Samoan girl, Millancoo, with lovely dreaming eyes and thick bronzed hair, with a red and white hibiscus flower stuck in at each side. Her brown limbs and figure are the perfection of graceful91 beauty, dressed only in a little blue chemise. She eloped with a “noble white man” to the Gilbert Isles, and committed suicide when he left her, ere her first-born could creep to her bosom92 and taste the only milk of human kindness it would most probably have ever known.
Earnest-faced Tippo, her sister, sits on the slope. Happy as night with its stars is she, with six little dark, plump children with demon-like eyes romping93 all round her. She has married an uncivilised nigger from Timbuctoo! O happy girl! How the natives chided and sneered94 at her at first for not marrying a great white lord as her sister did!
Beautiful women, and men also, I have met in strange places. I have found them in the hovels and among the scum of life, and sometimes in the palatial home of affluence95. Convicts of New Caledonia in the calaboose or toiling96 in chains, breathing, yet as dead as dust, with hollow, sad eyes, corpses97 from La Belle98 France—my poor brothers! Old men and women begging by the kerb-side in the far-away civilised Isle of the Western Seas! The old man in rags, a skeleton on tottering99 feet, shivering, going down the cold, windy, main road of the lighted suburb, singing, with a palsied old mouth, some song that God composed ere Christ came. He is my beloved comrade; bury me with him, so that the flowers over us may twine100 in our dead dust and find mutual101 sympathy.
I have seen multitudes of commercial burglars, wealthy villains102, who fought so valiantly103 to save their own lives that they have received the commercial V.C. for valour—and penniless, profligate104 angels, fighting side by side in the battle of nations—that battle wherein the bullets cause mortal wounds, though many years pass before they send the bloodless corpses to heaven—or hell.
I have seen old, ragged, hideous105, long-dead women still sitting by the attic’s hearth106 fire, sipping107 the gin bottle—sweet-fumed opium108 for their spectral109 dreams. As they stare at the embers burning in the red glow they see their own girlhood faces smile once more back into their bleared eyes, with remembered beauty, happiness and glorious faith. Old roués too dream somewhere—the men who made the vows110 to those drunken old women and never kept them—may they sleep well, but never wake!
I have heard the majestic51 cathedral organ thunder its rolling music to the roof as the beggar passed by the massive, nail-studded door on swollen111 feet, rubbed his cold skeleton hands together and spat112 viciously. No food in his body, and his soul—well, why should he worry about his soul?
I have seen the great shocked multitude open their eyes aghast, and heard the tremendous crash, the clatter113 of the hail of stones, when the voice said: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” O wonderful goodness! O icy, stony114 virtue115.
Ah! not only in the wild Australasian bush or in the Southern Seas is the great drama of life enacted116; the great drama that makes your heart cold, and the old warm belief become encrusted with icicles, as you dream over the strange lot of the wandering, lost children.
I’ve laid me down deep in the bush to sleep,
And wrapt my body in the sunset’s blaze.
Then wondered why He made sad wings for days
To fly away—and all our world to weep.
Brushed by bright wings—the unborn human race
Who did not want their mortal birth—just yet!
I heard the growing flowers cry in the night,
And trees—that whisper of old cherished things.
And still the startled, hurried rush of wings—
It was the stars sighed out—upon their flight.
O Troubadours, O Stars, what sing you of?
O wandering minstrels, is it to God’s plan
You sing?—or to the exiled heart of man
Who pays with death’s blind eyes and cherished love?
But still the children cry upon the plain
Beside a grave; and still the cheerful king
Grows fat; and sad old men say: “Anything,
O God, except to live this life again!”
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1
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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2
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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4
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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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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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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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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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pumpkins
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| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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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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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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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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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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45
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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46
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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49
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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50
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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51
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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52
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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54
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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55
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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56
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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57
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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58
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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63
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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65
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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68
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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69
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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71
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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72
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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76
magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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83
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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85
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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90
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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94
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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99
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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100
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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101
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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102
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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103
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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104
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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105
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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106
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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107
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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108
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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109
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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110
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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111
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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112
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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113
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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114
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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115
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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116
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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