August 31st.—. . . . Yesterday we took the rail for London, and drove across the city to the Paddington station, where we met Bennoch, and set out with him for Oxford. I do not quite understand the matter, but it appears that we were expected guests of Mr. Spiers, a very hospitable3 gentleman, and Ex-Mayor of Oxford, and a friend of Bennoch and of the Halls. Mr. S. C. Hall met us at the Oxford station, and under his guidance we drove to a quiet, comfortable house in St. Giles Street, where rooms had been taken for us. Durham, the sculptor4, is likewise of the party.
After establishing ourselves at these lodgings5, we walked forth6 to take a preliminary glimpse of the city, and Mr. Hall, being familiar with the localities, served admirably as a guide. If I remember aright, I spoke7 very slightingly of the exterior8 aspect of Oxford, as I saw it with J——- during an hour or two's stay here, on my way to Southampton (to meet S——- on her return from Lisbon). I am bound to say that my impressions are now very different; and that I find Oxford exceedingly picturesque9 and rich in beauty and grandeur10 and in antique stateliness. I do not remember very particularly what we saw,—time-worn fronts of famous colleges and halls of learning everywhere about the streets, and arched entrances; passing through which, we saw bits of sculpture from monkish11 hands,—the most grotesque12 and ludicrous faces, as if the slightest whim13 of these old carvers took shape in stone, the material being so soft and manageable by them; an ancient stone pulpit in the quadrangle of Maudlin14 College (Magdalen), one of only three now extant in England; a splendid—no, not splendid, but dimly magnificent—chapel15, belonging to the same College, with painted windows of rare beauty, not brilliant with diversified16 hues17, but of a sombre tint18. In this chapel there is an alabaster19 monument,—a recumbent figure of the founder's father, as large as life,—which, though several centuries old, is as well preserved as if fresh from the chisel20.
In the High Street, which, I suppose, is the noblest old street in England, Mr. Hall pointed21 out, the Crown Inn, where Shakespeare used to spend the night, and was most hospitably22 welcomed by the pretty hostess (the mother of Sir William Davenant) on his passage between Stratford and London. It is a three-story house, with other houses contiguous,—an old timber mansion23, though now plastered and painted of a yellowish line. The ground-floor is occupied as a shoe-shop; but the rest of the house is still kept as a tavern24. . . .
It is not now term time, and Oxford loses one of its most characteristic features by the absence of the gownsmen; but still there is a good deal of liveliness in the streets. We walked as far as a bridge beyond Maudlin College, and then drove homeward.
At six we went to dine with the hospitable Ex-Mayor, across the wide, tree-bordered street; for his house is nearly opposite our lodgings. He is an intelligent and gentlemanly person, and was Mayor two years ago, and has done a great deal to make peace between the University and the town, heretofore bitterly inimical. His house is adorned26 with pictures and drawings, and he has an especial taste for art. . . . The dinner-table was decorated with pieces of plate, vases, and other things, which were presented to him as tokens of public or friendly regard and approbation27 of his action in the Mayoralty. After dinner, too, he produced a large silver snuff-box, which had been given him on the same account; in fact, the inscription28 affirmed that it was one of five pieces of plate so presented. The vases are really splendid,—one of them two feet high, and richly ornamented29. It will hold five or six bottles of wine, and he said that it had been filled, and, I believe, sent round as a loving-cup at some of his entertainments. He cordially enjoys these things, and his genuine benevolence30 produces all this excellent hospitality. . . . But Bennoch proposed a walk, and we set forth. We rambled31 pretty extensively about the streets, sometimes seeing the shapes of old edifices32 dimly and doubtfully, it being an overcast34 night; or catching35 a partial view of a gray wall, or a pillar, or a Gothic archway, by lamplight. . . . The clock had some time ago struck eleven, when we were passing under a long extent of antique wall and towers, which were those of Baliol College. Mr. D——— led us into the middle of the street, and showed us a cross, which was paved into it, on a level with the rest of the road. This was the spot where Latimer and Ridley and another Bishop36 were martyred in Bloody37 Mary's time. There is a memorial to them in another street; but this, where I set my foot at nearly midnight, was the very spot where their flesh burned to ashes, and their bones whitened. It has been a most beautiful morning, and I have seen few pleasanter scenes than this street in which we lodge38, with its spacious39 breadth, its two rows of fine old trees, with sidewalks as wide as the whole width of some streets; and, on the opposite side, the row of houses, some of them ancient with picturesque gables, partially40 disclosed through the intervening foliage41. . . . From our window we have a slantwise glimpse, to the right, of the walls of St. John's College, and the general aspect of St. Giles. It is of an antiquity42 not to shame those mediaeval halls. Our own lodgings are in a house that seems to be very old, with panelled walls, and beams across the ceilings, lattice-windows in the chambers43, and a musty odor such as old houses inevitably44 have. Nevertheless, everything is extremely neat, clean, and comfortable; and in term time our apartments are occupied by a Mr. Stebbing, whose father is known in literature by some critical writings, and who is a graduate and an admirable scholar. There is a bookcase of five shelves, containing his books, mostly standard works, and indicating a safe and solid taste.
After lunch to-day we (that is, Mrs. Hall, her adopted daughter, S——-, and I, with the Ex-Mayor) set forth, in an open barouche, to see the remarkables of Oxford, while the rest of the guests went on foot. We first drew up at New College (a strange name for such an old place, but it was new some time since the Conquest), and went through its quiet and sunny quadrangles, and into its sunny and shadowy gardens. I am in despair about the architecture and old edifices of these Oxford colleges, it is so impossible to express them in words. They are themselves—as the architect left them, and as Time has modified and improved them—the expression of an idea which does not admit of being otherwise expressed, or translated into anything else. Those old battlemented walls around the quadrangles; many gables; the windows with stone pavilions, so very antique, yet some of them adorned with fresh flowers in pots,—a very sweet contrast; the ivy45 mantling46 the gray stone; and the infinite repose47, both in sunshine and shadow,—it is as if half a dozen bygone centuries had set up their rest here, and as if nothing of the present time ever passed through the deeply recessed48 archway that shuts in the College from the street. Not but what people have very free admittance; and many parties of young men and girls and children came into the gardens while we were there.
These gardens of New College are indescribably beautiful,—not gardens in an American sense, but lawns of the richest green and softest velvet50 grass, shadowed over by ancient trees, that have lived a quiet life here for centuries, and have been nursed and tended with such care, and so sheltered from rude winds, that certainly they must have been the happiest of all trees. Such a sweet, quiet, sacred, stately seclusion— so age-long as this has been, and, I hope, will continue to be—cannot exist anywhere else. One side of the garden wall is formed by the ancient wall of the city, which Cromwell's artillery51 battered52, and which still retains its pristine53 height and strength. At intervals54, there are round towers that formed the bastions; that is to say, on the exterior they are round towers, but within, in the garden of the College, they are semicircular recesses55, with iron garden-seats arranged round them. The loop-holes through which the archers56 and musketeers used to shoot still pierce through deep recesses in the wall, which is here about six feet thick. I wish I could put into one sentence the whole impression of this garden, but it could not be done in many pages.
We looked also at the outside of the wall, and Mr. Parker, deeply skilled in the antiquities57 of the spot, showed us a weed growing,—here in little sprigs, there in large and heavy festoons,—hanging plentifully58 downward from a shallow root. It is called the Oxford plant, being found only here, and not easily, if at all, introduced anywhere else. It bears a small and pretty blue flower, not altogether unlike the forget-me-not, and we took some of it away with us for a memorial. We went into the chapel of New College, which is in such fresh condition that I think it must be modern; and yet this cannot be, since there are old brasses59 inlaid into tombstones in the pavement, representing mediaeval ecclesiastics60 and college dignitaries; and busts61 against the walls, in antique garb63; and old painted windows, unmistakable in their antiquity. But there is likewise a window, lamentable64 to look at, which was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and exhibits strikingly the difference between the work of a man who performed it merely as a matter of taste and business, and what was done religiously and with the whole heart; at least, it shows that the artists and public of the last age had no sympathy with Gothic art. In the chancel of this church there are more painted windows, which I take to be modern, too, though they are in much better taste, and have an infinitely65 better effect, than Sir Joshua's. At any rate, with the sunshine through them, they looked very beautiful, and tinted66 the high altar and the pavement with brilliant lines.
The sacristan opened a tall and narrow little recess49 in the wall of the chancel, and showed it entirely67 filled with the crosier of William of Wickham. It appears to be made of silver gilt68, and is a most rich and elaborate relic69, at least six feet high. Modern art cannot, or does not, equal the chasing and carving70 of this splendid crosier, which is enriched with figures of saints and, apostles, and various Gothic devices,—very minute, but all executed as faithfully as if the artist's salvation71 had depended upon every notch72 he made in the silver. . . .
Leaving New College, Bennoch and I, under Mr. Parker's guidance, walked round Christ Church meadows, part of our way lying along the banks of the Cherwell, which unites with the Isis to form the Thames, I believe. The Cherwell is a narrow and remarkably73 sluggish74 stream; but is deep in spots, and capriciously so,—so that a person may easily step from knee-deep to fifteen feet in depth. A gentleman present used a queer expression in reference to the drowning of two college men; he said "it was an awkward affair." I think this is equal to Longfellow's story of the Frenchman who avowed75 himself very much "displeased76" at the news of his father's death. At the confluence77 of the Cherwell and Isis we saw a good many boats, belonging to the students of the various colleges; some of them being very large and handsome barges78, capable of accommodating a numerous party, with room on board for dancing and merry-making. Some of them are calculated to be drawn79 by horses, in the manner of canal-boats; others are propellable by oars80. It is practicable to perform the voyage between Oxford and London—a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles—in three days. The students of Oxford are famous boatmen; there is a constant rivalship, on this score, among the different colleges; and annually81, I believe, there is a match between Oxford and Cambridge. The Cambridge men beat the Oxonians in this year's trial.
On our return into the city, we passed through Christ Church, which, as regards the number of students, is the most considerable college of the University. It has a stately dome82; but my memory is confused with battlements, towers, and gables, and Gothic staircases and cloisters83. If there had been nothing else in Oxford but this one establishment, my anticipations84 would not have been disappointed. The bell was tolling85 for worship in the chapel; and Mr. Parker told us that Dr. Pusey is a canon, or in some sort of dignity, in Christ Church, and would soon probably make his appearance in the quadrangle, on his way to chapel; so we walked to and fro, waiting an opportunity to see him. A gouty old dignitary, in a white surplice, came hobbling along from one extremity86 of the court; and by and by, from the opposite corner, appeared Dr. Pusey, also in a white surplice, and with a lady by his side. We met him, and I stared pretty fixedly87 at him, as I well might; for he looked on the ground, as if conscious that he would be stared at. He is a man past middle life, of sufficient breadth and massiveness, with a pale, intellectual, manly25 face. He was talking with the lady, and smiled, but not jollily. Mr. Parker, who knows him, says that he is a man of kind and gentle affections. The lady was his niece.
Thence we went through High Street and Broad Street, and passing by Baliol College,—a most satisfactory pile and range of old towered and gabled edifices,—we came to the cross on the pavement, which is supposed to mark the spot where the bishops88 were martyred. But Mr. Parker told us the mortifying89 fact, that he had ascertained90 that this could not possibly have been the genuine spot of martyrdom, which must have taken place at a point within view, but considerably91 too far off to be moistened by any tears that may be shed here. It is too bad. We concluded the rambles92 of the day by visiting the gardens of St. John's College; and I desire, if possible, to say even more in admiration93 of them than of those of New College,—such beautiful lawns, with tall, ancient trees, and heavy clouds of foliage, and sunny glimpses through archways of leafy branches, where, to-day, we could see parties of girls, making cheerful contrast with the sombre walls and solemn shade. The world, surely, has not another place like Oxford; it is a despair to see such a place and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime and more than one, to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily.
At dinner, to-day, the golden vases were all ranged on the table, the largest and central one containing a most magnificent bouquet94 of dahlias and other bright-hued flowers.
On Tuesday, our first visit was to Christ Church, where we saw the large and stately hall, above a hundred feet long by forty wide, and fifty to the top of its carved oaken roof, which is ornamented with festoons, as it were, and pendants of solid timber. The walls are panelled with oak, perhaps half-way upward, and above are the rows of arched windows on each side; but, near the upper end, two great windows come nearly to the floor. There is a dais, where the great men of the College and the distinguished95 guests sit at table, and the tables of the students are arranged along the length of the hall. All around, looking down upon those who sit at meat, are the portraits of a multitude of illustrious personages who were members of the learned fraternity in times past; not a portrait being admitted there (unless it he a king, and I remember only Henry VIII.) save those who were actually students on the foundation, receiving the eleemosynary aid of the College. Most of them were divines; but there are likewise many statesmen, eminent96 during the last three hundred years, and, among many earlier ones, the Marquis of Wellesley and Canning. It is an excellent idea, for their own glory, and as examples to the rising generations, to have this multitude of men, who have done good and great things, before the eyes of those who ought to do as well as they, in their own time. Archbishops, Prime Ministers, poets, deep scholars,—but, doubtless, an outward success has generally been their claim to this position, and Christ Church may have forgotten a better man than the best of them. It is not, I think, the tendency of English life, nor of the education of their colleges, to lead young men to high moral excellence97, but to aim at illustrating98 themselves in the sight of mankind.
Thence we went into the kitchen, which is arranged very much as it was three centuries ago, with two immense fireplaces. There was likewise a gridiron, which, without any exaggeration, was large enough to have served for the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. The college dinners are good, but plain, and cost the students one shilling and eleven pence each, being rather cheaper than a similar one could be had at an inn. There is no provision for breakfast or supper in commons; but they can have these meals sent to their rooms from the buttery, at a charge proportioned to the dishes they order. There seems to be no necessity for a great expenditure99 on the part of Oxford students.
From the kitchen we went to the chapel, which is the cathedral of Oxford, and well worth seeing, if there had not been so many other things to see. It is now under repair, and there was a great heap of old wood-work and panelling lying in one of the aisles100, which had been stripped away from some of the ancient pillars, leaving them as good as new. There is a shrine101 of a saint, with a wooden canopy102 over it; and some painted glass, old and new; and a statue of Cyril Jackson, with a face of shrewdness and insight; and busts, as mural monuments.
Our next visit was to
MERTON COLLEGE,
which, though not one of the great colleges, is as old as any of them, and looks exceedingly venerable. We were here received by a friend of Mr. Spiers, in his academic cap, but without his gown, which is not worn, except in term time. He is a very civil gentleman, and showed us some antique points of architecture,—such as a Norman archway, with a passage over it, through which the Queen of Charles I. used to go to chapel; and an edifice33 of the thirteenth century, with a stone roof, which is considered to be very curious.
How ancient is the aspect of these college quadrangles! so gnawed103 by time as they are, so crumbly, so blackened, and so gray where they are not black,—so quaintly104 shaped, too, with here a line of battlement and there a row of gables; and here a turret105, with probably a winding106 stair inside; and lattice-windows, with stone mullions, and little panes107 of glass set in lead; and the cloisters, with a long arcade108, looking upon the green or pebbled109 enclosure. The quality of the stone has a great deal to do with the apparent antiquity. It is a stone found in the neighborhood of Oxford, and very soon begins to crumble110 and decay superficially, when exposed to the weather; so that twenty years do the work of a hundred, so far as appearances go. If you strike one of the old walls with a stick, a portion of it comes powdering down. The effect of this decay is very picturesque, and is especially striking, I think, on edifices of classic architecture, such as some of the Oxford colleges are, greatly enriching the Grecian columns, which look so cold when the outlines are hard and distinct. The Oxford people, however, are tired of this crumbly stone, and when repairs are necessary, they use a more durable111 material, which does not well assort with the antiquity into which it is intruded112.
Mr. E——— showed us the library of Merton College. It occupies two sides of an old building, and has a very delightful113 fragrance114 of ancient books. The halls containing it are vaulted115, and roofed with oak, not carved and ornamented, but laid flat, so that they look very like a grand and spacious old garret. All along, there is a row of alcoves116 on each side, with rude benches and reading-desks, in the simplest style, and nobody knows how old. The books look as old as the building. The more valuable were formerly117 chained to the bookcases; and a few of them have not yet broken their chains. It was a good emblem118 of the dark and monkish ages, when learning was imprisoned119 in their cloisters, and chained in their libraries, in the days when the schoolmaster had not yet gone abroad. Mr. E——— showed us a very old copy of the Bible; and a vellum manuscript, most beautifully written in black-letter and illuminated120, of the works of Duns Scotus, who was a scholar of Merton College.
He then showed us the chapel, a large part of which has been renewed and ornamented with pictured windows and other ecclesiastical splendor121, and paved with encaustic tiles, according to the Puseyite taste of the day; for Merton has adopted the Puseyite doctrines122, and is one of their chief strongholds in Oxford. If they do no other good, they at least do much for the preservation123 and characteristic restoration of the old English churches; but perhaps, even here, there is as much antiquity spoiled as retained. In the portion of the chapel not yet restored, we saw the rude old pavement, inlaid with gravestones, in some of which were brasses, with the figures of the college dignitaries, whose dust slumbered124 beneath; and I think it was here that I saw the tombstone of Anthony-a-Wood, the gossiping biographer of the learned men of Oxford.
From the chapel we went into the college gardens, which are very pleasant, and possess the advantage of looking out on the broad verdure of Christ Church meadows and the river beyond. We loitered here awhile, and then went to Mr. ———'s rooms, to which the entrance is by a fine old staircase. They had a very comfortable, aspect,—a wainscoted parlor125 and bedroom, as nice and cosey as a bachelor could desire, with a good collection of theological books; and on a peg126 hung his gown, with a red border about it, denoting him to be a proproctor. He was kind enough to order a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, college ale, and a certain liquor called "Archdeacon." . . . . We ate and drank, . . . . and, bidding farewell to good Mr. E———, we pursued our way to the
RATCLIFFE LIBRARY.
This is a very handsome edifice, of a circular shape; the lower story consisting altogether of arches, open on all sides, as if to admit anybody to the learning here stored up. I always see great beauty and lightsomeness in these classic and Grecian edifices, though they seem cold and intellectual, and not to have had their mortar127 moistened with human life-blood, nor to have the mystery of human life in them, as Gothic structures do. The library is in a large and beautiful room, in the story above the basement, and, as far as I saw, consisted chiefly or altogether of scientific works. I saw Silliman's Journal on one of the desks, being the only trace of American science, or American learning or ability in any department, which I discovered in the University of Oxford. After seeing the library, we went to the top of the building, where we had an excellent view of Oxford and the surrounding country. Then we went to the Convocation Hall, and afterwards to the theatre, where S——- sat down in the Chancellor's chair, which is very broad, and ponderously128 wrought129 of oak. I remember little here, except the amphitheatre of benches, and the roof, which seems to be supported by golden ropes, and on the wall, opposite the door, some full-length portraits, among which one of that ridiculous coxcomb130, George IV., was the most prominent. These kings thrust themselves impertinently forward by bust62, statue, and picture, on all occasions, and it is not wise in them to show their shallow foreheads among men of mind.
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1
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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transcribe
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| v.抄写，誉写；改编(乐曲)；复制，转录 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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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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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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ornamented
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| 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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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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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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edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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41
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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42
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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43
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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44
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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45
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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46
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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47
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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48
recessed
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| v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的过去式和过去分词 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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49
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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50
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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51
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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52
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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53
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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54
intervals
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| 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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55
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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56
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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57
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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58
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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59
brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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60
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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61
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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62
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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63
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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64
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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65
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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66
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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67
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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68
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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69
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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70
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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71
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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72
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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73
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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74
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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75
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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76
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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77
confluence
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| n.汇合，聚集 | |
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78
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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79
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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80
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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82
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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83
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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85
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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86
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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87
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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88
bishops
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| （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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89
mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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90
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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91
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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92
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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93
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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94
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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95
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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96
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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97
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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98
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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99
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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100
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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101
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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102
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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103
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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104
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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105
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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106
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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107
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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108
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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109
pebbled
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| 用卵石铺（pebble的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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110
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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111
durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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112
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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113
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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114
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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115
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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116
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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117
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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118
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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119
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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121
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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122
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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123
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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124
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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125
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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126
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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127
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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128
ponderously
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129
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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130
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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