The speaker was a pretty young woman, who would have been prettier, had not premature1 care traced deep lines on her forehead, which Time, more gentle, would not have done for years to come yet. Her dress was very poor, and the scanty2 furniture of the attic3 in which she and her husband lived, and the small embers of the fire over which a few potatoes were boiling for their meal, seemed to say that want had helped care in its work.
Bessy White had been the belle4 of her native village down in quiet Hampshire. A wilful5, merry, coquettish little beauty, knowing her power, and using it; with a bright, fresh colour, and a 170happy ringing laugh. It seemed hardly possible that four years could have changed her to the thin, pale, careworn6 woman she now was. Yet it was only four years since William Holl, a journeyman joiner, had on his wanderings passed through the village, and had stopped to do some work at the Squire’s, which had occupied him for several weeks. There he saw her, fell in love with her, and carried her off in triumph from his rustic7 rivals, who, with the village in general, had marvelled8 much what pretty Bessy White could see to fancy in the pale, quiet, young carpenter, when so many stout9 young fellows were laying their hearts at her feet. However, Bessy had laughed at their wonder and their warnings, had gaily10 married, and gone off with her husband to busy London. For the first two or three years of her marriage her life was as happy as she had hoped that it would be. About eighteen months after she had come up to London, she had a baby, which only lived a few weeks; but this had been the only cloud to her happiness. Her husband earned good wages, for he was a capital workman, and was sober and industrious11. He loved his wife fondly, and was very proud of 171her, and of the prettily-furnished neat little rooms which constituted his home.
But after a while, strange murmurs12 of discontent buzzed about among the workpeople of the metropolis13, and William Holl, with his talent and enthusiasm, threw himself heart and soul into the movement, and soon became one of its recognised heads.
Then came Bessy’s evil days. Her husband, who had been considered one of the best and steadiest hands at the shop where he worked, was now constantly away, and at last lost his place altogether. The pretty furniture they once had, had gone piece by piece. They had moved from the snug14 lodgings15 they formerly16 occupied into the bare garret they now lived in. The rent even of this was frequently in arrear17, and a crust of dry bread was often all the food they had. William Holl was ready enough to work now, but he had great difficulty in getting employment. Good workman as he was, masters looked shy at a man whom they considered as a sort of firebrand among their men, and it was only now by doing jobs at home for other hands that he earned even the most scanty living. 172Still his heart was in the cause, and although he acutely felt his changed position, and his wife’s altered looks, he never wavered for an instant in his course. For himself, indeed, he hardly felt it; the applause which nightly greeted his impassioned speeches at the club to which he belonged, was enough for him, and he would return to his wretched home with a flushed cheek and a proud bearing. He was a pale, sickly-looking man, with a high intellectual forehead, and a clear and expressive18 eye. Few who saw him at ordinary times would have supposed him capable of filling a large hall with his voice, pouring out bursts of real eloquence19, and moving hundreds with his impassioned utterances20.
To his wife he answered with a faint smile, “It is too late, Bessy; it is too late, my girl. I must go through with it now; I cannot draw back, and I would not if I could. We have the right with us, Bessy, and we have the strength; we must triumph in the end and get our Charter.”
His wife shook her head sadly.
“My poor Bessy,” he went on, “my poor girl. It is hard on you, you had better have 173stayed down in Hampshire, quiet and happy. It was a sore day for you when ever I saw you. But yet, Bessy, I can’t help it. I must struggle for our rights even if I die for it. But I am sorry for your sake, Bessy, that I feel as I do.”
“Never mind me, Bill,” his wife said, “I can bear it if you can, but I am so afraid it will never come right. I do so fear the future—I am so frightened lest you should get yourself into trouble.”
“Never fear that, Bessy, we are sure to win. We must get our Charter, and then things will be all changed again, and we shall be better off than ever.”
Again his wife shook her head doubtingly.
“Ah, Bill, if they were all like you, I should not fear—no, not one bit—but they are not. Look at the men you take up with now—men you would have been ashamed to be seen walking with in the old days; men who spend half their time in the public-house, who are seen drunk in the middle of the day—men who beat their wives, and let their children go about in rags. Oh, Bill! with such men as these you will never make 174things better than they were before. I have no doubt you are right, Bill, and that things ought to be changed, but, for my part, it seems to me we were very happy as we were before, when we never thought that we were, as you say, only slaves.”
“You women don’t understand these things, Bessy,” her husband said, a little impatiently; and then, with a slight shade on his face, went on, “I know that the men I work with are not the sort I should choose, but for a cause like ours we must work with the tools which come to hand. The better sort will soon come. Let them only hear the truth, and they will join us. They are doing so now—every day we get stronger, the Charter receives thousands of fresh signatures, and the Government, which grinds us down, trembles. Yes, Bessy, we are sure to succeed, and then, my poor girl, your troubles will be over. But it is nearly time for me to be off, let us have our potatoes. I must not miss our meeting to-night, for I expect we shall have an important discussion.”
The scanty meal was eaten in silence, for William Holl could not help comparing it in his 175mind with the snug, cheerful tea which he had always found waiting for him at the end of his day’s work in the old times.
When he had gone out his wife sighed heavily, and then continued the work at which she was engaged, and on which indeed their scanty living at present greatly depended.
William Holl lodged22 in a small street in Pimlico, close to Vauxhall Bridge, across which his shortest route lay. But a penny now was a serious matter, and he accordingly kept along Millbank, in front of the maze23 of scaffolding of the new Houses of Parliament, and over Westminster Bridge, straight on to the Elephant and Castle. Then turning off from the bustle24 and roar of traffic in Newington Causeway, he passed into the heart of Bermondsey.
At first his way was through narrow streets inhabited entirely25 by the working classes. The clocks have just struck six, and the men are turning out from the neighbouring tan-yards and skinneries. Women are standing26 in front of their houses talking to each other, and looking out for their husbands’ return, and through the open doors can be seen the tables laid with white 176cloths, and the little trays with the tea-things standing there, and the bright fires with the kettles singing upon them. The men come trooping along boldly, and lustily whistling snatches of popular airs, laughing and joking together. All is bustle and cheerfulness. Now William Holl has turned off into a narrow lane, and has at once entered another atmosphere. There is no sound of whistling and light laughter here. Heavy surly men lean against door-posts and look sullenly27 out—men with heavy eyebrows28 and low foreheads, square jawbones and bull-necks—men on whom crime seems to have set a stamp, and whom instinct would lead you to avoid as you would a wolf or a tiger. Through some of the windows come sounds of quarrelling and blows, and foul29 imprecations of unspeakable horror, but no one heeds30 this; the men at the doorways31 do not even turn their heads to listen. The few women who are about, have for the most part an air of boldness and degradation32 indescribable. They are dressed in dirty tawdry garments, their faces show deep marks caused by misery33 and drink; whilst their mouths are full of language even fouler34 and more horrible than 177that of the men. The men seemed all of one stamp, but of the women there were two distinctly marked classes. A few were very different from those just described. Poor creatures, timid and shrinking; wretched worn-out women, who only a few years before had been bright happy girls in some quiet country village far from the misery and crime of London. They had seen their husbands, originally perhaps honest and industrious, go with rapid steps down the social ladder, beginning with drink and ending in a life passed in violence and crime. Through all this the wives had never once thought of leaving them, but had clung to them through good report and evil report, through curses and blows, through desertion and shame, through want and misery. These women looked with trembling and horror upon the life they were bound to. To them death would have been a relief, oh, how welcome! Their early life seemed to them now a glimpse of some far off, long lost Paradise upon which they hardly dared even to cast a thought back.
There were a few children, precocious35 and old-looking, treading rapidly in their father’s steps, born to people these wretched dens36, and to fill 178the reformatories and gaols38 of their native land. These nests of crime, these social ulcers39, which eat into the heart of this London of ours, defy alike the efforts of benevolence40 and the sword of the law to cure or eradicate41 them. But one hope, one resource remains—to cut off the springs by which they are fed, to send the children to schools and reformatories before they are utterly42 hardened and debased, to make them useful, industrious men, and to show them the happiness of honest labour, and the inevitable43 misery of crime. Thus, and thus only, can the evil be reached. For the men, reformation is hopeless. They must be treated as savage44 beasts, and caged as such. And that not merely till the first paroxysm of rage and evil is past, to be then turned loose under the protection of a ticket-of-leave, to prey45 upon society. The tiger who appears to sleep in his cage, with his glossy46 paw extended and these terrible claws folded up, is the same tiger who in his native wilds slew47 men and beasts and drank their blood. Who would think of letting him loose again, to range with unrestrained freedom? Why, then, should these men-tigers be permitted to work their savage 179wills? Should they not rather, when once, by repeated crimes, they have shown that their nature is thoroughly48 evil, be taken for ever from the world, of which they are scourges49, not to be confined for life in a cell, but only until they learn that labour is a boon50. Then they should be put to pass their lives in labouring for the good of that society to whom their existence has hitherto been a curse.
Through this den37 William Holl went. Beyond it the dwellings51 became, scarcer; but the lanes were bounded by high walls, or large rambling52 buildings, the odour of tan and hide from which sufficiently53 indicated the trade carried on within them.
In a lonely corner of one of these lanes stood a public-house. It seemed at first sight a strange position for it, but doubtless the landlord knew his own business. It was a quiet out-of-the-way spot for men who did not care to enter the full light of more-frequented houses; besides, being in the midst of the tan-yards and skinneries, it obtained a fair share of custom from the men working in them. When William Holl passed the door he glanced in. A solitary54 gaslight was burning in the bar, but the place seemed entirely empty and 180deserted, and no lights in the upper windows betrayed any signs of life and activity. There was a small court by the side of the house; down this he turned, stopped at a door, and knocked in a quiet and peculiar55 way. The door was opened a little, and some one behind it asked, “Who knocks?” to which he answered, “The People and their Charter.” The door was then opened wide enough for him to enter, and he passed through into a small court behind the public-house. This he crossed, lifted the latch56 of a door, and went into a small passage with a staircase leading up from it. He mounted this and knocked at a door, and the same question and answer were exchanged before it was opened for his admission.
The room which William Holl entered was a large one, and had probably been used at one time for a penny concert room or singing hall, for at the end was a sort of raised platform. The roof was black from the smoke of years, and from it hung two chandeliers for gas. Neither of these however was now in use, as the room was lit by some candles fastened to a hoop57 hanging immediately over the table, at which fourteen 181men were seated. The shutters58 were closed, and strips of paper pasted over the cracks to prevent the light within being seen from the street. To these men there was an indescribable charm in all this mystery, in these closed windows and secret passwords, this obscure meeting place, and this rough illumination. It seemed to raise them to the grandeur59 of conspirators60. They pleased themselves by imagining themselves watched and tracked by the agents and spies of Government. While Government, secure of the unanimous assistance of the middle classes and the fidelity61 of the troops, troubled itself little with the ramifications62 of the plot, although it looked with some little anxiety upon the increasing murmurs and disaffection of the working classes, stirred up as they were by the violent orations63 of their demagogue leaders. These men, for their own selfish aims and ends, assured them that they were down-trodden slaves, pointed64 to the scenes then enacting65 on the other side of the water, and called upon them to make one united effort for their freedom.
The present meeting was composed of some of the most influential66 and violent of the agitators67 of 182the time, being, some of them, members of the central committee, the rest delegates from various parts of London. They were, as in the French Revolution they aspired68 to imitate, divided into two distinct classes. A small minority were men like William Holl, intelligent and enthusiastic, to a certain extent theorists and dreamers, but actuated only by a sincere desire of ameliorating and raising the condition of their fellow-workmen—men with pale faces and lustrous69 eyes, animated70 with ardent71 hopes and pure intentions. But the vast majority, had very different aims and notions. They desired in the first place to pull down all above them, under the conviction that, in the confusion and anarchy72 which would follow the carrying out of their plans, they would somehow or other better their own condition. These men cared but little for the nominal73 objects of their schemes, but to secure their personal aggrandizement74 would not have hesitated at a reign75 of terror. They hated work, and, lived upon the contributions wrung76 from their dupes, and took up politics simply because they were selfish and indolent. The general end for which all alike professed77 to 183be agitating78 was manhood suffrage79 and political equality; their secret hopes and wishes differed greatly. Some would have been satisfied with a change of Government, and a House of Commons in which the democratic element thoroughly preponderated80; others would have abolished the House of Peers, and have ruled only by an assembly chosen from the people; some, again, openly advocated the establishment of a republic; while a few went in for universal equality and a community of goods. The men present were composed principally of the working classes, but there were some few who by their attire81 belonged to a higher class, clerks and small tradesmen, who, either from interest or ambition, had joined the movement.
The chairman was evidently a man of a considerably82 higher social grade than most of his associates, and was elevated to the position he at present occupied for that reason, and not for any mental superiority. Indeed, among all the faces present, his was the most strikingly distinguished83 for an entire absence of any intellectual expression. An elderly man, with white hair, whiskers, and hair under his chin, with a look of self-importance 184which was laughable in its inordinate84 vanity. He was a bad speaker, and delivered his harangues85 with an exaggeration of attitude, and an inflated86 pomposity87 of manner, at which even his associates had difficulty in restraining their laughter. And yet their chairman was a useful man to them, and the LL.D. after his name threw a sort of halo of respectability over the cause. Next to him sat a man who differed in appearance yet more strongly from the remainder of those present. He was a tall man, very carefully dressed, and with a military bearing. Captain Thornton had been an officer in the army, but had been put upon half-pay, and considered himself hardly used. He resembled the chairman, only in being inordinately88 and absurdly vain. His personal vanity it was which had urged him to take part in the present movement, and made him delight to march at the head even of a mob from St. Giles’s. He was one of those men who would fain be king, but would otherwise be content to act the part of king’s fool, as being the next most conspicuous89 personage. He loved being looked up to as a man of consequence by the mechanics and roughs with whom he was 185associated. It tickled90 his consuming vanity, when he was saluted91 in the streets with the cry of “Bravo, Thornton!” To obtain popularity, even among the lowest class, he would have done anything, short of disturbing the set of his coat or the arrangement of his hair. Had there been no other way of making himself conspicuous, he would have done it by wearing a feather in his hat, or painting his boots scarlet92. Not the least gratification which Captain Thornton derived93 from his prominent position in the ranks of the Chartists was the belief that he was revenging himself upon the authorities for the manner in which they had treated him. He was a more dangerous man than the chairman, for although equally vain, he was not equally weak, and would have gone any lengths, even to deluging94 England with blood, if he could have increased the notoriety of his name by so doing.
Such were some of the nominal leaders of the Chartist movement of ‘48. William Holl took his place at the lower end of the table by the side of a few others who were, like himself, animated by a really disinterested95 and lofty spirit. A whispered conversation was kept up for a few 186minutes, and then the chairman rose. He accompanied his speech by swaying his body backwards96 and forwards, and by striking one hand in the palm of the other. He spoke97 very slowly in broken sentences, pausing between each, as if he expected applause to follow every utterance21.
“My friends, the glorious moment when we shall shake off the yoke98 under which we have for a thousand years groaned99, is at hand. The aristocracy, who batten on your sweat and blood, tremble. The Government are preparing for flight. The great cause gains ground daily. Ten thousand signatures have been added to the Charter of the people during the last three days. The moment of freedom is at hand! We agreed, at our last meeting, that we would this evening discuss what our course of proceeding100 shall be, when the Charter of the people is presented to the House of Commons. In that House we have no confidence; it is composed of the enemies of the people,—of the very men who are the worst oppressors,—who lay the taxation101 of the nation on the shoulders of the working men, while they enjoy their iniquitous102 wealth scot-free! They are the ravening103 lions who lay wait to devour104 187the poor! Yet to them must we, in the first place, submit our cause. We have now to consider what is the course it behoves us to adopt.”
There was a slight silence, and then William Holl said, “It appears to me that the question resolves itself into two sides. If the House receive our petition, and act in accordance with it, our object will have been gained, and our course then will be to strain every nerve throughout the country to return men of our own views. Every working man in the kingdom must be pledged to vote only for the members selected for them by a central committee, and as we shall be in a majority of twenty to one everywhere, we shall return exactly such a House as we desire, and can pass laws which will put an end to the injustice105 and anomalies of which we complain. But this is for after consideration, and the machinery106 can be arranged at a future time. The other alternative is, if the House refuse to receive our petition, or if they accept it, to carry it into force. The question then arises, and should now be determined107 upon, what shall be our course? Shall we submit to the refusal, or use force?”
188Each man looked at the other. This was palpably the question upon which the whole of their plans depended, and although nearly all were of one opinion on it, none liked to be the first to propose violence. At last Captain Thornton said:
“It appears to me, gentlemen, that we must be all of one opinion. The voice of the people is the voice of God; we must compel the Houses of Parliament to pass our Charter. We compelled them in ‘32 to pass the Reform Bill, and the same means must be used now; but if those means fail, we must follow the example of the people of Paris. We must march our tens of thousands down from Manchester, and the manufacturing towns. We must fill the galleries of the House; we must compel them to sit until they have passed it; we must awe108 them into submission109.”
“Right, Thornton,” another said. “We must render refusal out of the question; we must make them carry our wishes into effect.”
“But force will be opposed to us,” one of the others remarked, doubtingly.
“Then,” William Holl said, resolutely110, “it must be met by force. Are we greater cowards 189than the working men of the other capitals of Europe? and yet in the last month or two we have seen them carry their way against Despots, with armies of ten times the force of ours to back them. Are we greater cowards than the French, who in ‘87, in ‘30, and again now, have insisted on their will being respected? The working men of London may be put down at five hundred thousand; and to oppose us, are only the handful of troops now in it; for none will be spared from other parts. Manchester, Birmingham, Sheffield, Leeds, all the great manufacturing towns are with us, and there are not thirty thousand troops in England, and these are of ourselves. Let us always, when interrupted by the police, beat them off. When the soldiers come against us, cheer them and fraternise with them. If the worst comes to the worst, let us defy them.”
There was a general sound of applause when he ceased.
“But,” said the man who had before objected, “we are not in the same position the French people were; we are quite unarmed.”
“You are always timid, Wilkins,” one of the 190others said; “and timid counsels have had their way long enough; it is the time now for action. At any rate there are paving-stones, and a good supply of paving-stones on the tops of the houses make a street nasty walking for the best soldiers in the world. Besides, there are the gunsmiths’ shops; our first move will, of course, be to possess ourselves of the contents of them, and then to take possession of the arsenal111 in the Tower; it is not half so strong as the Bastile was.”
“Woe be to London if they try and oppose us by force,” a man at the other end of the table said. “We shall only have to call for our friend Turner’s lambs; and it will take more troops than London can bring to keep down St. Giles’s and Westminster.”
The man to whom he alluded112 was a powerful man, with a ruddy face, a low forehead, overhanging eyebrows, and a coarse sensual mouth; he was a butcher of Clare Market, and might have been well drawn113 for his prototype the famous butcher Lepelletier, the leader of the faubourgs of the French Revolution. He smiled significantly.
191“Ay, ay,” he said, “if you once let my lambs loose, the devil himself would not chain them up, as long as there is a shop ungutted in London.”
“I trust to God it will never come to that.”
“I hope not, too,” another speaker said, “but we must not blink the fact; we must let those who would keep us down know, that we have it in our power to compel them to assent115 to the popular will; and that unless they obey it we will use that power. By so doing we shall gain the support to a certain extent of all the shop-keepers, who are at heart our most bitter opponents, for, rather than have their shops sacked, they will be glad enough to help us to put a pressure upon the Houses to do us justice.”
“I agree with you there,” William Holl said; “as a threat they will be useful, but I for one will never consent to invoking116 riot and robbery for our aid. In the French Revolution, anyone caught with plunder117 about him was hung up instantly, and I should vote that we did the same; as far as ourselves go, I should not 192hesitate, if necessary, to resort to arms, and would fight to the last with my fellow-workmen in an effort for liberty, but not by the side of St. Giles’s. But I do hope, and I believe, that it will never come to that. I trust that Parliament will quietly yield to the wishes of the nation.”
A significant look passed between two or three of the more advanced party. A peaceful solution would have ill suited their plans and schemes; and had William Holl’s wishes been carried into effect, he would have found, as his predecessors118, the Girondists, had done, another Mountain to oppose him, and perhaps met with such a fate as them in the end.
“I should say,” another man said, “that the whole of the working classes in London—every man—should be agreed to meet at three or four centres, such as Primrose119 Hill, Hyde Park, and Kennington Common, and that they should go in procession to Westminster to present our petition, and should call upon the House to name an early day for its consideration. That on that day we should again assemble, and march to the House; that we should fill the galleries, and sit 193there till it had passed. That we should have everything prepared in case of refusal; the men all told off in companies under officers, and their work given to each; so many to the gunsmiths’ shops, so many to the Tower; the rest to throw up barricades120. That an agreement should be made with the northern towns to rise simultaneously121; and that we should then as a people declare Parliament dissolved, and proclaim a Republic. That we should disarm122 the troops when they did not resist us, annihilate123 them when they did, and then proceed all over the country to elect a house of representatives by universal suffrage.”
The speech was received with loud applause, and they proceeded to discuss the details of the undertaking124. Many of the speeches were really brilliant, and the assembly was perfectly125 in accord on the main points. It was nearly one o’clock when they separated. As they were breaking up, Thornton spoke aside to a small malignant-looking man, who had taken a very prominent part in the debates. This man was the editor of an obscure paper, which pandered126 to the passions of its readers, by pouring out 194the foulest127 abuse on all who were above them,—
“Everything goes on well, Hausford; don’t forget your part of the work. We depend greatly upon you, you know. Be sure you keep them up to boiling point.”
The man replied by a meaning nod, and then quietly one by one, to avoid attracting attention, the council took their departure.
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gaily
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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formerly
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arrear
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expressive
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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bustle
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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standing
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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eyebrows
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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heeds
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| n.留心，注意，听从( heed的名词复数 )v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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fouler
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的比较级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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38
gaols
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| 监狱，拘留所( gaol的名词复数 ) | |
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39
ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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40
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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41
eradicate
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| v.根除，消灭，杜绝 | |
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42
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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43
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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44
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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45
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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46
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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47
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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48
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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49
scourges
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| 带来灾难的人或东西，祸害( scourge的名词复数 )； 鞭子 | |
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50
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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51
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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52
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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53
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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54
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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56
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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57
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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58
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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61
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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orations
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| n.（正式仪式中的）演说，演讲( oration的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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65
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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68
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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72
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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73
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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aggrandizement
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| n.增大，强化，扩大 | |
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75
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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76
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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77
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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79
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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80
preponderated
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| v.超过，胜过( preponderate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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82
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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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
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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85
harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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86
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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87
pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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88
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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89
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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90
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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92
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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93
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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94
deluging
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| v.使淹没( deluge的现在分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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95
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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96
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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97
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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98
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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99
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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100
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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101
taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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102
iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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103
ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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104
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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105
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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106
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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107
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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108
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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109
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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110
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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111
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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112
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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114
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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115
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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116
invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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117
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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118
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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119
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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120
barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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121
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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122
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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123
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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124
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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125
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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126
pandered
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| v.迎合（他人的低级趣味或淫欲）( pander的过去式和过去分词 )；纵容某人；迁就某事物 | |
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127
foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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