Such animals as I knew, I drew from memory on the wood; others which I did not know were copied from “Dr. Smellie’s Abridgement of Buffon,” and other naturalists9, and also from the animals which were from time to time exhibited in itinerant10 collections. Of these last, I made sketches12 first from memory, and then corrected and finished the drawings upon the wood from a second examination of the different animals. I began this business of cutting the blocks with the figure of the dromedary, on the 15th November, 1785, the day on which my father died. I then proceeded in copying such figures as above named as I did not hope to see alive. While I was busied in drawing and cutting the figures of animals, and also in designing and engraving13 the vignettes, Mr. Beilby, being of a bookish or reading turn, proposed, in his evenings at home, to write or compile the descriptions. With this I had little more to do than furnishing him, in many conversations and by written memoranda14, with what I knew of animals, and blotting15 out, in his manuscript, what was not truth. In this way we proceeded till the book was published in 1790.
The greater part of these wood cuts were drawn16 and engraved17 at night, after the day’s work of the shop was over. In these evenings, I frequently had the company of my friend the Rev18. Richard Oliphant,[25] who took great pleasure in seeing me work, and who occasionally read to me the sermons he had composed for the next Sunday. I was also often attended, from a similar curiosity, by my friend, the Rev. Thomas Hornby,[26] lecturer at St. John’s Church. He would not, like my friend Oliphant, adjourn19 to a public house, and join in a tankard of ale, but he had it sent for to my workplace. We frequently disagreed in our opinions as to religious matters, he being, as I thought, an intolerant, high churchman; but, notwithstanding this, he was a warm well-wisher and kind friend, and was besides of so charitable a disposition20 that his purse was ever open to relieve distress21, and he would occasionally commission me to dispose of a guinea anonymously22 to persons in want.
As soon as the “History of Quadrupeds” appeared, I was surprised to find how rapidly it sold. Several other editions quickly followed, and a glut23 of praises was bestowed24 upon the book. These praises however, excited envy, and were visibly followed by the balance of an opposite feeling from many people at home; for they raked together, and blew up, the embers of envy into a transient blaze; but the motives25 by which I was actuated stood out of the reach of its sparks, and they returned into the heap whence they came, and fell into dust. I was much more afraid to meet the praises which were gathering26 around than I was of the sneers27 which they excited; and a piece of poetry appearing in the newspaper, I was obliged, for some time, to shun28 “Swarley’s Club,” of which the writer, George Byles,[27] was a member, to avoid the warm and sincere compliments that awaited me there.
I had long made up my mind not to marry whilst my father and mother lived, in order that my undivided attention might be bestowed upon them. My mother had, indeed, recommended a young person in the neighbourhood to me as a wife. She did not know the young lady intimately, but she knew she was modest in her deportment, handsome in her person, and had a good fortune; and, in compliance29 with this recommendation, I got acquainted with her, but was careful not to proceed further, and soon discovered that, though her character was innocence30 itself, she was mentally one of the weakest of her sex. The smirking31 lasses of Tyneside had long thrown out their jibes32 against me, as being a woman-hater, but in this they were greatly mistaken. I had, certainly, been very guarded in my conduct towards them, as I held it extremely wrong and cruel to sport with the feelings of any one. In this, which was one of my resolves, sincerity33 and truth were my guides. As I ever considered a matrimonial connection as a business of the utmost importance, and which was to last till death made the separation, while looking about for a partner for life, my anxious attention was directed to the subject. I had long considered it to be the duty of every man, on changing his life, to get a healthy woman for his wife, for the sake of his children, and a sensible one, as a companion, for his own happiness and comfort,—that love is the natural guide in this business, and much misery34 is its attendant when that is wanting. This being the fixed35 state of my mind, I permitted no mercenary considerations to interfere36. Impressed with these sentiments, I had long, my dear Jane, looked upon your mother as a suitable helpmate for me. I had seen her in prosperity and in adversity; and in the latter state she appeared to me to the greatest advantage. In this she soared above her sex, and my determination was fixed. In due time we were married, and from that day to this no cloud, as far as concerned ourselves, has passed over us, to obscure a life-time of uninterrupted happiness.
My dear Isabella died,
After a long and painful Illness,
On the 1st of February, 1826,
The best of Wives and very best
of Mothers.
During the time I was busied with the figures of the “History of Quadrupeds,” many jobs interfered37 to cause delay; one of which was the wood cut of the Chillingham wild bull, for the late Marmaduke Tunstal, Esq., of Wycliffe. This very worthy38 gentleman and good naturalist8 honoured me with his approbation39 of what I had done, and was one of our correspondents. He, or my friend George Allan, Esq., employed me to undertake the job; and, on Easter Sunday, 1789, I set off, accompanied by an acquaintance, on foot to Chillingham on this business. After tarrying a little with friends at Morpeth and Alnwick, we took Huln Abbey on our way across the country to the place of our destination. Besides seeing the various kinds of pheasants, &c., at the last-named place, little occurred to attract attention, except our being surrounded, or beset40, in passing over a moor41, by burning heather, and afterwards passing over the surface of immense old winter wreaths of frozen snow. Arrived at Chillingham, we took up our abode42 with my kind old friend John Bailey, and spent a cheerful evening with him after our fatigue43. Next day, Mr. B. accompanied me to the park, for the purpose of seeing the wild cattle. This, however, did not answer my purpose; for I could make no drawing of the bull, while he, along with the rest of the herd44, was wheeling about, and then fronting us, in the manner described in the “History of Quadrupeds.” I was therefore obliged to endeavour to see one which had been conquered by his rival, and driven to seek shelter alone, in the quarryholes or in the woods; and, in order to get a good look at one of this description, I was under the necessity of creeping on my hands and knees, to leeward45, and out of his sight; and I thus got my sketch11 or memorandum46, from which I made my drawing on the wood. I was sorry my figure was made from one before he was furnished with his curled or shaggy neck and mane.
On our return home, my companion and I took up our abode for two days and nights, at Eslington, in the apartments of our kind and hearty47 friend, John Bell, then steward48 to Sir Harry49 Liddell, Bart., and afterwards a merchant at Alnmouth. Having made a drawing from the large Newfoundland dog kept there, and rambled50 about visiting some of Mr. Bell’s friends, we then bent51 our way homewards, highly gratified with the journey, crowned as it was with hospitality and kindness which could not be surpassed.
In the year 1790, I was employed much in the same way as I had been in other years about that period; but this was besides marked by an event which enwarped and dwelt on my mind. No doubt all thinking men in their passage through life must have experienced feelings of a similar kind. My old and revered52 preceptor, the Rev. Christopher Gregson, died this year. No sooner did the news of his extreme illness reach me, than I set off, in my usual way, and with all speed, to Ovingham. I instantly rushed into his room, and there I found his niece in close attendance upon him. With her, being intimately acquainted, I used no ceremony, but pulled the curtain aside, and then beheld53 my friend, in his last moments. He gave me his last look, but could not speak. Multitudinous reflections of things that were passed away, hurried on my mind, and these overpowered me. I knew not what to say, except “Farewell for ever, farewell!” Few men have passed away on Tyneside so much respected as Mr. Gregson. When he was appointed to the curacy of Ovingham, I understand his income was not more than thirty pounds per annum. Thus set down, he began by taking pupils to board and educate, chiefly as Latin scholars; and Mrs. Gregson, after my mother left him, did everything in her power to make the seminary respectable. He afterwards, however, commenced teaching on a more extended scale, by taking in scholars of all kinds, from their A, B, C’s, to the classics. In this, his task must have been of the most arduous54 description, which he got through without any usher55 or assistant. His assiduity must have attracted the notice of the late Thomas Charles Bigge, Esq., of Benton, the lay rector, for he added some land to the glebe, by way of bettering his condition. Little as this farm was, as to its magnitude, it enabled him, by his good management and unceasing industry, to show himself a good farmer, and he was not a little vain on being complimented on this score. As a clergyman, he was not one of the fittest for that very important office; but this was chiefly owing to his defective56 voice, which was so low and raucous57, that his hearers could not so well profit by his sensible discourses58. In another way—I mean as a village lawyer—he stood pre-eminent. His pen was ever ready at the service of his parishioners, and whatever dispute arose amongst them there was never any objection to leave the matter to the decision of Mr. Gregson; and, I have often heard it asserted that there was not one lawsuit59 in the parish while he was minister there. He set out in life on this poor curacy, upon a system of great economy, and perhaps, like other frugal60 people, it grew upon him till he was accused of “nearness;” but, be this as it may, he accumulated, after a life of great good management, a sum of about nine hundred pounds. If his pen was ever ready to serve his parishioners, so, on certain occasions was his purse; for he eyed with great attention the situation of such of his neighbours as were industrious61; and, when he found these were struggling under untoward62 circumstances, or unforseen losses, without being solicited63, he lent them money to ward2 off the evil, and to serve their need.
点击收听单词发音
1 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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2 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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3 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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4 whetted | |
v.(在石头上)磨(刀、斧等)( whet的过去式和过去分词 );引起,刺激(食欲、欲望、兴趣等) | |
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5 stimulated | |
a.刺激的 | |
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6 undertakings | |
企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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7 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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8 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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9 naturalists | |
n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 );(文学艺术的)自然主义者 | |
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10 itinerant | |
adj.巡回的;流动的 | |
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11 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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12 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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13 engraving | |
n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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14 memoranda | |
n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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15 blotting | |
吸墨水纸 | |
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16 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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17 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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18 rev | |
v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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19 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
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20 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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21 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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22 anonymously | |
ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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23 glut | |
n.存货过多,供过于求;v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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24 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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26 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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27 sneers | |
讥笑的表情(言语)( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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28 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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29 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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30 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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31 smirking | |
v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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32 jibes | |
n.与…一致( jibe的名词复数 );(与…)相符;相匹配v.与…一致( jibe的第三人称单数 );(与…)相符;相匹配 | |
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33 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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34 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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35 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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36 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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37 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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38 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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39 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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40 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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41 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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42 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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43 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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44 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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45 leeward | |
adj.背风的;下风的 | |
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46 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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47 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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48 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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49 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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50 rambled | |
(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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51 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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52 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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54 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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55 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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56 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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57 raucous | |
adj.(声音)沙哑的,粗糙的 | |
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58 discourses | |
论文( discourse的名词复数 ); 演说; 讲道; 话语 | |
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59 lawsuit | |
n.诉讼,控诉 | |
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60 frugal | |
adj.节俭的,节约的,少量的,微量的 | |
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61 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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62 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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63 solicited | |
v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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