In my last chapter I took a view of the variety given to rural life by the annual visit to town: but if a gentleman have no desire so to vary his existence; if he love the country too well to leave it at all, most plentiful1 are the resources which offer themselves for pleasantly speeding on the time. If he be attached merely to field sports, not a moment of the whole year but he may fill up with his peculiar3 enjoyment4. Racing5, hunting, coursing, shooting, fishing, all offer themselves to his choice; and rural sports, as every thing else in English life, are so systematized; every thing belonging to them is so exactly regulated; all their necessary implements6 and accessories, are brought to such an admirable pitch of perfection by the advancement7 of the arts, that the pleasures of the sportsman are rendered complete, and are diffused8 over every portion of the year. Field sports have long ceased to be followed in that rude and promiscuous9 manner which they were when forests overrun the greater part of Europe, and hunting was[30] almost necessary to existence. Parties of hunters no longer go out with dogs of various kinds—greyhounds, hounds, spaniels, and terriers, all in leash10, as our ancestors frequently did, ready to slip them on any kind of game which might present itself, and with bows also ready to make more sure of their prey11. We have no battues, such as are still to be found in some parts of the continent, and which used to be the common mode of hunting in the Highlands, when the beasts of a whole district were driven into a small space, and subjected to a promiscuous slaughter13; a scene such as Taylor the water-poet describes himself as witnessing in the Braes of Mar14; nor such as those perpetrated by the King of Naples in Austria, Bohemia, and Moravia, in which he killed 5 bears, 1820 boars, 1950 deer, 1145 does, 1625 roebucks, 1121 rabbits, 13 wolves, 17 badgers16, 16,354 hares, 354 foxes, 15,350 pheasants, and 12,335 partridges. Such scenes are not to be witnessed in this country. Every field sport is here become a science. Hunting, coursing, shooting, each has its own season, its well-defined bounds, its peculiar horses, dogs, and weapons. Our horses and dogs, by long and anxious attention to the preservation17 of their specific characters, and to the improvement of their breed, are become pre-eminent, each in their own department. Our sporting nobility and gentry18 have not contented19 themselves with becoming thoroughly20 skilful21 in every thing relating to field diversions; but have many of them communicated their knowledge through the press to their countrymen, and have thus furnished our libraries with more practical information of this kind than ever was possessed22 by any one country at any one time; and contributed to make these pursuits as effective, elegant, and attractive as possible. It is not my province to go into the details of any particular sports; for them I refer the reader to Daniel, Beckford, Col. Thornton, Sir John Sebright, Col. Hawker, Tom Oakleigh, Nimrod, and the sporting magazines. My business is to shew how gentlemen may and do spend their time in the country. And in the mere2 catalogue of out-of-door sports, are there not racing, hunting, coursing, shooting, angling? Hawking23 once was an elegant addition to this list; but that has nearly fallen into disuse in this country, and may be said to exist only in the practice of Sir John Sebright, and the grand falconer of England, the Duke of St. Albans. Archery[31] too, once the great boast of our forests, and the constant attendant on the hunt, has, as a field exercise, followed hawking. It has of late years been revived and practised by the gentry as a graceful24 amusement, and an occasion for assembling together at certain periods in the country; but as an adjunct of the field sports it is past for ever. Racing, every one knows, is a matter of intense interest with a great portion of the nobility, gentry, and others; and those who delight in it, know where to find Newmarket, Epsom, Ascot Heath, Doncaster, and other places, often to their cost: almost every county and considerable town, has its course and annual races. These, however, to the country gentleman, unless he be one whose great and costly25 passion is for breeding and betting on race-horses, are but occasional excitements: the rest run their round of seasons as regularly as the seasons themselves; and place a lover of field sports in the country at any point of the year, and one or more of them are ready for his enjoyment. Is it winter? He has choice of all, except it be angling. Hunting, coursing, shooting, are all in their full season. Hunting, as I have said, is more confined in its range than it was anciently; but it is more regular, less fatiguing26, less savage27 in its character, more complete in its practice and appointments. There is now neither the boar, the bear, nor the wolf, to try the courage of our youth, and stag and buck15 hunting may be considered as rare and almost local amusements,—but we may quote the words of a great authority as to the position which hunting occupies amongst the rural sports of England. “There is certainly no country in the world, where the sport of hunting on horseback is carried to such a height as in Great Britain at the present day, and where the pleasures of a fox-chase are so well understood, and conducted on such purely28 scientific principles. It is considered the beau idéal of hunting by those who pursue it. There can be no doubt, that it is infinitely29 superior to stag-hunting, for the real sportsman can only enjoy that chase, when the deer is sought for, and found like other game which are pursued by hounds. In the case of finding an out-lying fallow-deer, which is unharboured in this manner, great sport is frequently afforded; but this is rarely to be met with in Great Britain: so that fox-hunting is now the chief amusement of the true British sportsman: and a noble one it is—the artifices30 and[32] dexterity31 employed by this lively, crafty32 animal, to avoid the dogs, are worthy33 of our admiration34, as he exhibits more devices for self-preservation than any other beast of the chase. In many parts of this and the sister island, hare-hunting is much followed, but fox-hunters consider it as a sport only fit for women and old men,—but, although it is less arduous35 than that of the fox-chase, there are charms attached to it which compensate36 for the hard riding of the other.”
I do not enter here into the question of cruelty in this sport, nor into the other question of injury resulting from it to crops and fences, on which grounds many so strongly object to hunting, and on the former ground, indeed, to all field sports. Lord Byron, for instance, thought hunting a barbarous amusement, fit only for a barbarous country. It is not my intention to undertake the defence of this old English sport from the standing38 charge against it, we here have only to deal with it as a feature of rural life; and though one cannot say much in praise of its humanity, it cannot be denied that it is a pursuit of a vigorous and exciting character. A fine field of hunters in their scarlet39 coats, rushing over forest, heath, fence or stream, on noble steeds, and with a pack of beautiful dogs in full cry, is a very picturesque40 and animating41 spectacle.
Through the winter, then, up to the very approach of spring, hunting offers whatever charms it possesses; pheasant, woodcock and snipe shooting, in the woods and by the streams, are in all their glory. It is the time for pursuing all manner of wild fowl42, in fens43 and along the sea-coast; and if any one would know what are the eager and adventurous44 pleasures of that pursuit, let him join some old fowler for a week amongst the reeds of Cambridge, Huntingdon, or Lincolnshire,—now laying his traps and springes, now crouching45 amongst the green masses of flags and other water plants, or crawling on hands and knees for a shot at teal, widgeon, or wild duck; now visiting the decoys, or shooting right and left amongst the rising and contorting snipes. Or let him read Col. Hawker’s delightful47 description of swivel shooting on the coasts, the mud-launchers and followers48 of the sea flocks by night. Those are sports which require a spice of enthusiasm and love of adventure far above the pitch of the ordinary sportsman.
When spring arrives, and warns the shooter to give rest to the[33] creatures of his pursuit, that they may pair, produce, and rear their broods; as he lays down the gun, he can take up the angle. Many a keen and devoted49 old sportsman, however, never knows when to lay down the gun. Though he will no longer fire at game, he likes through the spring and summer months to carry his gun on his arm through the woods, to knock down what he calls vermin,—stoats, weazels, polecats, jays, magpies50, hawks51, owls52; all those creatures that destroy game, or their young broods, or suck their eggs. He is fond of spying out the nests of partridges and pheasants, and from time to time marking their progress. It is a grand anticipative pleasure to him when, passing along the furrow53 of the standing corn, his old pointer, or favourite spaniel starts the young birds just able to take the wing, and he counts them over with a silent exultation54. He is fond of seeing to the training of his young dogs, of selecting fresh ones, of putting his fowling-pieces and all his shooting gear in order. There are some old sportsmen of my acquaintance, who, during what they call this idle time, have made collections of curious birds and small animals which might furnish some facts to natural history. An old uncle of mine in Derbyshire, who has shot away a fine estate, I scarcely ever recollect55 to have seen out of doors without his gun. I saw him lately, when in that county, a feeble, worn-out old man, just able to totter56 about, but still with the gun on his arm. For those, however, who can find it in their hearts to lay aside the gun at the prescribed time, and yet long for rural sports, what can so delightfully57 fill up the spring and summer as the fishing-rod? There is no rural art, except that of shooting, for which modern science and invention have done so much as angling. Since Izaak Walton gave such an impetus58 to this taste by his delicious old book, it has gradually assumed a new and fascinating character. A host of contrivances have been expended59 on fishing tackle. What splendid rods for simple angling, trolling, or fly-fishing, are now offered to the admiring eyes of the amateur! what a multitude of apparatus60 of one kind or other! what silver fish and endless artificial flies Angling has become widened and exalted61 in its sphere with the general expansion of knowledge and the improvement of taste. It has associated itself with the pleasures and refinements62 of literature and poetry. All those charms which worthy Izaak threw[34] round it, have continued to cling to it, and others have grown up around them. The love of nature, the love of travel have intertwined themselves with the love of angling. Angling has thence become, as it were, a new and more attractive pursuit—a matter of taste and science as well as of health and pleasure. It is found that it may not only be followed by the tourist without diverting him from his primal63 objects, but that it adds most essentially64 to the delights of a summer excursion. Since Wordsworth and John Wilson set up their “Angler’s Tent” on the banks of Wast-Water, “at the head of that wild and solitary65 lake, which they had reached by the mountain-path that passes Barn-Moor66-Tarn from Eskdale,” making an angling excursion of seven days amongst the mountains of Westmoreland, Lancashire, and Cumberland, having “their tent, large panniers filled with its furniture, provisions, etc., loaded upon horses, which, while the anglers, who separated every morning, pursued each his own sport up the torrents68, were carried over the mountains to the appointed place, by some lake or stream, where they were to meet again in the evening;” and
that solitary trade,
Through rocky glen, wild moor, and hanging wood,
since Sir Humphry Davy went angling and philosophising in the mountain tarns71, and along the trout72 and salmon73 streams not only of Scotland and Ireland, but of France and Switzerland, the enthusiasm for angling has grown into a grand and expansive passion. We have our “Anglers in Wales,” our “Anglers in Ireland;” Stephen Oliver has flourished his lines over the streams of the north, Jesse over the gentle and majestic74 Thames. The only wonder is, that, as our countrymen walk to and fro through all known regions of the earth, we do not hear of anglers in the Danube—the Ister—the Indus—the Joliba,—of trolling in La Plata, and fly-fishing in South Africa and Australia. All that will come in its own good time: meanwhile let us remind our country friends of the further blessings75 which await them, even should all the rapid streams of our mountain rivers and rivulets76, Loch Leven trout, Loch Fine herrings, and salmon pulled flouncing from the crystal waters of the Teith or the Shannon, to be crimped and[35] grilled77 by most delicious art, satiate them before the summer is over. The 12th of August approaches! the gun is roused from its slumber—the dogs are howling in ecstasy78 on their release from the kennel—the heather is burst into all its crimson79 splendour on the moors80 and the mountains, and grouse81-shooting is at hand once more!
That sentence is enough to make a sportsman start to his feet if it were but whispered to him in his deepest after-dinner doze82. In “The Book of the Seasons” I asserted that sportsmen felt the animating influence of nature and its beauty in their pursuits. For that passage many have been the gentle lectures of the tender-hearted; but that it was a true passage has been shewn by the thanks which many sportsmen have given me for that simple vindication83, and by the repeated quotation84 of the whole article in their books. That they do feel it, is plainly shewn in many papers of the sporting magazines; but nowhere more vividly85 than in “The Oakleigh Shooting Code.” If the unction with which the paper on grouse-shooting is written in that book were more diffused through works of the like nature, vain would be all arguments to check the love of shooting. The feeling on this subject has been evidenced by the avidity with which that part of the book has been quoted far and wide. But the spirit of the picturesque is not more prominent in these chapters than in the description of Oakleigh Hall, and of the “wide-ranging treeless view of the smooth-turfed limestone87 hills, the white rocks breaking out in patches, so characteristic of Derbyshire.”
But we are pausing on our way to the Highlands; and surely nothing can be so inspiring and exciting in the whole circle of sporting scenes as a trip to the moors and mountains of the north, in the height of summer—in the beauty of summer weather, and in the full beauty of the scenery itself. If the season is fine—the roads are dry—the walks are dry—the bogs88 are become, many of them, passable, the heather is in full bloom, the fresh air of the mountains, or the waters in sailing thither89, the rapid changes of scene, the novel aspects of life and nature in progressing onward90, by the carriage, the railway, the steamer, with all their varying groups of tourists and pleasure-seekers, of men of business and men of idleness, are full of enjoyment. To the man from the rich[36] monotonous91 Lowlands, from the large town, from the heart of the metropolis92 perhaps, from the weary yoke93 of business, public or private, of law, of college study, of parliament and committees, what can be more penetrating94 and delicious than the breathing of the fresh buoyant air, the pleasant flitting of the breeze, the dash of sunny waters, the aspect of mountains and moors in all their shadow and gloom, or in their brightness as they rise in their clear still beauty into the azure95 heavens, or bask96 broad and brown in the noon-sun? There go the happy sportsmen; seated on the deck of some fast-sailing steamer, with human groups around them; they are fast approaching the “land of the mountain and the flood.” They already seem to tread the elastic97 turf, to smell the heather bloom, and the peat fire of the Highland12 hut; to climb the moory98 hill, to hear the thunder of the linn, or pace the pebbly99 shore of the birch-skirted lake. They have left dull scenes or dry studies behind, and a volume of Walter Scott’s novels is in their hands, living with all the character and traditions of the mountain-land before them. Well then, is it not a blessed circumstance that our poets and romancers have kindled100 the spirit of these things in the heart of our countrymen, that such places lie within our own island, and that science has so quickened our transit101 to them? Let us just note a few of the symptoms which shew us that this memorable102 12th of August is at hand. In the market towns you see the country sportsman hastening along the streets, paying quick visits to his gunsmith, ammunition103 dealer104, tailor, draper, etc. He is getting all his requisites105 together. His dogs are at his heels. Then you see him already invested in his jacket and straw hat, driving off in his gig, phaeton, or other carriage, with keeper or companion, and perhaps a couple of dogs stowed away with him. You see the keeper and the dog-cart on their way too. As you get northward108 these signs thicken. In large towns, as Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, Edinburgh, you see keeper-like looking men, with pointers and setters for sale tied up to some palisade, or lamp-post, at the corner of a street. But woe109 to those who have to purchase dogs under such circumstances. It is ten to one but they are grievously gulled110; or if they should chance to stumble upon a tolerable dog, there is not time for that mutual111 knowledge to grow up which should exist between the[37] sportsman and his companion of the field. He that sees beforehand his trip to the hills, should beforehand have all in readiness: he who on a summer ramble112 is smitten113 with a sudden desire of grouse-shooting, must however, do the best he can.
When you pass into Scotland, the signals of the time grow more conspicuous114. In the newspapers, you see everywhere advertisements of Highland tracts115 to be let as shooting-grounds. When you get into the Highlands themselves, you find in all the inns maps of the neighbouring estates, divided into shooting-grounds for letting. It is very probable that the income derived116 from this source by the Highland proprietors117 frequently far exceeds the rental118 of the same estates for the grazing of sheep and cattle. The waters and the heaths seem to be the most profitable property of a great part of the Highlands. Almost every stream and loch is carefully preserved and let as a trout or salmon fishery, many of them for enormous sums; and so far is this carried, that sportsmen who are not inclined to pay eighty or a hundred pounds a-year for a shooting ground, complain that Ireland is the only country now for shooting in any degree of freedom. Sometimes several gentlemen join at a shooting ground; and it is a picturesque sight to see them, and their dogs and keepers, drawing towards their particular locations as the day approaches.
On the 10th of August, 1836, we sailed up the Grand Caledonian Canal from Fort William to Inverness in the steam-packet with a large party of these gentlemen. Of their number, principally military men—
Captains, and colonels, and men at arms;
some notion may be formed from the fact that we had on board upwards119 of seventy dogs, mostly beautiful setters; a perfect pyramid of gun-cases was piled on the deck, and dog-carts and keepers completed the scene.
One of the singular features of English life at the present moment is the swarming120 of summer tourists in all interesting quarters. In these Highland regions the consequent effect is often truly ludicrous. Into one miserable121 village, or one poor solitary inn, pour, day after day, the summer through, from seventy to a hundred people. The impossibility of such a place[38] accommodating such a company is the first thing which strikes every one. The moment, therefore, that the vessel122 touches the quay123, out rushes the whole throng124, and a race commences to the house or village to secure beds for the night. Such is the impetus of the rush that the first arrivers are frequently driven by the “pressure from without” up the stairs to the very roof. A scene of the most laughable confusion is exhibited. All are clamouring for beds; nobody can be heard or attended to; and generally all who can, burst into rooms which are not locked up, and take forcible possession. Such scenes, any one who has gone up this canal, or to the Western Isles125 must have seen,—at Oban, at Tobermory, and at Inverness, which last place boasts three inns, and where, on our arrival with a hundred fellow-passengers, we found three hundred others had just landed from a London steamer! Our sportsmen, however, who were well aware of the statistics of the north, had written beforehand, and secured bed-rooms at all the sleeping-places, which were duly locked up against their arrival, and they sate37 very composedly to witness the race of worse-informed mortals.
On this occasion a very characteristic contrast was presented between the sportsmen and a number of students who were on board at the time. These students, many of whom spend the college recess126 in pedestrianizing through the Highlands, have a character almost as peculiar to themselves as the German Bürschen. In twos and threes, with their knapsacks on their backs, they may be seen rambling127 on, wherever there is fine scenery or spots of note to be visited. They step on board a packet at one place, and go off at another, steering128 away into the hills; ready to take up their quarters at such abode129 as may offer—the road-side inn or the smoky hut of the Gael. Wherever you see them, they are all curiosity and enthusiasm; all on fire with the sublime130 and beautiful—athirst for knowledge; historical, antiquarian, traditionary, botanical, geological—anything in the shape of knowledge. They are the first to climb the hill, to reach the waterfall, to crowd round every spot of tragic131 interest; everywhere they go agog132 with imagination, and everywhere they lament133 that they do not feel adequately, the power, and beauty, and grandeur134 of the objects of their attention. Such a group we had on board. On the other[39] hand, the sportsmen had but one object, which absorbed all their interests and faculties135. They cared not at that moment for the Fall of Foyers, saw scarcely the splendid mountains and glens around. Their souls were in the brown hills of their shooting grounds—the fever of the 12th of August was upon them. They kept together, talking of guns, dogs, grouse, roebucks; all their conversation was larded and illustrated136 with the phraseology of their own favourite pursuit. They were, many of them, clad in a close jacket and trousers of shepherd’s tartan, with their telescope slung137 at their backs. They seemed to look on the students as so many hair-brained and romantic striplings—the students on them, as so many creatures of the chase. As we proceeded, the fiery138 Nimrods were, one after another, put out at the opening of beautiful glens, and at the foot of wild mountains where their huts lay, and the vessel received a considerable accession of silence by the departure of their keepers, who, having found a Highland piper on board, got up a dance in the steerage cabin, and kept that end of the vessel pretty well alive both day and night. Having thus brought them to their grounds, there can be no better narrator of what passes there than Thomas Oakleigh.
“On the 11th of August the sportsman arrives at his shooting quarters; probably some isolated139 tavern140, ‘old as the hills,’—if such a house as the grouse-shooter occasionally locates himself in, in the northern or midland counties of England, or in Scotland, where oatcake and peat supply the place of bread and fuel, can be called a tavern. The place, humble141 in character, has been the immemorial resort of sportsmen in August, although during the rest of the year, sometimes many months elapse ere a customer, save some itinerant142 salesman calling for his mug of beer, ‘darkens the door.’ * * * At the house will be found all the keepers, and tenters, and poachers, and young men from the country round, assembled, amounting in the whole to not more than some eight or ten persons, all knowing ones, each anxious to display his knowledge of the number and locality of the broods, but each differing, wide as the poles asunder143, in his statement, except on four points, in which all are agreed, viz.—That the hatching season has been finer than was ever known before! That the broods are larger and more numerous than were ever counted before! That the birds are heavier[40] and stronger than were ever seen before! and that they will, on the following day, lie better than they ever did on any previous opening day in the recollection of the oldest person present! Each successive season being, in their idea, more propitious144 than its precursor145! Anxiety and expectation are now arrived at a climax146. At night, the blithe147 and jocund148 peasantry mingle149 with their superiors: their pursuits are for once something akin67. In the field-sports they can sympathize together: the peasant and the peer associate; the plough-boy and the squire150 talk familiarly together; it is the privilege of the former, his prescriptive right. The circling cup, and lighthearted and hilarious151 laugh promiscuously152 go round! This night distinctions are unknown—and would that it were oftener so! * * * Long before midnight, all who can obtain beds retire, though not an eye is drowsy153. The retainers lie on sofas, elbow-chairs, or whatever else presents itself; but sleep is almost a stranger during the night. The soldier before battle, is not more anxious as to the result of the morrow, than is the sportsman on the night of the 11th of August! Morning dawns, ‘and heavily with mists comes on the day.’ The occupiers of benches and chairs are first on the alert: the landlady154 is called; breakfast is prepared—the dogs are looked at; all is tumult155, noise, and confusion. Reckless must he be that can rest longer in bed—‘the cootie moor-cocks crowsely crow;’ breakfast is hastily dispatched—next is heard the howling and yelping156 of dogs, the cracking of whips, the snapping of locks, the charging, and flashing, and firing of guns, and every other note of preparation. The march is sounded, and away they wind for the heather and hills, true peep-o’-day boys, far, far from the busy, money-getting world, to breathe empyreal air; to enjoy a sport that should be monopolized157 by princes—if, indeed, princes could be found deserving of such a monopoly! Every person the shooter meets with seems this day to have thrown off his sordid158 cloak, and to be divested159 of those meaner passions which render life miserable: all are now warm, open-hearted, frank, sincere, and obliging. The sportsman’s shooting-dress is a sibboleth, which introduces him alike to his superiors, to his fellows, and his inferiors: an acquaintance is formed at first sight: there are no distant looks, no coldness, no outpouring of arrogance160, or avarice161, or pride; but a happy rivalry162 exists, to eclipse each other in the number and size of birds[41] killed—the chief object of emulation163 being to kill the finest old cock. Let us be understood to express that this happy state of things subsists164 only so long as the shooter’s peregrinations are circumscribed165 by the limits of his own or friend’s manor166. The moment he becomes a borderer, a very different reception awaits him! To the sportsman in training, full of health and strength, and well appointed, it is of little consequence whether there be game or not. The inspiriting character of the sport, and the wild beauty of the scenery, so different from what he is elsewhere in the habit of contemplating167, hold out a charm that dispels168 fatigue169! He feels not the drudgery170. To him the hills are lovely in every aspect; whether beneath a hot, autumnal sun, with not a cloud to intercept171 the torrid beam, or beneath the dark canopy172 of thunder-clouds; whether in the frosty morn or in the dewy eve—whether, when through the clear atmosphere he surveys, as it were in a map, the countries that lie stretched around and beneath him, or when he wanders darkly on, amidst eternal mists that roll continuously past him—still a charm pervades173 the hills. The sun shines brighter, and the storm rages more furiously than in the valleys! The very sterility174 pleases: and to him who has been brought thither by the rapid means of travelling now adopted, from some bustling175 mart of trade or vortex of fashion, the novelty of loneliness is agreeably exciting! The stillness that reigns176 around is as wonderful to him as the solidity of land to the stranded177 sailor! Scarcely is there a change of scene—stillness and solitude178, hill and ravine, sky and heather, everywhere magnificent, the outline everywhere bold, and where the view terminates amid rocks and crags, frequently sublime! At noonday, near some rocky summit, perchance on the shepherd’s stone, the shooter seats himself, and shares his last sandwich with his panting dogs. We will suppose him to be on the boundary of the muir-lands: on one hand he sees an unbounded expanse of heathery hills, by no means monotonous if he will look upon them with the eye of a painter, for there is every shade of yellow, green, brown, and purple,—the last is the prevailing179 colour at this season, the heather being in bloom: nor are the hills monotonous, if he looks at them with the eye of a sportsman, for by this time (we suppose him to have been shooting all the morning) he will have performed many feats180, or at any rate will have met with several adventures, and the ground[42] before him is the field of his fame. He now looks with interest on many a rock, and cliff, and hill, which lately appeared but as one of so many ‘crags, knolls181, and mounds182 confusedly hurled183!’ He contemplates184 the site of his achievements, as a general surveys a field of battle during an interval185 of strife186; the experience of the morning has taught him a lesson, and he plans a fresh campaign for the afternoon, or the morrow, or probably the next season, should the same hills be again destined187 to be the scene of his exploits. The shooter looks down on the other hand from his rocky summit, and, in the bright relief, through the white rents in the clouds, sees the far-off meadows and hamlets, the woods, the rivers, and the lake. He rises, and renews his task. The invigorating influence of the bracing188 wind on the heights, lends the sportsman additional strength—he puts forth189 every effort, every nerve is strained—he feels an artificial glow after nature is exhausted190, and returns to the cot where he had previously191 spent a sleepless192 night, to enjoy his glass of grog, and such a snooze as the citizen never knew!”
This is a graphic193 and true picture of the outset of grouse-shooting; but it is but one amongst many of the exciting situations and picturesque positions which this fine sport presents. There is a wide difference, too, between the grouse-shooting of the north of England and of the Highlands. On the English moors, the majority of shooters who assemble there, are the friends or acquaintances of the proprietors, or of their friends and acquaintances, who have received invitations, or procured194 the favour to shoot for a day or two at the opening of the season. The outbreak on the morning of the 12th, is therefore proportionably multitudinous and bustling. The throng of the people on the preceding evening, crowded into the inns and cottages in the neighbourhood where the best shooting lies, is often amazing. Many sportsmen, who on other occasions would think scorn to enter such a hovel, or jostle in such a crowd, may be seen waiting in patient endurance, in a situation in which a beggar would not envy them. Others will be seen stretched on their cloaks on the floor, while their dogs are occupying their beds, or the soft bottom of a huge old chair; their great anxiety being, to have their dogs fresh and able for the coming day. At the faintest peep of dawn, which is about three o’clock at that season, loud is the sound of guns on all sides, going off farther and farther in[43] the distance. At noon, on some picturesque and breezy hill, you may see a large party congregated195 to luncheon196, where provisions and drink have been conveyed by appointment. There, ten or a dozen sportsmen seated on the ground, all warm in body and mind—their dogs watching eagerly for their share of the feast, which is thrown them with liberal hand—their guns reared against some rock—their game thrown picturesquely197 on the moorland turf—Flibbertigibbets, with their asses46 who have brought up the baskets of provisions, the keg of beer, and bottles of porter, are running about and acting198 the waiters in a style of genuine originality199; while keepers and markers are at once lunching and keeping an eye on the dogs, lest they are too troublesome to their masters; who are all talking together with inconceivable ardour of their individual achievements. The situation, the mixture of men and animals, of personages and costumes, all go to make up a striking picture. On the English moorlands, however, grouse-shooting is but as it were a brilliant and passing flash. As the enjoyment of the sport is generally a matter of grace and friendship, and is sought by numbers who can only devote to the excursion, at the best, a few days, it is a scene of animation200 and havoc201 for a week or ten days, and then its glory is over. During this time, however, the keepers on many estates make a rich harvest, by presents from gentlemen for attendance and guidance to the best haunts of the game—by the loan of dogs at good interest to such as have not come well provided, or have met with accidents, or whose dogs, as is sometimes the case, unused to this kind of sport and scenery, have bolted and disappeared at the first general discharge of guns; and by furnishing, sub rosa, grouse at a guinea a brace202 to certain luckless braggadocios203, who have boastingly promised to various friends at home plenty of game from the moors; and have not been able to ruffle204 a single feather! In the Highlands the scene is different. The grounds are more generally rented by individuals or parties; they are wider and wilder, and both from their extent and distance from the populous205 districts of England are more thinly scattered206 with shooters. There, some of the sportsmen take their families to their cottages on their shooting-ground, and on which they have probably bestowed207 some trouble and expense, to render them sufficiently208 comfortable and convenient for a few months’ occasional[44] summer sojourn209, and what in nature can afford a more delicious change from the ordinary course and place of life? Up far amongst the wild mountains and moorlands, amid every fresh and magnificent object—amid fairyland glens of birch and hills of pine, the sight of crystal, rapid, sunny streams, and the sound of waterfalls, in the lands of strange and startling traditions. To intelligent children full of the enjoyment of life and healthful curiosity, in such scenery every thing is wonderful and delightful; to ladies of taste, such a life for a brief season must be equally pleasant. There are some ladies, indeed, of the highest rank, who are in the regular habit of spending a certain portion of every year in the Highlands; and one in particular, of ducal rank, who at that season rambles210 far and wide amongst the cottages and the beautiful scenery of her native hills, telling her daughters, that if they there indulge in English luxuries, they must prepare them themselves,—such is the simplicity211 of her mountain residence and establishment; and they take their Cook’s Oracle212, and wonderfully enjoy the change. The language and costume of the inhabitants are those of a foreign country; every object has its novelty, and the little elegancies of books, music, and furniture, which can be conveyed to such an abode, strike all the more from the stern nature without. Then there is the finest fishing in the lochs and mountain-streams, the most delightful sailing in many places, and in the woods there are the shy roebuck and sometimes the red-deer to be pursued. The grouse and black-cock shooting season is, therefore, longer and steadier there; but the full perfection of its enjoyment is to be found, perhaps, after all, only by the happy mortal who makes one of the select party collected at one of the great Highland houses of the aristocracy, where the best shooting, every requisite106 of horses, dogs, attendants, etc., are furnished—and where, after the fatigues213 of the day, the sportsman returns to his own clean room, to an excellent dinner, music, and refined society. But, amid all these seductions, nothing will make the thorough English sportsman forget the first of September. Back he comes, and enters on that regular succession of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, snipe, and wild-fowl shooting, of hunting and coursing, which diversify214 and fill up the autumn and winter of English rural life. To these pleasures then we leave him.
[45]
A WORD WITH THE TOO SENSITIVE.
I have not attempted to defend the hunter, the courser, or even the shooter, in the preceding chapter, from the charge of cruelty which is perpetually directed against them—they are a sturdy, and now a very intelligent people; often numbering amongst them many of our principal senators, authors, and men of taste, and very capable of vindicating215 themselves; but I must enact216 the shield-bearer for a moment, for that very worthy and much-abused old man, Izaak Walton, and the craft which he has made so fashionable. Spite even of Lord Byron’s jingle217 about the hook and gullet, and a stout218 fish to pull it, they may say what they will of the old man’s cruelty and inconsistency—the death of a worm, a frog, or a fish, is the height of his infliction219, and what is that to the ten thousand deaths of cattle, sheep, lambs, fish, and fowl of all kinds, that are daily perpetrated for the sustenance220 of these same squeamish cavillers! They remind me of a delicate lady, at whose house I was one day, and on passing the kitchen door at ten in the morning, saw a turkey suspended by its heels, and bleeding from its bill, drop by drop. Supposing it was just in its last struggles from a recent death-wound, I passed on, and found the lady lying on her sofa overwhelmed in tears over a most touching221 story. I was charmed with her sensibility; and the very delightful conversation which I held with her, only heightened my opinion of the goodness of her heart. On accidentally passing by the same kitchen door in the afternoon, six hours afterwards, I beheld222, to my astonishment223, the same turkey suspended from the same nail, still bleeding, drop by drop, and still giving an occasional flutter with its wings! Hastening to the kitchen, I inquired of the cook, if she knew that the turkey was not dead. “O yes, sir,” she replied, “it won’t be dead, may-happen, these two hours. We always kill turkeys that way, it so improves their colour; they have a vein224 opened under the tongue, and only bleed a drop at a time!” “And does your mistress know of this your mode of killing225 turkeys?” “O yes, bless you sir, it’s our regular way; missis often sees ’em as she goes to the gardens—and she says sometimes, ‘Poor things! I don’t like to see ’em, Betty; I wish[46] you would hang them where I should not see ’em!’” I was sick! I was dizzy! It was the hour of dinner, but I walked quietly away,
I say, what is Izaak Walton’s cruelty to this, and to many another such perpetration on the part of the tender and sentimental227? What is it to the grinding and oppression of the poor that is every day going on in society,—to the driving of wheels and the urging of steam-engines, matched against whose iron power thousands daily waste their vital energies? What is it to the laying on of burdens of expense and trouble by the exactions of law, of divinity, of custom,—burdens grievous to be borne, and which they who impose them, will not so much as touch with one of their little fingers?
They sit at home and turn an easy wheel,
And set sharp racks to work to pinch and peel.—John Keats.
These things are done and suffered by human beings, and then go the very doers of these things, and cry out mightily228 against the angler for pricking229 the gristle of a fish’s mouth!
I do not mean to advocate cruelty—far from it! I would have all men as gentle and humane230 as possible; nor do I argue that because the world is full of cruelty, it is any reason that more cruelty should be tolerated: but I mean to say, that it is a reason why there should not be so much permission to the greater evils, and so much clamour against the less. Is there more suffering caused by angling than by taking fishes by the net? Not a thousandth,—not a ten thousandth part! Where one fish is taken with a hook, it may be safely said that a thousand are taken with the net: for daily are the seas, lakes, and rivers swept with nets; and cod86, haddock, halibut, salmon, crabs231, lobsters232, and every species of fish that supplies our markets, are gathered in thousands and ten thousands—to say nothing of herrings and pilchards by millions. Over these there is no lamentation233; and yet their sufferings are as great—for the suffering does not consist so much in the momentary234 puncture235 of a hook, as in the dying for lack of their native element. Then go these tender-hearted creatures and feast upon turtles that have come long voyages[47] nailed to the decks of ships in living agonies; upon crabs, lobsters, prawns236, and shrimps237, that have been scalded to death; and thrust oysters238 alive into fires; and fry living eels107 in pans, and curse poor anglers before their gods for cruel monsters, and bless their own souls for pity and goodness, forgetting all the fish-torments they have inflicted240!
“Ay, but”—they turn round upon you suddenly with what they deem a decisive and unanswerable argument—“Ay, but they cannot approve of making the miseries241 of sentient242 creatures a pleasure.” What! is there no pleasure in feasting upon crabs that have been scalded, and eels that have been fried alive? In sucking the juices of an oyster239, that has gaped243 in fiery agony between the bars of your kitchen grate? But the whole argument is a sophism244 and a fallacy. Nobody does seek a pleasure, or make an amusement of the misery245 of a living creature. The pleasure is in the pursuit of an object, and the art and activity by which a wild creature is captured, and in all those concomitants of pleasant scenery and pleasant seasons that enter into the enjoyment of rural sports;—the suffering is only the casual adjunct, which you would spare to your victim if you could, and which any humane man will make as small as possible. And over what, after all, do these very sensitive persons lament? Over the momentary pang246 of a creature, which forms but one atom in a living series, every individual of which is both pursuing and pursued, is preying247, or is preyed248 upon. The fish is eagerly pursuing the fly, one fish is pursuing the other, and so it is through the whole chain of living things; and this is the order and system established by the very centre and principle of love, by the beneficent Creator of all life. The too sensitively humane, will again exclaim—“Yes, this is right in the inferior animals: it is their nature, and they only follow the impulse which their Maker249 has given them.” True; but what is right in them, is equally right in man;—the argument applies with double force in his case. For, is there no such impulse implanted in him? Let every sportsman answer it; let the history of the world answer it; let the heart of every nine-tenths of the human race answer it. Yes, the very fact that we do pursue such sports, and enjoy them, is an irrefragable answer. The principle of chase and taking of prey, which is impressed on almost all living things,[48] from the minutest insect to the lion of the African desert, is impressed with double force on man. By the strong dictates250 of our nature, by the very words of the Holy Scriptures251, every creature is given us for food; our dominion252 over them, is made absolute. The amiable253 Cowper asserted that dogs would not pursue game, if they were not taught to do so. We admit the excellent nature of the man, but every day proves that, in this instance, he was talking beyond his knowledge. Every one who knows anything of dogs, knows, that if you bring them up in a town, and keep them away from the habits of their own class to their full growth, the moment they get into the country they will pursue each their peculiar game, with the utmost avidity, and after their own manner. There is then, unquestionably, an instinctive254 propensity255 in one animal to prey upon another—in man pre-eminently so—and it is not the work of wisdom to quench256 this tendency, but to follow it with all possible gentleness and humanity.
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1
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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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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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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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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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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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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animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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fens
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| n.（尤指英格兰东部的）沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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tarns
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| n.冰斗湖，山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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grilled
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| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81
grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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82
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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83
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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84
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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85
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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86
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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87
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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88
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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89
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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90
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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91
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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92
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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93
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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94
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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95
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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96
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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97
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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98
moory
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| adj.摩尔人的，（建筑、家具等）摩尔人式的，摩尔人风格的 | |
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99
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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100
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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101
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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102
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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103
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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104
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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105
requisites
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| n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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106
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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107
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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108
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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109
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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110
gulled
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| v.欺骗某人( gull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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112
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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113
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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114
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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115
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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116
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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117
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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118
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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119
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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120
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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121
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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122
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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123
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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124
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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125
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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126
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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127
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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128
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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129
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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130
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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131
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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132
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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133
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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134
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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135
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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136
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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137
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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138
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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139
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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140
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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141
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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142
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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143
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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144
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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145
precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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146
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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147
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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148
jocund
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| adj.快乐的，高兴的 | |
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149
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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150
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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151
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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152
promiscuously
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| adv.杂乱地，混杂地 | |
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153
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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154
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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155
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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156
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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157
monopolized
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| v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 )；独占；专卖；专营 | |
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158
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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159
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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160
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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161
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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162
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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163
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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164
subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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165
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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166
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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167
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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168
dispels
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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169
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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170
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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171
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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172
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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173
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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174
sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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175
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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176
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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177
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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178
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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179
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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180
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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181
knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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182
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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183
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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184
contemplates
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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185
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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186
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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187
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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188
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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189
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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190
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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191
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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192
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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193
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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194
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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195
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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197
picturesquely
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198
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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199
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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200
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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201
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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202
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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203
braggadocios
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| n.自夸，吹牛大王( braggadocio的名词复数 ) | |
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204
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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205
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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206
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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207
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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208
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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209
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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210
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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211
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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213
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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214
diversify
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| v.（使）不同，（使）变得多样化 | |
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215
vindicating
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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216
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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217
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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219
infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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220
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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221
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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222
beheld
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| 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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223
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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224
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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225
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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226
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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227
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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228
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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229
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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230
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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231
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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232
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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233
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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234
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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235
puncture
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| n.刺孔，穿孔；v.刺穿，刺破 | |
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236
prawns
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| n.对虾，明虾( prawn的名词复数 ) | |
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237
shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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238
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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239
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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240
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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241
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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242
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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243
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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244
sophism
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| n.诡辩 | |
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245
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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246
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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247
preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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248
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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249
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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250
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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251
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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252
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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253
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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254
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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255
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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256
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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