A great deal has been written about our fashionable watering-places, but there is another class of watering-places quite as amusing in their way, of which the public knows little or nothing. There are the rural watering-places, which are part and parcel of our subject, without which any picture of rural life would be incomplete; and which I shall here therefore take due notice of. These are the resort of what may be styled the burgher and agricultural part of our population. The farmer, the shopkeeper, the occupant of the clerk’s desk, or the mercantile warehouse,—each and all of these feel the want of a periodical relaxation1 from business and care, and the want of that change of scene and circumstance, that may give a fresh feeling of both mental and physical renovation2. These, as they stand wearily sweltering in the hot[503] field, or bending over the everlasting3 counter, suddenly see in their mind’s eye the flashing of the sea, and feel the breezes blow upon them like a new life. They resolve on the instant “to go to the salt-water” before the summer is over, and begin contriving4 when and how it shall be, and what wives and children, or old cronies, can go with them. The farmer sees that the only time for him will be in the interval5 between hay and corn harvest, and speedily he has inoculated6 some of his friends with the same desire. Many a jolly company is thus speedily made, and at the fixed7 time away they go, in gigs and tax-carts, or on scampering8 horses, with more life and spirit than most people return from more celebrated9 places. In Lancashire the better class of the operatives in the manufacturing districts, consider it as necessary “to go to the salt-water” in the summer, as to be clothed and fed all the rest of the year. From Preston, Blackburn, Bolton, Oldham, and all those great spinning and weaving towns, you see them turning out by whole wagon10 and cart-loads, bound for Blackpool and such places; and they who have not seen the swarming11 loads of these men and women and children, their fast driving, and their obstreperous12 merriment, have not seen one of the most curious scenes of English life.
In one of those strolls through different parts of the country in which I have so often indulged myself, and in which I have always found so much enjoyment13, from the varieties of scenery and character which they laid open to me, I once came upon a watering-place on the coast, that afforded me no small matter for a day or two’s amusement. What could have been the cause of the setting up of such a place as a scene of pleasurable resort, it would be difficult to tell, except that it possessed14 a most bounteous15 provision of two great articles in demand in the autumnal months in cities—salt water and fresh air, for which a thousand inconveniences would be endured. It was situated16 quite on the flat coast of a flat country, a few miles from one of its sea-ports, yet near enough to obtain speedily thence all those good things which hungry mortals require—and who are so hungry as people bathing in sea water, and imbibing17 sea air, and taking three times their usual exercise without being distinctly aware of it?
Strolling along the coast, I found a good hotel, with all the usual marks of such an establishment about it. There were quantities[504] of people loitering about the sands in front and in the garden, and other quantities looking out of windows with the sashes up; some of them, particularly the ladies, holding colloquies18 out of the windows of upper stories with some of the strollers below; post-chaises, and gigs, and shandray carts, standing19 here and there in the side scenes; a row of bathing-machines on the shore, awaiting the hour of the tide; and a loud noise of voices from a neighbouring bowling-green. The odours of roasting and baking that came from the hotel, were of the most inviting20 description. I inclined to take up my abode21 there for a few hours at least, but on entering, I found that as to obtaining a room, or a tithe22 of a room, or even a chair at the table of the ordinary, it was quite out of the question. “Lord bless you, sir,” said the landlady23, a woman of most surprising corporeal24 dimensions, in a white gown, an orange-coloured neckerchief, and a large and very rosy25 face, as she stood before the bar, filling the whole width of the passage; “Lord bless you, sir, if you’d give me a thousand golden guineas in a silken purse, I should not know where to put you. We’ve turned hundreds and hundreds of most genteel people away, that we have, within this very week, and the house is fit to burst now, it’s so hugeous full. But you’ll get accommodated at the town.” “What town?” said I; “is there a town near?” “Why, town we call it, but it’s the village, you know; it’s Fastside here, not more than a mile off; if you follow the bank along the shore, you’ll go straight to it. You can’t miss it.” Accordingly, following the raised embankment along the shore, I soon descried26 Fastside, a few scattered27 cottages, placed amongst their respective crofts and gardens, and here and there a farm-house, with its substantial array of ricks about it, denoting that the dwellers28 were well off in the world. But I soon found that all the cottages, and many of the farm-houses, had their boarders for the season, and that there was scarcely one but was full. I had the good luck to spy an equipage, and something like a departing group at the door of one of the cottages, and as it moved away, to find that I could have the use of two rooms, a parlour and chamber29 over it, if I liked to go to the expense. “Perhaps,” said the neat cottage housewife, “as a single gentleman, you may not like to occupy so much room, for just at this season we charge rather high.” “And[505] pray,” said I, “what may be the enormous price you are charging for these rooms, then?” “Seven shillings a-week each room, and half-a-crown for attendance,” looking at me with an inquiring eye, as if apprehensive30 that I should be astounded31 at the sum. “What! the vast charge of sixteen and sixpence per week,” I replied, smiling, “for two rooms and attendance?” “Yes,” said the simple dame32; “but then, you see, you will have to live besides, and it all comes to a good deal. But may be you are a gentleman, that doesn’t mind a trifle.” Having assured her that there would, at all events, be no insurmountable obstacle in her terms, I entered and took possession of two as rustic33 and nicely clean rooms as could be found under such a humble34 roof. I had taken a fancy to spend a few days, or a week at least, there. It was a new scene, and peopled with new characters, that might be worth studying. The cottage stood in a thoroughly35 rural garden, full of peas, beans, and cabbages, with a little plot round the house, gay with marigolds, hollyhocks, and roses, and sweet with rosemary and lavender. The old dame’s husband was a shrimper, or fisher for shrimps36, whom I soon came to see regularly tracing the edge of the tide with his old white horse and net hung behind him. She had, besides me, it seemed, another lodger37, who, she assured me, “was a very nice young man indeed, but, poor young gentleman, he enjoyed but very indifferent health. Sometimes I think he’s been crossed in love, for I happened to cast my eye on one of his books—he reads a power of books—and there was a deal about love in it. It was all in poetry, you see, and so on; and then again, I fancy he’s consumptive, though I wouldn’t like to say a word to him, lest it should cast him down, poor young man; but he reads too much, in my opinion, a great deal too much; he’s never without a book in his hands when he’s in doors; and that’s not wholesome38, you are sure, to be sitting so many hours in one posture39, and with his eyes fixed in one place. But God knows best what’s good for us all; and I often wonder whether he has a mother. I should be sorely uneasy on his account, if I were her.” So the good dame ran on, while she cooked me a mutton chop and took an account of what tea and sugar and such things she must send for by the postman, who was their daily carrier to the town. I listened to her talk, and looked at the pot of balm of[506] Gilead, and the red and white balsams standing in the cottage window, and the large sleek40 and well-fed tabby cat sleeping on the cushion of the old man’s chair, and was sure that I was in good hands, and grew quite fond of my quarters. Before the day was over, I became acquainted with the old shrimper, who came in after his journey to the next town with his shrimps, and who was as picturesque41 an old fellow as you would wish to see, and full of character and anecdotes42 of the wrecks43 and sea accidents on that coast for forty years past. I had been informed all about who were the neighbours inhabiting the other cottages and farms, and had a good inkling of their different characters too. I had walked out to the bank when the tide was up, and round the garden, and actually got into conversation with “the poor young man,” my fellow lodger.
The next morning I was up early, and out to reconnoitre the place and neighbourhood; and this young man having found out that I was also addicted44 to the unwholesome practice of reading books, took at once a great fancy to me, and went with me as guide and cicerone. I found that all the mystery about him was, that he was a youth articled to an attorney in great practice, and had stooped over the desk a little too much, but was soon likely to be as strong and sound as ever, being neither consumptive nor crossed in love, although in love he certainly was. A more simple-hearted, good-natured fellow, it was impossible could exist. He had the most profound admiration45 of all poets and philosophers, and read Goldsmith, Shenstone, and Addison, with a relish46 that one would give a good deal for. As for Sir Walter Scott, and Lord Byron, and Tom Moore, he knew half of their voluminous poetical47 works by heart; mention any fine passage, and he immediately spouted48 you the whole of it; and as for the Waverley Novels, he had evidently devoured49 them entire, and was full of their wonders and characters. Yet, thus fond of poetry and romance, it was not the less true that he had a fancy for mathematics, and played on the fiddle51 and the flute52 into the bargain. Nor was this all the extent of his tastes, he had quite a penchant53 for natural history; had he time, he declared he would study botany, ornithology54, geology, and conchology too; and yet, although such a book-worm himself, he seemed to enjoy the company of[507] the other visiters there who never read at all. There was a whole troop that he made acquaintance with, and whose characters he sketched55 to me, particularly those of a merry set who lodged56 at a cottage opposite, where he often went to amuse them with his fiddle. As my business was to see what were the characters and the amusements of such a place, I desired him to introduce me to them, but in the first place to let us run a little over the country.
The country was rich and flat, divided into great meadows full of luxuriant grass, grazed by herds57 of fine cattle, and surrounded by noble trees, which served to break up the monotony of the landscape. Here and there you saw the tall, square, substantial tower of a village church peeping over its surrounding screen of noble elms. We were accustomed to stroll into these churchyards, admiring the singularly large and excellent churches, all of solid stone; the spacious58 graveyard59 and the large heavy headstones, adorned60 with carved skulls61 and cross-bones; and gilded62 angels with long trumpets63 figured above the simple epitaphs of the departed villagers. The farm-houses, too, surrounded also with tall elms, and with a great air of wealth and comfort, drew our attention. As we approached nearer to the sea, the country was more destitute64 of wood; consisted of very large fields of corn, then beginning to change into the rich hues65 of ripeness; fields also of woad, a plant used in dyeing, and there extensively cultivated; and these fields intersected no longer by hedges, but by deep wide ditches called dykes66, in which grew plenty of reeds, water-flags, a tall and splendid species of marsh67 ranunculus (R. lingua) and yellow and white water-lilies. As we drew near to the village, if village such scattered dwellings68 could be called, we were struck with the peculiar70 aspect of the dry lanes, and the plants which grew there, so different to those of an inland neighbourhood. They were exactly such as Crabbe has described them in such a situation:—
There, fed by food they love, to rankest size,
Here the strong mallow strikes her slimy root;
Here the dull nightshade hangs her deadly fruit;
On hills of dust the henbane’s faded green,
With fruit globose and fierce with poisoned stings.[508]
Above, the growth of many a year, is spread
The yellow level of the stonecrop’s bed;
In every chink delights the fern to grow,
The great embankment secured all this from the invasion of the sea, and, winding76 along the flat sands, formed a delightful77 walk when the tide was roaring up against it. Here also the male portion of the visiters came to bathe; and, when the tide was up, nothing could be more delicious. They could undress on the sunny sward of the mound78 at whatever distance from the others they pleased, for there were many miles of the bank; and the waves dashing gently against the grassy79 slope, received them on a secure and smooth sand, at a depth sufficient to allow them either to wade80 or swim. They generally, however, undressed near enough to swim or wade in company, and to splash one another and play all manner of practical jokes.
When the tide was out, from this bank you had a view of a great extent of level sands, monotonous81 enough in themselves, but animated82 by the view of vessels84 in full sail passing along the Channel to or from the neighbouring port, and by the flight and cries of the sea-birds. Along these sands we ranged every day to a great distance, collecting shells, leaping the narrow channels of salt water left in the hollows, shooting gulls85, watching the shrimps that were floating in the tide, and amusing ourselves with the crabs86, which, left in the holes in the strand87, were running sideways here and there in great trepidation88, yet never so much alarmed as not to be ready to seize and devour50 those of their own species that were less in personal bulk and prowess than themselves. Then, again, we found a good deal of employment in botanising amongst the patches of sea-wilderness, which were not so often submersed by the tide as to destroy the vegetation altogether, or to produce only fucus and other sea-weeds. The rest-harrow, the eringo with its cerulean leaves, the stag’s horn plantain, the glasswort or common (not the true) samphire—these and many others had all an interest for us. In one place we found the sea-convolvulus blowing in its rich and prodigal89 beauty on the sands; and then we came to wild hills of sand thrown up by the billows of ages, a whole region of desolation, overgrown with the[509] sea-wheat, and the tall yellow stems and umbels of the wild celery.
Such was the scenery; the people of the cottages were generally fishermen, with their families; and the visiters, farmers and persons of that class, often with their families. At the house opposite us, as I have said, was the merriest crew. My friend the young lawyer was in the habit of running in and out amongst them as he pleased. He proposed that we should go and dine with them, as they had a sort of ordinary table, where you could dine at a fixed and very moderate charge, as all charges indeed were there. Here we found about a dozen people. One, who appeared and proved an old gentleman-farmer, a Mr. Milly, always took the head of the table; and a merrier mortal could not have been there, except he who occupied the other end, a fellow of infinite jest, like Sir John Falstaff, and to the full as corpulent. Who and what he was, I know not, save that he was a most fat and merry fellow, and went by the name of Sir John between the young lawyer, whom I shall call Wilson, and myself. This joyous90 old gentleman had his wife and son and daughter with him. The son was a young man as fond of a practical joke as his father was of a verbal one; nay91, he was not short of a verbal one too, on occasions. He was of a remarkably92 dark-brown complexion93, and on some one asking him how he came to be so dark, when the rest of his family were fair, he at once replied, “Oh, can’t you fancy how that was? It happened when I was a child in the cradle. I got turned on my face, and had like to have been smothered94. I got so black in the face, I have never recovered my colour again. My mother can tell you all about it—can’t you mother?” At this repartee95, all the company laughed heartily96, and truly it was a company that could laugh heartily. They had merry hearts. Then there was a good worthy97 farmer of the real old school. I was near saying that John Farn was old, but, in fact, he was not more than five-and-thirty, but his gravity gave him an appearance of something like age. He was dressed in a suit of drab, with an ample coat of the good old farmerly cut, and jack-boots like a trooper. But John Farn had a deal of sober sound sense, and a mind that, had it been called out, would have been found noble. I became very fond of John. The rest were young farmers and tradesmen,[510] full of youth and life. They had brought their horses with them, and some of them gigs, and were fond of all mounting and scouring98 away on the shore for miles together.
The great business, indeed, was to bathe, and eat and drink, and ride or walk, and play at quoits or bowls. If the tide was up early in the morning, all would be up and out, and have their dip before breakfast. Then they would come back hungry as hunters, and devour their coffee, beef, and broiled99 ham, and shrimps fresh from the cauldron, and then out, some to ride round to have a look at the neighbouring farms, or on the shore to see the fishing smacks100 go out or come in. Others got to quoits or bowls till dinner; and after a hearty102 meal and a good long chat, they would slowly saunter up to the hotel, and see what company was there, and take a glass and a pipe with some of them, and see the newspaper, and perhaps have a game at bowls there, and then back to tea; after which they grew very social, and called on the other boarders at the cottages near, and strolled out with the ladies to the bank, which was not far off; and so wiled103 the time away till supper. Four meals a-day did they regularly sit down to, and enjoy themselves as much as if they had not eaten for a day or two, praising all the time the wonderful property of sea-air for getting an appetite. As sure as shrimps appeared at breakfast, did soles at supper; and after supper one drew out his bottle of wine, and another got his brandy and water, and all grew merry. Those that liked it took a pipe, and it annoyed nobody. There was plenty of joking and laughter, that it would have done the most fastidious good to hear, and as much wit, and perhaps a good deal more, than where there does not exist the same freedom. More jovial104 evenings I never saw. Wilson gave them a tune105 on his flute, or took his fiddle; they cleared the floor of the largest room, invited some of the neighbouring visiters who had wives or daughters with them, and had a dance. On such evenings Sir John Falstaff sat in the large bay-window of the apartment for coolness, and wiped his brow and sang his merriest songs. His songs were all merry, and he had a host of them: it was a wonder where he had picked them up. His son often joined him, sometimes his wife and daughter too. It was a merry family. Surely never could care have found a way into their house. Not even the[511] young man’s brown complexion could give him a care; it only furnished him with a joke, and made laughter contagious106. Never could the old man have been so fat, had care been able to lay hold on him. The whole of that huge bulk was a mass of rejoicing. How his eyes did shine and twinkle with delight as he sang! what silent laughter played around his mouth, and stole over his ruddy cheeks, like gleams of pleasantest lightning of a summer’s night, as he lifted his glass to his head, and listened to some one else! But, alas107! all his mirth was well-nigh closed one day. He was tempted108 by the fineness of the weather into the tide, contrary to his wont109, and his doctor’s order. Some one suddenly missed him; all looked round: at a distance something like a buoy110 was seen floating; it was Sir John; his fat floated; his head had gone down like a stone; they just pulled him up time enough to save him, but he was blacker in the face than ever his son had been in the cradle, and got a fright that spoiled all his mirth for some days.
But there was a ball at the hotel, and every body was off to it; all except Wilson, who was not well, and myself, who stayed to keep him company. Even grave John Farn, in his drab suit and jackboots, would go. Who would have thought that there was such a taste for pleasure in John Farn? John Farn was very fond of hearing Wilson and myself talk of books. He would come to our cottage, and sit and listen for hours to our conversation, or take up some of our books himself, and read. I perceived that there was an appetite for knowledge in him that had never been called out, because it had had nothing to feed on; but it was clear that it would soon, if it was in the way of aliment and excitement, become fearfully voracious111. When he found the name of Dryden in a volume, he declared that he was born in the same parish. He put the book into his pocket, and was missed all that day. Somebody, by chance, saw him issue out of a great reed bed towards evening; he had read the volume through, and declared that he should think ten times better of his parish now for having produced such a man. Who would have thought that John Farn, the Northamptonshire farmer and grazier, and who had lived all his life amongst bullocks, and whose whole talk was of them, would have fastened thus suddenly on a volume of Dryden’s poems? But John used to accompany[512] Wilson and myself, botanising along the shore and the inland dykes; and it was curious to see with what a grave enthusiasm he would climb in his great jack-boots over the roughest fences; how he would leap across those wide dykes; how he would splash through the salt-water pools and streams to tear up a flower or a sea-weed that he wanted; and with what an earnest eye he would look and listen as we mentioned its name, and pointed112 out its class in the volume, or related its uses! There was an undiscovered world, and a great one, in the soul of that John Farn.
The more I saw of that man, the more I liked him. The stores of yet unstirred life, both of intellect and feeling in his frame, became every day more strongly apparent. He would sit with us on the sea-bank for hours watching the tide come up, or watching its play and the play of light and shadow over it when at flood, and drink down greedily all that was said of this or other countries, all that had in it knowledge of any kind. His whole body seemed full of the joyous excitement of a youth that in years should have passed over him, but was yet unspent, and was now only found. He rose up one day and said, “Let us hire a ship, and sail out to some other country.” At the moment we laughed at the idea, but John Farn persisted with the utmost gravity in his proposal, and eventually we did hire a smack101 and sailed across to Norfolk. We visited Lynn; walked over the grounds of the school where Eugene Aram was an usher113 when he was taken for the murder; and nothing but the threatening of the weather would have prevented us crossing over to the Continent. As it was, it was delightful to see the childlike enjoyment with which that grave man saw the breezy expanse of ocean, the fiery colour of its waters as the vessel83 cut through them in the night, the seals that lay on a mid-sea rock as we sailed along, and the birds of ocean screaming and plunging114 in its billows.
There was a legion of things in the bosom115 of John Farn that he knew nothing of all the years that he had been buying and selling cattle, but were now all bursting to the light with a startling vigour116. I wonder whether they have since troubled him, like blind giants groping their way to the face of heaven, or whether, amid his cattle and his quiet fields, they have collapsed117 again into dim and unconscious dreams; but the last action which I witnessed in him, made[513] me sure that his moral feeling was as noble as I suspected his intellectual strength to be great.
There was a robbery at Uriah Sparey’s. Money and other articles were missed from the packages of the guests. The suspicion fell on a servant girl. Great was the stir, the inquiry118, and the indignation. Mrs. Uriah Sparey was vehement119 in her wrath120. She insisted that the affair should not be talked of lest it should bring discredit121 on her house; but to satisfy her guests, she would turn the girl out of it that instant. The girl with tears protested her innocence122, but in vain. When she came to open her own box, she declared that she was robbed too. Her wages, and the money given her by visiters, were all gone. Mrs. Sparey exclaimed, that “never did she see such an instance of guilty art as this! The girl to remove from herself the charge of theft, to pretend that she herself was robbed!”
If the girl was guilty, she most admirably affected123 innocence; if she was of a thievish nature, never did nature so defend vice124 under the fair shield of virtuous125 lineaments. All saw and felt this; all had been much pleased with the appearance and behaviour of the girl. Her vows126 of innocence were now most natural; her tears fell with all the hot vehemence127 of wronged truth; she earnestly implored128 that every search and every inquiry should be made, that she might at least regain129 her character; her money she cared little for. But Mrs. Uriah Sparey only exclaimed, “Minx! get out of my house! I see what you want; you want to fix the theft upon me!” All started at that singular exclamation130, and fixed their eyes on Mrs. Sparey; she coloured; but no one spoke131. The girl stood weeping by the door. Then said John Earn, “Go home, my girl, go home, and let thy father and mother see into the matter for thee.” At these words, the girl, whose tears were before flowing fast but freely, burst into a sudden paroxysm of sobs132 and cries, and wrung133 her hands in agony. “What is the matter?” asked John Farn; “has the poor girl no parents?” “Yes, yes!” she exclaimed, suddenly looking at him, and the tears stopping as if choked in their bed; “but how can I go to them with the name of a thief?” The colour passed from her face, and she laid hold on a chair to save herself from falling. “Mary!” said John Farn, “I will not say who is the thief; but this I say, I will hire thee for a[514] year and a day, and there is a guinea for earnest, and another to pay thy coach fare down. Be at my house in a fortnight, and till then go and see thy mother. Let them call thee thief that dare!” With that he rose up, gave Mary his address, paid his bill to Mrs. Sparey, and marched out of the house with his little round portmanteau under his arm. We all hurried out after him, gave him by turns a hearty rattling134 shake of the hand as he was about to mount his horse; and that was the last I saw of John Farn. I know no more of him, yet would I, at a venture, rather take the heart of that man, though compelled to take the long drab coat and the jack-boots with it, than that of many a lord with his robes of state, and all his lands and tenements135 besides.
Such were a few days and their real incidents passed by me at a Rural Watering-place some years ago.
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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inoculated
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| v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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celebrated
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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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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obstreperous
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| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
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enjoyment
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possessed
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bounteous
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situated
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imbibing
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| v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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colloquies
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| n.谈话，对话( colloquy的名词复数 ) | |
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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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inviting
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abode
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tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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23
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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29
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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32
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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33
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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34
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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35
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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36
shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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37
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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38
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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39
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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40
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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41
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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42
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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43
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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44
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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45
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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46
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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47
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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48
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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49
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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50
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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51
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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52
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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53
penchant
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| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
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54
ornithology
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| n.鸟类学 | |
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55
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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56
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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57
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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58
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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59
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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60
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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61
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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62
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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63
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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64
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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65
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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66
dykes
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| abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 )；坝；堰；沟 | |
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67
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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68
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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69
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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70
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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71
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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72
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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73
nettle
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| n.荨麻；v.烦忧，激恼 | |
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74
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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75
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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76
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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77
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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78
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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79
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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80
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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81
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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82
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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83
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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84
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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85
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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86
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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87
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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88
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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89
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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90
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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91
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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92
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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93
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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94
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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95
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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96
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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97
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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98
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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99
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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100
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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101
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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102
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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103
wiled
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| v.引诱( wile的过去式和过去分词 )；诱惑；消遣；消磨 | |
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104
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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105
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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106
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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107
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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108
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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109
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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110
buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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111
voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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112
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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113
usher
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| 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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114
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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115
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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116
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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117
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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118
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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119
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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120
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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121
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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122
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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123
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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124
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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125
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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126
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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127
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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128
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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130
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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131
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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132
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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133
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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134
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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135
tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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