In my last chapter I gave a general view of the present rural sports and pastimes of the peasantry—perhaps as it regards wrestling, more prominently than some readers might think judicious1. But what is prominent in the country life of any part of England, it is my bounden duty to set before my readers; and there is no feature of English life more remarkable2 than the sanguine3 attachment4 of the people of some particular parts to particular sports; more especially where those sports have relaxed their ancient hold on the people in all other districts, or have refused to be engrafted on other districts; as golf continues to be one of the prime sports of Scotland, but will not travel across the Tweed. Let us now, before closing the department of this work appropriated to the peasantry, notice some characteristic features, which I think must strongly interest us all.
After all, the happiness of a people is not found in their amusements. Amusements may indicate, in a certain degree, that a people is happy; but real happiness is a thing of a more domestic nature. It is a Lar, and belongs to the household, or is to be found in the quiet and enclosed precincts of home gardens. A great portion of the happiness of the common people is therefore little perceived, for it is unobtrusive; and consists in following out those peculiar5 biases6 and penchants, which in higher personages are termed genius. The genius of the working classes, which[542] from its deriving8 little help from science, or field of exercise from circumstance, is seldom admitted to be genius at all, still exhibits itself in a variety of ways, and contributes at once to their prosperity, their happiness, and to the stamping of individual character. A great deal of it is necessarily exerted in their particular trades, and produces all that is beautiful and exquisite9 in handicraft arts. That which gives an artisan eminence10 in the workshop of his master, would probably have produced specimens11 of art that would have claimed the admiration12 of the whole community. Those glorious specimens of architectural perfection which adorn13 our chief cathedrals, the work of the middle ages, are the evidences of masonic skill, which in this age might probably have been employed on our plainer structures, or in building steam-engines, or elaborating some piece of plate, or carving14 the handles of parasols. Circumstance has much to do in the decision of the fate of all genius and ingenuity15. It is a striking fact, that the greater number of artisans who eminently16 excel in their own line, partake largely of the temperament17 and foibles of genius. They are often irregular in their application to business, fond of company and of its excitements; so that nothing is so common as to say, that man is an inimitable workman, but that he will not work half his time, and is too fond of the public-house, where he draws a circle of admirers around him. But when a man is at once skilful18, steady, and enthusiastic in his art,—that man is a happy man. His mind has a constant subject of reflection, of exercise, of satisfaction, before it. He sees with pride the workmanship of his hands, and enjoys with as much inward delight the reputation and applause it brings him, as does a poet, a philosopher, or a conqueror19 the fame of their respective works.
But, in many others, the peculiar instinct shews itself in some other pursuit than their trade. It does not happen to them to have fallen upon that profession which would have called forth20 the slumbering21 spirit, and when it wakes it shews itself in some other form. These men are said to have their HOBBY. They have a favourite scheme, or occupation, which shares their attention with their trade, and often supersedes22 it. Crabbe, that close observer of whatever passed in this grade of life, has well described these propensities23. If they shew themselves in a man’s own trade:
[543]
Then to the wealthy you will see denied
There are who labour through the year, and yet
No more have gained than—not to be in debt;
Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source;
And health, amusement, children, wife, or friend,
With life’s dull views their consolations26 blend.
Some favourite studies, some delightful29 care
The mind with trouble and distresses30 share;
And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat,
They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,
Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew.
Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see
Each grew alert, was busy, and was blest.
Whether the call-bird yield the hours delight,
Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize
The gentle mind, they rule it, and they please.
Yes, it is in these and many other occupations, dictated35 by individual organization, or taste, that numbers of the working class find a world of happiness. Some are amateurs of one kind, some of another; some are rearers of fancy pigeons, some of fancy dogs; others are enthusiasts36 in music, singing, bell-ringing, and make a noise in the world from belfries, organ-lofts, orchestras, at harmonic meetings, and in rural festivals. Some spend a whole life in seeking the perpetual motion; some in devising improvements in steam-engines, and other machines. Whether they deal with realities, or with chimeras37, as too often they do, the busy spirit of humanity will be at work in the breasts of the operative class. In the country it assumes many a shape that is beautiful, and others that are picturesque38. Some are incorrigible39 poachers, from the love of the pursuit of wild creatures, of strolling about in solitary40 glens and woods, of night-watching, and adventure. Others have an inextinguishable love of a gun,—these men all their lives are[544] noted41 for this propensity42. They have a certain keeper-like appearance. They affect fustian43 or velveteen jackets, with wide skirts, and huge pockets; gaiters, and strong shoes. They have a lounging, yet unauthorized air, which betrays them to be not the true men of office. They have always some excuse for carrying a gun; they are stuffers of curious birds and animals; or they procure44 them for one who is; and it is alike amazing how they escape the penalties of the law for trespasses45 and destruction of game, and yet bring home such owls46, squirrels, herons, sea-birds, curlews, plovers47, martins, and fillimarts, shrikes, waxen-chatterers, and foxes, and young fawns48, as are not to be obtained except by a traversing, daily and nightly, of parks, preserves, woods, and chases, as must be perilous49, and, indeed, impracticable to any other men. Noblemen and gentlemen generally find it desirable in the end, to instal this particular variety of the human species in all the honours and freedom of keepership. Happy is the man of this stamp who reaches America. That is the land for him! A land of woods, of herds50 of deer, and turkeys, of bears and buffaloes51. There he may roam the paradise of back settlements, and satiate his soul with hunting and shooting; with lying in wait, and with wild adventure, without fear of game-laws, and the obstructions52 of monopoly.
Others, again, have an indomitable passion for hunting otters53, badgers54, polecats, rats, hedgehogs, and similar tenants56 of out-of-the-way dales, river-sides, thickets57 and plantations58; and have perpetually at their heels, terriers of every kind, spaniels, and lurchers. These are generally well entitled to be classed under the head of ragamuffins; and are generally more than half poachers, being as ready to snap up a leveret, rabbit, or young wild duck, as they are to destroy a stoat. But the passion for their peculiar fancy is inextinguishable, and not to be put out by a whole bench of magistrates59, or a voyage to New South Wales, for there the dogs would instinctively60 muster61 at their heels, and they would be after the kangaroos at the very first opportunity.
A congener of these, and yet of a somewhat more civilized63 grade, is the bird-catcher and trainer. Beware of your nightingales that come in April from some sunny land, and shew you the preference of settling for the season in your shrubbery, or coppice. If this man be your neighbour, the glorious song of midnight will[545] soon experience a mysterious hush64. You hear it, and proclaim the news to your family. By day you catch its not-to-be-mistaken notes amongst the budding trees, as you pass in and out of your grounds. “There is the very same bird come to its favourite spot,” you say, to delight your wife, or sister, or children, who clap their hands, and run to carry the news into the housekeeper’s room. “There is the fine old nightingale again in the shrubbery!” At evening on are put bonnets65 and hats, shawls and cloaks, and forth sallies the happy domestic group. The air is chill, for it is but April; yet the moon is rising in her sweet pensiveness66, and the freshness of the air and the budding boughs67 are about you. Down the narrow path you go, where the primroses68 gleam faintly from amongst the mossy stems of the shrubbery trees. Past the rustic69 summer-house you go, down by the close turf of the shadowy lawn—near to the brook70, that flows so subduedly in its singing murmurs71 that it cannot drown a single bird-note. You have reached the little wooden bridge—and hark!—it is there sure enough! Yes, to-night, and the next, and perhaps the next, it is there,—and then it is gone. You wonder why. Can it have deserted72 its favourite haunt? Can it be the stormy weather? The east wind must have silenced it? No! it is moping in the cage of that villanous bird-catcher, who is intending to aggravate73 his crime of kidnapping this prince of air-minstrels, by fetching the blackbird which sings on the top of your ash, and the thrush that flings back his notes from the distant elm. Beware of your woodlarks, and your bullfinches, if this man be your neighbour. He has an ear which recognises in a moment the master singer, and he has a dozen arts to put in practice against his liberty. In his little house is a collection of prisoners that would make any reasonable person’s heart ache. He has blackbirds that are studying artificial tunes,—marches and waltzes—how much more apt one would think them to learn dirges74 and laments75! But he has even poor Robin76 Redbreast put to school under the nightingale—bullfinches that are blinded, and then made to listen in doleful obedience77 to his flute78 or pipe. They are to be piping bullfinches of great note and value. But let us leave the melodious79 melancholy80 of his prison-house, and when we have lightened our hearts in the open air, we may muster up charity enough to do the man justice. He has, after all, no[546] lack of kindness in his heart. He takes them captive as the Christians82 take negroes—to civilize62 them, and make them happier! His soul is in all that he does. I one day met an old man and woman in a wood. As I drew near them I heard a strange chirping83 of young birds. It was a fine summer evening. “How is this,” I said; “it is time for the birds to be at roost, and yet I hear young ones chirping?” “0!” said the old man—“here they are;” opening his basket, and shewing a nest full of young canaries. “It was a fine evening,” said he, “and I and my old woman thought a walk would do us good, and we thought it would do the birds good too.”
The delights of angling seize upon another class. People that have not been inoculated84 with the true spirit, may wonder at the infatuation of anglers—but true anglers leave them very contentedly85 to their wondering, and follow their diversion with a keen delight. Many old men there are of this class, that have in them a world of science,— not science of the book, or of regular tuition, but the science of actual experience. Science that lives, and will die with them; except it be dropped out piecemeal86, and with the gravity becoming its importance, to some young neophyte87, who has won their good graces by his devotion to their beloved craft. All the mysteries of times and seasons, of baits, flies of every shape and hue88; worms, gentles, beetles89, compositions, or substances found by proof to possess singular charms. These are a possession which they hold with pride, and do not hold in vain. After a close day in the shop or factory, what a luxury is a fine summer evening to one of these men, following some rapid stream, or seated on a green bank, deep in grass and flowers, pulling out the spotted90 trout91, or resolutely92, but subtilely, bringing some huge pike or fair grayling from his lurking93 place beneath the broad stump94 and spreading boughs of the alder95. Or a day, a summer’s day, to such a man, by the Dove, or the Wye, amid the pleasant Derbyshire hills; by Yorkshire or Northumbrian stream; by Trent or Tweed; or the banks of Yarrow; by Teith, or Leven, with the glorious hills and heaths of Scotland round him! Why, such a day to such a man, has in it a life and spirit of enjoyment96 to which the feelings of cities and palaces are dim. The heart of such a man,—the power and passion of deep felicity that come breathing from mountains and[547] moorlands; from clouds that sail above, and storms blustering97 and growling98 in the wind; from all the mighty99 magnificence, the solitude100 and antiquity101 of nature upon him—Ebenezer Elliott only can unfold. The weight of the poor man’s life—the cares of poverty—the striving of huge cities, visit him as he sits by the beautiful stream—beautiful as a dream of eternity102, and translucent103 as the everlasting104 canopy105 of heaven above him;—they come—but he casts them off for the time, with the power of one who feels himself strong in the kindred spirit of all things around; strong in knowledge that he is a man; an immortal—a child and pupil in the world-school of the Almighty106. For that day he is more than a king—he has the heart of humanity and the faith and spirit of a saint. It is not the rod and line that floats before him—it is not the flowing water, or the captured prey107, that he perceives in those moments of admission to the heart of nature, so much as the law of the testimony108 of love and goodness written on every thing around him with the pencil of Divine beauty. He is no longer the wearied and oppressed—the trodden and despised—walking in thread-bare garments, amid men who scarcely deign109 to look upon him as a brother man,—but he is reassured110 and recognised to himself in his own soul as one of those puzzling, aspiring111 and mysterious existences for whom all this splendid world was built, and for whom eternity opens its expecting gates. These are magnificent speculations112 for a poor angling weaver113 or carpenter; but Ebenezer Elliott can tell us, that they are his legitimate114 thoughts when he can break for an instant the bonds of this toiling115 age, and escape to the open fields. Let us leave him dipping his line into the waters of refreshing116 thought, and return to the cottage garden. There we shall see another form of that beneficently varied117 taste which adds so much to the poor man’s pleasures.
We may look into many a cottage garden, and find it a little world of beauty and pleasant cares. Here one poor man is a lover of bees. He has stored his little sheltered garden with all sorts of flowers that bees love, or that come out early in the year for them. On the sunny side of his little domain118 you see his rustic shed with its row of hives; all neatly119 thatched, and all sending out their busy stream of honey-gatherers. There is no man of any reflection but must feel what a source of enjoyment that row of hives has[548] been. What cares and contrivances have contributed to extend that row from the solitary swarm120, purchased perhaps in the days of deeper poverty than now presses upon him. What summer-noon watchings there have been for the flight of new swarms121; what hurry and ringing of pans and fire-shovels to charm them down; what recapturings and bringing back to the ancient bench to form a new family in the little bee-state.
There is one circumstance, however, connected with the keeping of bees, which spoils the poetry of it; and that is the brimstone pit of destruction that awaits them. But there is many a poor man that loves his bees with a strong affection, and loathes122 to do them that grievous wrong. He levies123 tribute, but does not destroy. I once saw a fine instance of this feeling. A poor man, a lover and keeper of bees, heard by chance that a swarm had taken up their abode124 in the roof of Caverswall Nunnery in Staffordshire; and that the abbess was intending to have them destroyed. His residence was at a distance of seven miles from the Abbey, but he instantly put his favourite volume of “Huber on Bees” in his pocket, and set out. Here, being admitted to the presence of the abbess, he told his errand, and begged that she would not commit so barbarous and inhospitable an act,—that providence125 seemed to have directed those wonderful little creatures thither126 as it were, for the certainty of protection from the hearts of Christian81 ladies. At least he begged that she would read that book before she put her threat into execution. He soon afterwards came to me with a face of great delight, saying—“The abbess has read Huber, and she won’t destroy the bees!”
Many cottagers, again, are most zealous127 and successful florists128.[29] This is a taste full of beauty, and possessing a high charm. To select rich and suitable soils; to sow and plant; to nurse and shade, and water; to watch the growth and expansion of flowers of great promise;—it is sufficient for the enjoyment of one spirit.[549] The number of flowers now cultivated by florists is much increased to what it was. They had only the polyanthus, auricula, hyacinth, carnation130, tulip, and ranunculus; but the splendid dahlia, and the pansy now engross131 much of their attention and admiration. Others, again, are collectors and admirers of insects; and as education extends, natural history will, no doubt, receive many zealous adherents132 from the operative ranks. Crabbe has described both these tastes as united in one man.
There is my friend, the weaver; strong desires
Eager he looks; and soon to his glad eyes,
Bright troops of virgin-moths, and new-born butterflies;
Who broke that morning from their half-year’s sleep,
Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims,
The purple Emperor, strong in wing and limbs:
Adonis blue, and Paphia, silver queen:
And hungry Sphynx, who threads the honeyed flower;
Views every bell, and hums the approving sound:
She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice.
His is untaxed, and undisputed game;
Nor less the place of curious plants he knows;
For him is blooming in its rich array,
The glorious flower which bore the palm away.
In vain a rival tried his utmost art,
His was the prize, and joy o’erflowed his heart.
“This, this is beauty! cast, I pray, your eyes
On this my glory! see the grace—the size!
Exact in breadth, in just proportion long;
This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing,
A king of flowers, a flower for England’s king!”
[29] So successful that they were amongst the first to raise fine flowers before floral societies and flower-shows were in existence; and the names of some of these village florists are attached to some of the finest specimens, Hufton, Barker, and Redgate, appellations150 which some of our finest carnations151, polyanthuses, and ranunculuses bear, are those of old Derbyshire villagers, well known to me, who scarcely ever were out of their own rustic districts, but whose names are thus made familiar all the country over.
[550]
Lastly, the general pleasures of a garden form a grand item in the enjoyments152 of the poor man. To shew what these pleasures are, to what an extent they are enjoyed in some districts, even by town mechanics, and how much further they may be extended, I shall quote a portion of a paper published by me in November 1835, in Tait’s Magazine.
There are, in the outskirts153 of Nottingham, upwards154 of 5000 gardens, the bulk of which are occupied by the working class. A good many there are belonging to the substantial tradesmen and wealthier inhabitants; but the great mass are those of the mechanics. These lie on various sides of the town, in expanses of many acres in a place, and many of them as much as a mile and a half distant from the centre of the town. In the winter they have rather a desolate155 aspect, with their naked trees and hedges, and all their little summer-houses exposed, damp-looking, and forlorn; but, in spring and summer, they look exceedingly well,—in spring all starred with blossoms, all thick with leaves; and their summer-houses peeping pleasantly from among them. The advantage of these gardens to the working-class of a great manufacturing town, is beyond calculation; and I believe no town in the kingdom has so many of them in proportion to its population. It were to be desired that the example of the Nottingham artisans was imitated by those of other great towns; or rather that the taste for them was encouraged, and, in fact, created by the example of the middle classes, and by patriotic156 persons laying out fields for this purpose, and letting them at a reasonable rate. A wide difference in the capability157 of indulging in this healthful species of recreation, must of course, depend on the species of manufacture carried on. Where steam-engines abound, and are at the foundation of all the labours of a place, as in Manchester, for instance, there you will find few gardens in the possession of the mechanics. The steam-engine is a never-resting, unweariable, unpersuadable giant and despot; and will go on thumping158 and setting thousands of wheels and spindles in motion; and men must stand, as it were, the slaves of its unsleeping energies. O! what was the fate of the ancient genii to the fate of our modern mechanics! What was the fate of “the slaves of the lamp,” or the slaves of talismanic159 ring, to that of the slaves of the steam-engine! They could vanish and lie at rest till[551] came the irresistible160 call; they could sport over ocean and desert, through the air and the clouds; they could speed into the depths of space and wander amid the inconceivable mysteries and miracles of unknown worlds, till the omnipotent161 spell recalled them to execute some temporary wish of their tyrant162, and then return to a wide liberty. But the slave of the steam-engine must be at the beck of his tyrant night or day, with only such intervals163 as barely suffice to restore his wearied strength and faculties:—therefore you shall not see gardens flourish and summer-houses rise in the vicinity of this hurrying and tremendous power. But where it is not, or but partially164 predominates, there may the mechanic enjoy the real pleasures of a garden. And how many are those pleasures!
Early in spring—as soon, in fact, as the days begin to lengthen165 and the shrewd air to dry up the wintry moisture—you see them getting into their gardens, clearing away the dead stalks of last year’s growth, and digging up the soil; but especially on fine days in February and March are they busy. Trees are pruned166, beds are dug, walks cleaned, and all the refuse and decayed vegetation piled up in heaps; and the smoke of the fires in which it is burnt, rolling up from many a garden, and sending its pungent167 odour to meet you afar off. It is pleasant to see, as the season advances, how busy their occupants become; bustling168 there with their basses169 in their hands and their tools on their shoulders; wheeling in manure171; and clearing out their summer-houses; and what an air of daily-increasing neatness they assume, till they are one wide expanse of blossomed fruit-trees and flowering fragrance172. Every garden has its summer-house; and these are of all scales and grades, from the erection of a few tub-staves, with an attempt to train a pumpkin173 or a wild-hop over it, to substantial brick houses with glass windows, good cellars for a deposit of choice wines, a kitchen, and all necessary apparatus174, and a good pump to supply them with water. Many are very picturesque rustic huts, built with great taste, and hidden by tall hedges in a perfect little paradise of lawn and shrubbery—most delightful spots to go and read in of a summer day, or to take a dinner or tea in with a pleasant party of friends. Some of these places which belong to the substantial tradespeople have cost their occupiers from one to five hundred pounds, and the pleasure they take in them may be thence imagined; but[552] many of the mechanics have very excellent summer-houses, and there they delight to go, and smoke a solitary pipe, as they look over the smiling face of their garden, or take a quiet stroll amongst their flowers: or to take a pipe with a friend; or to spend a Sunday afternoon, or a summer evening, with their families. The amount of enjoyment which these gardens afford to a great number of families is not easily to be calculated—and then the health and the improved taste! You meet them coming home, having been busy for hours in the freshness of the summer morning in them, and now are carrying home a bass170 brimful of vegetables for the house. In the evening thitherward you see groups and families going; the key which admits to the common paths that lead between them is produced; a door is opened and closed; and you feel that they are vanished into a pure and sacred retirement175, such as the mechanic of a large town could not possess without these suburban176 gardens. And then to think of the alehouse, the drinking, noisy, politics-bawling alehouse, where a great many of these very men would most probably be, if they had not this attraction,—to think of this, and then to see the variety of sources of a beautiful and healthful interest which they create for themselves here:—what a contrast!—what a most gratifying contrast! There are the worthy177 couple, sitting in the open summer-house of one garden, quietly enjoying themselves, and watching their children romping178 on the grass-plot, or playing about the walks; in another, a social group of friends round the tea-table, or enjoying the reward of all their spring labours, picking strawberries fresh from the bed, or raspberries, gooseberries, and currants from the bush. In one you find a grower of fine apples, pears, or plums, or of large gooseberries; in another, a florist129, with his show of tulips, ranunculuses, hyacinths, carnations, or other choice flowers, that claim all his leisure moments, and are a source of a thousand cares and interests. And of these cares and interests, the neat awning179 of white canvass180, raised on its light frame of wood; the glasses, and screens of board and matting, to defend those precious objects from every rude attack of sun, wind, or rain—all these are sufficient testimonies181; and tell of hours early and late, in the dawn of morning and the dusk of evening, when the happy man has been entranced in his zealous labours, and absorbed in a thousand delicious fancies,[553] and speculations of perfection. Of late, the splendid dahlia and the pansy have become objects of attention; and I believe of the latter flower, till recently despised and overlooked, except in the old English cottage-garden, there are now more than a hundred varieties, of such brilliance182 and richness of hue, and many of them of such superb expanse of corolla, as merit all the value set upon them.
This is the allotment system of the manufacturing town; to the full as desirable as that for the country, and which may be facilitated, fraught183 as it is with abundant physical and moral good, by philanthropic individuals to a great extent. At Nottingham, as I have observed, the taste seems to have grown up originally of itself, and then, exciting the attention of speculators, has been extended to its present growth by them. The mechanics there have not their gardens at a cheap rate. They all say that they could purchase their vegetables in the market for the amount of their rent and incidental expenses; but then, they get the health and the enjoyment, and their fruit and vegetables they get so fresh.
There are, according to a personal examination made by myself, now, upwards of 5000 of these gardens, containing, as single gardens, 400 square yards each,—the general scale of a garden; though a good many are held as double, and even treble gardens. These let at from a halfpenny to three halfpence per yard; but averaged at three farthings, make a rental184 of 1l. 5s. per garden, or a total of 6250l. Five thousand gardens of 400 yards each of clear garden ground, independent of fences and roads, give 413 acres and about a rood. Now, if we add one-fifth for fences and roads, the total quantity of land occupied is 496 acres, or we may say, in round numbers, 500 acres. Here then, 500 acres, which at fifty shillings an acre—a good rent for ordinary purposes, would yield a rent of 1250l.; yield, by being converted into gardens, a rent of 6250l., or a clear profit of 5000l.
Thus, it is evident, that any persons willing to promote the taste for gardening in the neighbourhood of towns, might double, in many instances, the ordinary rent of the land, and yet let it in gardens at half the price of these Nottingham ones. Even where land in the vicinity of a large town is very highly rented, a halfpenny a yard, and ten gardens to the acre, fences and roads included,[554] would produce 8l. 6s. 8d. per acre; no contemptible185 sum; to say nothing of the real kindness of the accommodation, and the health, pleasure, and pure taste communicated to their fellow men; whilst, against the increased risk of loss, and the increased trouble of the collection of rent, are to be set the value of the garden stock, fruit trees, shrubs186, and flower roots, and the summer-houses, which enhance the value to the next tenant55.
Here I close this chapter, and this department of my work,—the habits and amusements of the people. It is a subject to which I attach no common importance. The people make the majority of our race; and if they are all equally the objects of that divine care which created them, they must be equally the objects of our truest sympathies. This has not hitherto been sufficiently187 considered: but every day that consideration must be forced more and more upon us; and we shall be made to feel that no philosophy is good which does not include the poor in its theory; no religion is sound which does not recognise their kinship; no legislation is wise which does not operate for their physical and intellectual benefit; and no country can be said to be truly prosperous, where the multitude is not respectable, enlightened, moral, and happy.
Let us all endeavour to hasten this period, as a living proof that Christianity is really preached to the poor; and that our knowledge has produced the most felicitous188 of its genuine fruits, in peopling this great nation with a race such as no nation has yet possessed; such as may eat,
Well earned, the bread of service, yet may have
A mounting spirit;—one that entertains
Scorn of base action, deed dishonourable,
Or aught unseemly.
Charles Lamb.
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judicious
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remarkable
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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13
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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14
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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15
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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17
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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18
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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19
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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20
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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21
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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22
supersedes
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| 取代，接替( supersede的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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24
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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25
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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26
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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27
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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28
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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29
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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30
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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31
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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32
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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33
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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34
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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35
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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36
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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37
chimeras
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| n.（由几种动物的各部分构成的）假想的怪兽( chimera的名词复数 )；不可能实现的想法；幻想；妄想 | |
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38
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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39
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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40
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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41
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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42
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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43
fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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44
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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45
trespasses
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| 罪过( trespass的名词复数 )； 非法进入 | |
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46
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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47
plovers
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| n.珩，珩科鸟（如凤头麦鸡）( plover的名词复数 ) | |
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48
fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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49
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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50
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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51
buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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52
obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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53
otters
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| n.（水）獭( otter的名词复数 )；獭皮 | |
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54
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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55
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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56
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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57
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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58
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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59
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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60
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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61
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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62
civilize
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| vt.使文明，使开化 (=civilise) | |
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63
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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64
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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65
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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66
pensiveness
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| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
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67
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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68
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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69
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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70
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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71
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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72
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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73
aggravate
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| vt.加重(剧)，使恶化；激怒，使恼火 | |
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74
dirges
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| n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 )；忧伤的歌，哀歌 | |
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75
laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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77
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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78
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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79
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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80
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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81
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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82
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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83
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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84
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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85
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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86
piecemeal
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|
| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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87
neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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88
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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89
beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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90
spotted
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|
| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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91
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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92
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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93
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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94
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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95
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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96
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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97
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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98
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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99
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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100
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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101
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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102
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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103
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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104
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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105
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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106
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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107
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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108
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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109
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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110
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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111
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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112
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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113
weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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114
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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115
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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116
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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117
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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118
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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119
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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120
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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121
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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122
loathes
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的第三人称单数 )；极不喜欢 | |
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123
levies
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| （部队）征兵( levy的名词复数 )； 募捐； 被征募的军队 | |
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124
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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125
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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126
thither
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|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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127
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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128
florists
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| n.花商，花农，花卉研究者( florist的名词复数 ) | |
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129
florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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130
carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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131
engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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132
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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133
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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134
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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135
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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136
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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137
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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138
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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139
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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140
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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141
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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142
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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143
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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147
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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148
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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149
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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150
appellations
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| n.名称，称号( appellation的名词复数 ) | |
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151
carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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152
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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153
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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154
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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156
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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157
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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158
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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159
talismanic
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| adj.护身符的，避邪的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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166
pruned
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| v.修剪（树木等）( prune的过去式和过去分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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167
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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169
basses
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| 低音歌唱家，低音乐器( bass的名词复数 ) | |
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170
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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171
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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172
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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173
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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174
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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177
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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178
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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179
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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180
canvass
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| v.招徕顾客，兜售；游说；详细检查，讨论 | |
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testimonies
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| （法庭上证人的）证词( testimony的名词复数 )； 证明，证据 | |
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182
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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183
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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184
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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185
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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186
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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187
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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188
felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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