To doe him ease, or doe him remedy:
Many restoratives of vertues rare
Spenser’s Faerie Queens.
Mr. Henry Brierly was exceedingly busy in New York, so he wrote Col. Sellers, but he would drop everything and go to Washington.
The Colonel believed that Harry4 was the prince of lobbyists, a little too sanguine5, may be, and given to speculation6, but, then, he knew everybody; the Columbus River navigation scheme was got through almost entirely7 by his aid. He was needed now to help through another scheme, a benevolent8 scheme in which Col. Sellers, through the Hawkinses, had a deep interest.
“I don’t care, you know,” he wrote to Harry, “so much about the niggroes. But if the government will buy this land, it will set up the Hawkins family—make Laura an heiress—and I shouldn’t wonder if Beriah Sellers would set up his carriage again. Dilworthy looks at it different, of course. He’s all for philanthropy, for benefiting the colored race. There’s old Balsam, was in the Interior—used to be the Rev9. Orson Balsam of Iowa—he’s made the riffle on the Injun; great Injun pacificator and land dealer10. Balaam’a got the Injun to himself, and I suppose that Senator Dilworthy feels that there is nothing left him but the colored man. I do reckon he is the best friend the colored man has got in Washington.”
Though Harry was in a hurry to reach Washington, he stopped in Philadelphia; and prolonged his visit day after day, greatly to the detriment11 of his business both in New York and Washington. The society at the Bolton’s might have been a valid12 excuse for neglecting business much more important than his. Philip was there; he was a partner with Mr. Bolton now in the new coal venture, concerning which there was much to be arranged in preparation for the Spring work, and Philip lingered week after week in the hospitable13 house. Alice was making a winter visit. Ruth only went to town twice a week to attend lectures, and the household was quite to Mr. Bolton’s taste, for he liked the cheer of company and something going on evenings. Harry was cordially asked to bring his traveling-bag there, and he did not need urging to do so. Not even the thought of seeing Laura at the capital made him restless in the society of the two young ladies; two birds in hand are worth one in the bush certainly.
Philip was at home—he sometimes wished he were not so much so. He felt that too much or not enough was taken for granted. Ruth had met him, when he first came, with a cordial frankness, and her manner continued entirely unrestrained. She neither sought his company nor avoided it, and this perfectly14 level treatment irritated him more than any other could have done. It was impossible to advance much in love-making with one who offered no obstacles, had no concealments and no embarrassments15, and whom any approach to sentimentality would be quite likely to set into a fit of laughter.
“Why, Phil,” she would say, “what puts you in the dumps to day? You are as solemn as the upper bench in Meeting. I shall have to call Alice to raise your spirits; my presence seems to depress you.”
“It’s not your presence, but your absence when you are present,” began Philip, dolefully, with the idea that he was saying a rather deep thing. “But you won’t understand me.”
“No, I confess I cannot. If you really are so low, as to think I am absent when I am present, it’s a frightful18 case of aberration19; I shall ask father to bring out Dr. Jackson. Does Alice appear to be present when she is absent?”
“Alice has some human feeling, anyway. She cares for something besides musty books and dry bones. I think, Ruth, when I die,” said Philip, intending to be very grim and sarcastic20, “I’ll leave you my skeleton. You might like that.”
“It might be more cheerful than you are at times,” Ruth replied with a laugh. “But you mustn’t do it without consulting Alice. She might not like it.”
“I don’t know why you should bring Alice up on every occasion. Do you think I am in love with her?”
“Bless you, no. It never entered my head. Are you? The thought of Philip Sterling21 in love is too comical. I thought you were only in love with the Ilium coal mine, which you and father talk about half the time.”
This is a specimen22 of Philip’s wooing. Confound the girl, he would say to himself, why does she never tease Harry and that young Shepley who comes here?
How differently Alice treated him. She at least never mocked him, and it was a relief to talk with one who had some sympathy with him. And he did talk to her, by the hour, about Ruth. The blundering fellow poured all his doubts and anxieties into her ear, as if she had been the impassive occupant of one of those little wooden confessionals in the Cathedral on Logan Square. Has a confessor, if she is young and pretty, any feeling? Does it mend the matter by calling her your sister?
Philip called Alice his good sister, and talked to her about love and marriage, meaning Ruth, as if sisters could by no possibility have any personal concern in such things. Did Ruth ever speak of him? Did she think Ruth cared for him? Did Ruth care for anybody at Fallkill? Did she care for anything except her profession? And so on.
Alice was loyal to Ruth, and if she knew anything she did not betray her friend. She did not, at any rate, give Philip too much encouragement. What woman, under the circumstances, would?
“I can tell you one thing, Philip,” she said, “if ever Ruth Bolton loves, it will be with her whole soul, in a depth of passion that will sweep everything before it and surprise even herself.”
A remark that did not much console Philip, who imagined that only some grand heroism23 could unlock the sweetness of such a heart; and Philip feared that he wasn’t a hero. He did not know out of what materials a woman can construct a hero, when she is in the creative mood.
Harry skipped into this society with his usual lightness and gaiety. His good nature was inexhaustible, and though he liked to relate his own exploits, he had a little tact24 in adapting himself to the tastes of his hearers. He was not long in finding out that Alice liked to hear about Philip, and Harry launched out into the career of his friend in the West, with a prodigality25 of invention that would have astonished the chief actor. He was the most generous fellow in the world, and picturesque26 conversation was the one thing in which he never was bankrupt. With Mr. Bolton he was the serious man of business, enjoying the confidence of many of the monied men in New York, whom Mr. Bolton knew, and engaged with them in railway schemes and government contracts. Philip, who had so long known Harry, never could make up his mind that Harry did not himself believe that he was a chief actor in all these large operations of which he talked so much.
Harry did not neglect to endeavor to make himself agreeable to Mrs. Bolton, by paying great attention to the children, and by professing27 the warmest interest in the Friends’ faith. It always seemed to him the most peaceful religion; he thought it must be much easier to live by an internal light than by a lot of outward rules; he had a dear Quaker aunt in Providence28 of whom Mrs. Bolton constantly reminded him. He insisted upon going with Mrs. Bolton and the children to the Friends Meeting on First Day, when Ruth and Alice and Philip, “world’s people,” went to a church in town, and he sat through the hour of silence with his hat on, in most exemplary patience. In short, this amazing actor succeeded so well with Mrs. Bolton, that she said to Philip one day,
“Thy friend, Henry Brierly, appears to be a very worldly minded young man. Does he believe in anything?”
“Oh, yes,” said Philip laughing, “he believes in more things than any other person I ever saw.”
To Ruth, Harry seemed to be very congenial. He was never moody29 for one thing, but lent himself with alacrity30 to whatever her fancy was. He was gay or grave as the need might be. No one apparently31 could enter more fully17 into her plans for an independent career.
“My father,” said Harry, “was bred a physician, and practiced a little before he went into Wall street. I always had a leaning to the study. There was a skeleton hanging in the closet of my father’s study when I was a boy, that I used to dress up in old clothes. Oh, I got quite familiar with the human frame.”
“You must have,” said Philip. “Was that where you learned to play the bones? He is a master of those musical instruments, Ruth; he plays well enough to go on the stage.”
“Philip hates science of any kind, and steady application,” retorted Harry. He didn’t fancy Philip’s banter32, and when the latter had gone out, and Ruth asked,
“Why don’t you take up medicine, Mr. Brierly?”
Harry said, “I have it in mind. I believe I would begin attending lectures this winter if it weren’t for being wanted in Washington. But medicine is particularly women’s province.”
“Why so?” asked Ruth, rather amused.
“Well, the treatment of disease is a good deal a matter of sympathy. A woman’s intuition is better than a man’s. Nobody knows anything, really, you know, and a woman can guess a good deal nearer than a man.”
“You are very complimentary33 to my sex.”
“But,” said Harry frankly34; “I should want to choose my doctor; an ugly woman would ruin me, the disease would be sure to strike in and kill me at sight of her. I think a pretty physician, with engaging manners, would coax35 a fellow to live through almost anything.”
“On the contrary, I am quite sincere. Wasn’t it old what’s his name that said only the beautiful is useful?”
Whether Ruth was anything more than diverted with Harry’s company, Philip could not determine. He scorned at any rate to advance his own interest by any disparaging37 communications about Harry, both because he could not help liking38 the fellow himself, and because he may have known that he could not more surely create a sympathy for him in Ruth’s mind. That Ruth was in no danger of any serious impression he felt pretty sure, felt certain of it when he reflected upon her severe occupation with her profession. Hang it, he would say to himself, she is nothing but pure intellect anyway. And he only felt uncertain of it when she was in one of her moods of raillery, with mocking mischief39 in her eyes. At such times she seemed to prefer Harry’s society to his. When Philip was miserable40 about this, he always took refuge with Alice, who was never moody, and who generally laughed him out of his sentimental16 nonsense. He felt at his ease with Alice, and was never in want of something to talk about; and he could not account for the fact that he was so often dull with Ruth, with whom, of all persons in the world, he wanted to appear at his best.
Harry was entirely satisfied with his own situation. A bird of passage is always at its ease, having no house to build, and no responsibility. He talked freely with Philip about Ruth, an almighty41 fine girl, he said, but what the deuce she wanted to study medicine for, he couldn’t see.
There was a concert one night at the Musical Fund Hall and the four had arranged to go in and return by the Germantown cars. It was Philip’s plan, who had engaged the seats, and promised himself an evening with Ruth, walking with her, sitting by her in the hall, and enjoying the feeling of protecting that a man always has of a woman in a public place. He was fond of music, too, in a sympathetic way; at least, he knew that Ruth’s delight in it would be enough for him.
Perhaps he meant to take advantage of the occasion to say some very serious things. His love for Ruth was no secret to Mrs. Bolton, and he felt almost sure that he should have no opposition42 in the family. Mrs. Bolton had been cautious in what she said, but Philip inferred everything from her reply to his own questions, one day, “Has thee ever spoken thy mind to Ruth?”
Why shouldn’t he speak his mind, and end his doubts? Ruth had been more tricksy than usual that day, and in a flow of spirits quite inconsistent, it would seem, in a young lady devoted43 to grave studies.
Had Ruth a premonition of Philip’s intention, in his manner? It may be, for when the girls came down stairs, ready to walk to the cars; and met Philip and Harry in the hall, Ruth said, laughing,
“The two tallest must walk together” and before Philip knew how it happened Ruth had taken Harry’s arm, and his evening was spoiled. He had too much politeness and good sense and kindness to show in his manner that he was hit. So he said to Harry,
“That’s your disadvantage in being short.” And he gave Alice no reason to feel during the evening that she would not have been his first choice for the excursion. But he was none the less chagrined44, and not a little angry at the turn the affair took.
The Hall was crowded with the fashion of the town. The concert was one of those fragmentary drearinesses that people endure because they are fashionable; tours de force on the piano, and fragments from operas, which have no meaning without the setting, with weary pauses of waiting between; there is the comic basso who is so amusing and on such familiar terms with the audience, and always sings the Barber; the attitudinizing tenor45, with his languishing46 “Oh, Summer Night;” the soprano with her “Batti Batti,” who warbles and trills and runs and fetches her breath, and ends with a noble scream that brings down a tempest of applause in the midst of which she backs off the stage smiling and bowing. It was this sort of concert, and Philip was thinking that it was the most stupid one he ever sat through, when just as the soprano was in the midst of that touching47 ballad48, “Comin’ thro’ the Rye” (the soprano always sings “Comin’ thro’ the Rye” on an encore)—the Black Swan used to make it irresistible49, Philip remembered, with her arch, “If a body kiss a body” there was a cry of “Fire!”
The hall is long and narrow, and there is only one place of egress50. Instantly the audience was on its feet, and a rush began for the door. Men shouted, women screamed, and panic seized the swaying mass. A second’s thought would have convinced every one that getting out was impossible, and that the only effect of a rush would be to crash people to death. But a second’s thought was not given. A few cried:
“Sit down, sit down,” but the mass was turned towards the door. Women were down and trampled51 on in the aisles52, and stout53 men, utterly54 lost to self-control, were mounting the benches, as if to run a race over the mass to the entrance.
Philip who had forced the girls to keep their seats saw, in a flash, the new danger, and sprang to avert55 it. In a second more those infuriated men would be over the benches and crushing Ruth and Alice under their boots. He leaped upon the bench in front of them and struck out before him with all his might, felling one man who was rushing on him, and checking for an instant the movement, or rather parting it, and causing it to flow on either side of him. But it was only for an instant; the pressure behind was too great, and, the next Philip was dashed backwards56 over the seat.
And yet that instant of arrest had probably saved the girls, for as Philip fell, the orchestra struck up “Yankee Doodle” in the liveliest manner. The familiar tune57 caught the ear of the mass, which paused in wonder, and gave the conductor’s voice a chance to be heard—“It’s a false alarm!”
The tumult58 was over in a minute, and the next, laughter was heard, and not a few said, “I knew it wasn’t anything.” “What fools people are at such a time.”
The concert was over, however. A good many people were hurt, some of them seriously, and among them Philip Sterling was found bent59 across the seat, insensible, with his left arm hanging limp and a bleeding wound on his head.
When he was carried into the air he revived, and said it was nothing. A surgeon was called, and it was thought best to drive at once to the Bolton’s, the surgeon supporting Philip, who did not speak the whole way. His arm was set and his head dressed, and the surgeon said he would come round all right in his mind by morning; he was very weak. Alice who was not much frightened while the panic lasted in the hall, was very much unnerved by seeing Philip so pale and bloody60. Ruth assisted the surgeon with the utmost coolness and with skillful hands helped to dress Philip’s wounds. And there was a certain intentness and fierce energy in what she did that might have revealed something to Philip if he had been in his senses.
But he was not, or he would not have murmured “Let Alice do it, she is not too tall.”
It was Ruth’s first case.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
mitigate
|
|
| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
speculation
|
|
| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
benevolent
|
|
| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
rev
|
|
| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
detriment
|
|
| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
valid
|
|
| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
embarrassments
|
|
| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
aberration
|
|
| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sarcastic
|
|
| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sterling
|
|
| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
specimen
|
|
| n.样本，标本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
heroism
|
|
| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
prodigality
|
|
| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
professing
|
|
| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
alacrity
|
|
| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
banter
|
|
| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
complimentary
|
|
| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
coax
|
|
| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
scoffer
|
|
| 嘲笑者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
disparaging
|
|
| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
almighty
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
chagrined
|
|
| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
languishing
|
|
| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
ballad
|
|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
egress
|
|
| n.出去；出口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
trampled
|
|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
avert
|
|
| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |