First, those that are easy to read and hard to remember: the well-told tales of no consequence, the cream-puffs of perishable1 fiction.
Second, those that are hard to read and hard to remember: the purpose-novels which are tedious sermons in disguise, and the love-tales in which there is no one with whom it is possible to fall in love.
Third, those that are hard to read and easy to remember: the books with a crust of perverse2 style or faulty construction through which the reader must break in order to get at the rich and vital meaning.
Fourth, those that are easy to read and easy to remember: the novels in which stories worth telling are well-told, and characters worth observing are vividly3 painted, and life is interpreted to the imagination
[66]
in enduring forms of literary art. These are the best-sellers which do not go out of print—everybody’s books.
In this fourth class healthy-minded people and unprejudiced critics put the novels of Charles Dickens. For millions of readers they have fulfilled what Dr. Johnson called the purpose of good books, to teach us to enjoy life or help us to endure it. They have awakened5 laughter and tears. They have enlarged and enriched existence by revealing the hidden veins6 of humour and pathos7 beneath the surface of the every-day world, and by giving “the freedom of the city” to those poor prisoners who had thought of it only as the dwelling8-place of so many hundred thousand inhabitants and no real persons.
What a city it was that Dickens opened to us! London, of course, in outward form and semblance,—the London of the early Victorian epoch9, with its reeking10 Seven Dials close to its perfumed Piccadilly, with its grimy river-front and its musty Inns of Court and its mildly rural suburbs, with its rollicking taverns11 and its deadly solemn residential12 squares and its gloomy debtors’ prisons and its gaily13 insanitary
[67]
markets, with all its consecrated14 conventions and unsuspected hilarities,—vast, portentous15, formal, merry, childish, inexplicable16, a wilderness17 of human homes and haunts, ever thrilling with sincerest passion, mirth, and pain,—London it was, as the eye saw it in those days, and as the curious traveller may still retrace18 some of its vanishing landmarks19 and fading features.
But it was more than London, after Dickens touched it. It was an enchanted20 city, where the streets seemed to murmur21 of joy or fear, where the dark faces of the dens22 of crime scowled23 or leered at you, and the decrepit24 houses doddered in senility, and the new mansions25 stared you down with stolid26 pride. Everything spoke27 or made a sign to you. From red-curtained windows jollity beckoned28. From prison-doors lean hands stretched toward you. Under bridges and among slimy piers29 the river gurgled, and chuckled30, and muttered unholy secrets. Across trim front-yards little cottages smiled and almost nodded their good-will. There were no dead spots, no deaf and dumb regions. All was alive and significant. Even the real estate
[68]
became personal. One felt that it needed but a word, a wave of the wand, to bring the buildings leaping, roistering, creeping, tottering31, stalking from their places.
It was an enchanted city, and the folk who filled it and almost, but never quite, crowded it to suffocation32, were so intensely and supernaturally human, so blackly bad, so brightly good, so touchingly33 pathetic, so supremely34 funny, that they also were creatures of enchantment35 and seemed to come from fairy-land.
For what is fairy-land, after all? It is not an invisible region, an impossible place. It is only the realm of the hitherto unobserved, the not yet realized, where the things we have seen but never noticed, and the persons we have met but never known, are suddenly “translated,” like Bottom the Weaver36, and sent forth37 upon strange adventures.
That is what happens to the Dickens people. Good or bad they surpass themselves when they get into his books. That rotund Brownie, Mr. Pickwick, with his amazing troupe38; that gentle compound of Hop-o’-my-Thumb and a Babe in the
[69]
Wood, Oliver Twist, surrounded by wicked uncles, and hungry ogres, and good fairies in bottle-green coats; that tender and lovely Red Riding-Hood, Little Nell; that impetuous Hans-in-Luck, Nicholas Nickleby; that intimate Cinderella, Little Dorrit; that simple-minded Aladdin, Pip; all these, and a thousand more like them, go rambling39 through Dickensopolis and behaving naturally in a most extraordinary manner.
Things that have seldom or never happened, occur inevitably40. The preposterous41 becomes the necessary, the wildly improbable is the one thing that must come to pass. Mr. Dombey is converted, Mr. Krook is removed by spontaneous combustion42, Mr. Micawber performs amazing feats43 as an amateur detective, Sam Weller gets married, the immortally44 absurd epitaphs of Young John Chivery and Mrs. Sapsea are engraved46 upon monuments more lasting47 than brass48.
The fact is, Dickens himself was bewitched by the spell of his own imagination. His people carried him away, did what they liked with him. He wrote of Little Nell: “You can’t imagine how exhausted49
[70]
I am to-day with yesterday’s labours. I went to bed last night utterly50 dispirited and done up. All night I have been pursued by the child; and this morning I am unrefreshed and miserable51. I don’t know what to do with myself.... I think the close of the story will be great.” Again he says: “As to the way in which these characters have opened out [in Martin Chuzzlewit], that is to me one of the most surprising processes of the mind in this sort of invention. Given what one knows, what one does not know springs up; and I am as absolutely certain of its being true, as I am of the law of gravitation—if such a thing is possible, more so.”
Precisely52 such a thing (as Dickens very well understood) is not only possible, but unavoidable. For what certainty have we of the law of gravitation? Only by hearsay53, by the submissive reception of a process of reasoning conducted for us by Sir Isaac Newton and other vaguely54 conceived men of science. The fall of an apple is an intense reality (especially if it falls upon your head); but the law which regulates its speed is for you an intellectual
[71]
abstraction as remote as the idea of a “combination in restraint of trade,” or the definition of “art for art’s sake.” Whereas the irrepressible vivacity55 of Sam Weller, and the unctuous56 hypocrisy57 of Pecksniff, and the moist humility58 of Uriah Heep, and the sublime59 conviviality60 of Dick Swiveller, and the triumphant61 make-believe of the Marchioness are facts of experience. They have touched you, and you cannot doubt them. The question whether they are actual or imaginary is purely62 academic.
Another fairy-land feature of Dickens’s world is the way in which minor63 personages of the drama suddenly take the centre of the stage and hold the attention of the audience. It is always so in fairy-land.
In The Tempest, what are Prospero and Miranda, compared with Caliban and Ariel? In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, who thinks as much of Oberon and Titania, as of Puck, and Bottom the Weaver? Even in an historical drama like Henry IV, we feel that Falstaff is the most historic character.
Dickens’s first lady and first gentleman are often less memorable64 than his active supernumeraries.
[72]
A hobgoblin like Quilp, a good old nurse like Peggotty, a bad old nurse like Sairey Gamp, a volatile65 elf like Miss Mowcher, a shrewd elf and a blunder-headed elf like Susan Nipper and Mr. Toots, a good-natured disreputable sprite like Charley Bates, a malicious66 gnome67 like Noah Claypole, a wicked ogre like Wackford Squeers, a pair of fairy-godmothers like the Cheeryble Brothers, a dandy ouphe like Mr. Mantalini, and a mischievous68, wooden-legged kobold like Silas Wegg, take stronger hold upon us than the Harry69 Maylies and Rose Flemings, the John Harmons and Bella Wilfers, for whose ultimate matrimonial felicity the business of the plot is conducted. Even the more notable heroes often pale a little by comparison with their attendants. Who remembers Martin Chuzzlewit as clearly as his servant Mark Tapley? Is Pip, with his Great Expectations, half as delightful70 as his clumsy dry-nurse Joe Gargery? Has even the great Pickwick a charm to compare with the unique, immortal45 Sam Weller?
Do not imagine that Dickens was unconscious of this disarrangement of rôles, or that it was an evidence
[73]
of failure on his part. He knew perfectly71 well what he was doing. Great authors always do. They cannot help it, and they do not care. Homer makes Agamemnon and Priam the kings of his tale, and Paris the first walking gentleman and Helen the leading lady. But Achilles and Ajax and Hector are the bully72 boys, and Ulysses is the wise jester, and Thersites the tragic73 clown. As for Helen,—
The face that launched a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium—
her reputed pulchritude74 means less to us than the splendid womanhood of Andromache, or the wit and worth of the adorable matron Penelope.
Now this unconventionality of art, which disregards ranks and titles, even those of its own making, and finds the beautiful and the absurd, the grotesque75 and the picturesque76, the noble and the base, not according to the programme but according to the fact, is precisely the essence of good enchantment.
Good enchantment goes about discovering the ass4 in the lion’s skin and the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the princess in the goose-girl and the wise man under
[74]
the fool’s cap, the pretender in the purple robe and the rightful heir in rags, the devil in the belfry and the Redeemer among the publicans and sinners. It is the spirit of revelation, the spirit of divine sympathy and laughter, the spirit of admiration77, hope, and love—or better still, it is simply the spirit of life.
When I call this the essence of good enchantment I do not mean that it is unreal. I mean only that it is unrealistic, which is just the opposite of unreal. It is not in bondage78 to the beggarly elements of form and ceremony. It is not captive to names and appearances, though it revels79 in their delightful absurdity80. It knows that an idol81 is nothing, and finds all the more laughter in its pompous82 pretence83 of being something. It can afford to be merry because it is in earnest; it is happy because it has not forgotten how to weep; it is content because it is still unsatisfied; it is humble84 in the sense of unfathomed faults and exalted85 in the consciousness of inexhaustible power; it calls nothing common or unclean; it values life for its mystery, its surprisingness, and its divine reversals of human prejudice,—just like
[75]
Beauty and the Beast and the story of the Ugly Duckling.
This, I say, is the essence of good enchantment; and it is also the essence of true religion. “For God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and the weak things of the world to confound the mighty86, and base things of the world and things which are despised, yea, and things which are not, to bring to naught87 things which are.”
This is also the essence of real democracy, which is not a theory of government but a state of mind.
No one has ever expressed it better than Charles Dickens did in a speech which he made at Hartford, Connecticut, seventy years ago. “I have faith,” said he, “and I wish to diffuse88 faith in the existence—yes, of beautiful things, even in those conditions of society which are so degenerate89, so degraded and forlorn, that at first sight it would seem as though it could only be described by a strange and terrible reversal of the words of Scripture—God said let there be light, and there was none. I take it that we are born, and that we hold
[76]
our sympathies, hopes, and energies in trust for the Many and not the Few. That we cannot hold in too strong a light of disgust and contempt, before our own view and that of others, all meanness, falsehood, cruelty, and oppression of every grade and kind. Above all, that nothing is high because it is in a high place; and that nothing is low because it is in a low place. This is the lesson taught us in the great book of Nature. This is the lesson which may be read alike in the bright track of the stars, and in the dusty course of the poorest thing that drags its tiny length upon the ground.”
This was the creed90 of Dickens; and like every man’s creed, conscious or unconscious, confessed or concealed91, it made him what he was.
It has been said that he had no deep philosophy, no calmly reasoned and clearly stated theory of the universe. Perhaps that is true. Yet I believe he hardly missed it. He was too much interested in living to be anxious about a complete theory of life. Perhaps it would have helped him when trouble came, when domestic infelicity broke up his home, if he could have climbed into some philosopher’s
[77]
ivory tower. Perhaps not. I have observed that even the most learned and philosophic92 mortals, under these afflictions, sometimes fail to appreciate the consolations93 of philosophy to any noticeable extent. From their ivory towers they cry aloud, being in pain, even as other men.
But it was certainly not true (even though his biographer wrote it, and it has been quoted a thousand times), that just because Dickens cried aloud, “there was for him no ‘city of the mind’ against outward ills, for inner consolation94 and shelter.” He was not cast out and left comfortless. Faith, hope, and charity—these three abode95 with him. His human sympathy, his indomitable imagination, his immense and varied96 interest in the strange adventures of men and women, his unfaltering intuition of the truer light of God that burns
In this vexed97 beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,
Heart, or whatever else——
these were the celestial98 powers and bright serviceable angels that built and guarded for him a true “city of refuge,” secure, inviolate99, ever open to the fugitive100 in the day of his calamity101. Thither102 he
[78]
could flee to find safety. There he could ungird his heart and indulge
Love and the thoughts that breathe for humankind;
there he could laugh and sing and weep with the children, the dream-children, which God had given him; there he could enter into his work-shop and shut the door and lose himself in joyous103 labour which should make the world richer by the gift of good books. And so he did, even until the end came and the pen fell from his fingers, he sitting safe in his city of refuge, learning and unfolding The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
O enchanted city, great asylum104 in the mind of man, where ideals are embodied105, and visions take form and substance to parley106 with us! Imagination rears thy towers and Fancy populates thy streets; yet art thou a city that hath foundations, a dwelling eternal though unseen. Ever building, changing, never falling, thy walls are open-gated day and night. The fountain of youth is in thy gardens, the treasure of the humble in thy storehouses. Hope is thy doorkeeper, and Faith thy warden107, and Love thy Lord. In thee the wanderer may take shelter
[79]
and find himself by forgetting himself. In thee rest and refreshment108 are waiting for the weary, and new courage for the despondent109, and new strength for the faint. From thy magic casements110 we have looked upon unknown horizons, and we return from thy gates to our task, our toil111, our pilgrimage, with better and braver hearts, knowing more surely that the things which are seen were not made of things which do appear, and that the imperishable jewels of the universe are in the souls of men. O city of good enchantment, for my brethren and companions’ sakes I will now say: Peace be within thee!
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
perishable
|
|
| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
perverse
|
|
| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
taverns
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
residential
|
|
| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
consecrated
|
|
| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
retrace
|
|
| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
landmarks
|
|
| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
dens
|
|
| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
scowled
|
|
| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
decrepit
|
|
| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mansions
|
|
| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
stolid
|
|
| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
piers
|
|
| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
chuckled
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
tottering
|
|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
suffocation
|
|
| n.窒息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
touchingly
|
|
| adv.令人同情地，感人地，动人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
supremely
|
|
| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
enchantment
|
|
| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
weaver
|
|
| n.织布工；编织者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
troupe
|
|
| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
combustion
|
|
| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
feats
|
|
| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
immortally
|
|
| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
engraved
|
|
| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
hearsay
|
|
| n.谣传，风闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
vivacity
|
|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
unctuous
|
|
| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
hypocrisy
|
|
| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
conviviality
|
|
| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
volatile
|
|
| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
malicious
|
|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
gnome
|
|
| n.土地神；侏儒，地精 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
mischievous
|
|
| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
pulchritude
|
|
| n.美丽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
revels
|
|
| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
idol
|
|
| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
pompous
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
diffuse
|
|
| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
degenerate
|
|
| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
philosophic
|
|
| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
consolations
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
inviolate
|
|
| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
fugitive
|
|
| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
asylum
|
|
| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
parley
|
|
| n.谈判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
warden
|
|
| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
despondent
|
|
| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
casements
|
|
| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |