The ball-room was adorned1 with great taste and elegance2, under the direction of Miss Caprioletta and her friend Miss Cephalis, who were themselves its most beautiful ornaments3, even though romantic Meirion, the pre-eminent in loveliness, sent many of its loveliest daughters to grace the festive4 scene. Numberless were the solicitations of the dazzled swains of Cambria for the honour of the two first dances with the one or the other of these fascinating friends; but little availed, on this occasion, the pedigree lineally traced from Caractacus or King Arthur; their two philosophical5 lovers, neither of whom could have given the least account of his great-great-grandfather, had engaged them many days before. Mr Panscope chafed6 and fretted7 like Llugwy in his bed of rocks, when the object of his adoration9 stood up with his rival: but he consoled himself with a lively damsel from the vale of Edeirnion, having first compelled Miss Cephalis to promise him her hand for the fourth set.
The ball was accordingly opened by Miss Caprioletta and Mr Foster, which gave rise to much speculation12 among the Welsh gentry13, as to who this Mr Foster could be; some of the more learned among them secretly resolving to investigate most profoundly the antiquity14 of the name of Foster, and ascertain15 what right a person so denominated could have to open the most illustrious of all possible balls with the lovely Caprioletta Headlong, the only sister of Harry16 Headlong, Esquire, of Headlong Hall, in the Vale of Llanberris, the only surviving male representative of the antediluvian18 family of Headlong Ap-Rhaiader.
When the first two dances were ended, Mr Escot, who did not choose to dance with any one but his adorable Cephalis, looking round for a convenient seat, discovered Mr Jenkison in a corner by the side of the Reverend Doctor Gaster, who was keeping excellent time with his nose to the lively melody of the harp19 and fiddle20. Mr Escot seated himself by the side of Mr Jenkison, and inquired if he took no part in the amusement of the night?
Mr Jenkison. No. The universal cheerfulness of the company induces me to rise; the trouble of such violent exercise induces me to sit still. Did I see a young lady in want of a partner, gallantry would incite21 me to offer myself as her devoted22 knight23 for half an hour: but, as I perceive there are enough without me, that motive24 is null. I have been weighing these points pro11 and con10, and remain in statu quo.
Mr Escot. I have danced, contrary to my system, as I have done many other things since I have been here, from a motive that you will easily guess. (Mr Jenkison smiled.) I have great objections to dancing. The wild and original man is a calm and contemplative animal. The stings of natural appetite alone rouse him to action. He satisfies his hunger with roots and fruits, unvitiated by the malignant25 adhibition of fire, and all its diabolical26 processes of elixion and assation; he slakes27 his thirst in the mountain-stream, συμμισγεται τη επιτυχουση, and returns to his peaceful state of meditative28 repose29.
Mr Jenkison. Like the metaphysical statue of Condillac.
Mr Escot. With all its senses and purely30 natural faculties31 developed, certainly. Imagine this tranquil32 and passionless being, occupied in his first meditation33 on the simple question of Where am I? Whence do I come? And what is the end of my existence? Then suddenly place before him a chandelier, a fiddler, and a magnificent beau in silk stockings and pumps, bounding, skipping, swinging, capering34, and throwing himself into ten thousand attitudes, till his face glows with fever, and distils35 with perspiration36: the first impulse excited in his mind by such an apparition37 will be that of violent fear, which, by the reiterated38 perception of its harmlessness, will subside39 into simple astonishment40. Then let any genius, sufficiently41 powerful to impress on his mind all the terms of the communication, impart to him, that after a long process of ages, when his race shall have attained42 what some people think proper to denominate a very advanced stage of perfectibility, the most favoured and distinguished43 of the community shall meet by hundreds, to grin, and labour, and gesticulate, like the phantasma before him, from sunset to sunrise, while all nature is at rest, and that they shall consider this a happy and pleasurable mode of existence, and furnishing the most delightful44 of all possible contrasts to what they will call his vegetative state: would he not groan45 from his inmost soul for the lamentable46 condition of his posterity47?
Mr Jenkison. I know not what your wild and original man might think of the matter in the abstract; but comparatively, I conceive, he would be better pleased with the vision of such a scene as this, than with that of a party of Indians (who would have all the advantage of being nearly as wild as himself), dancing their infernal war-dance round a midnight fire in a North American forest.
Mr Escot. Not if you should impart to him the true nature of both, by laying open to his view the springs of action in both parties.
Mr Jenkison. To do this with effect, you must make him a profound metaphysician, and thus transfer him at once from his wild and original state to a very advanced stage of intellectual progression; whether that progression be towards good or evil, I leave you and our friend Foster to settle between you.
Mr Escot. I wish to make no change in his habits and feelings, but to give him, hypothetically, so much mental illumination, as will enable him to take a clear view of two distinct stages of the deterioration48 of his posterity, that he may be enabled to compare them with each other, and with his own more happy condition. The Indian, dancing round the midnight fire, is very far deteriorated49; but the magnificent beau, dancing to the light of chandeliers, is infinitely50 more so. The Indian is a hunter: he makes great use of fire, and subsists51 almost entirely52 on animal food. The malevolent53 passions that spring from these pernicious habits involve him in perpetual war. He is, therefore, necessitated54, for his own preservation55, to keep all the energies of his nature in constant activity: to this end his midnight war-dance is very powerfully subservient56, and, though in itself a frightful57 spectacle, is at least justifiable58 on the iron plea of necessity.
Mr Jenkison. On the same iron plea, the modern system of dancing is more justifiable. The Indian dances to prepare himself for killing59 his enemy: but while the beaux and belles60 of our assemblies dance, they are in the very act of killing theirs — TIME!— a more inveterate61 and formidable foe62 than any the Indian has to contend with; for, however completely and ingeniously killed, he is sure to rise again, “with twenty mortal murders on his crown,” leading his army of blue devils, with ennui63 in the van, and vapours in the rear.
Mr Escot. Your observation militates on my side of the question; and it is a strong argument in favour of the Indian, that he has no such enemy to kill.
Mr Jenkison. There is certainly a great deal to be said against dancing: there is also a great deal to be said in its favour. The first side of the question I leave for the present to you: on the latter, I may venture to allege65 that no amusement seems more natural and more congenial to youth than this. It has the advantage of bringing young persons of both sexes together, in a manner which its publicity66 renders perfectly67 unexceptionable, enabling them to see and know each other better than, perhaps, any other mode of general association. Tête-à-têtes are dangerous things. Small family parties are too much under mutual68 observation. A ball-room appears to me almost the only scene uniting that degree of rational and innocent liberty of intercourse69, which it is desirable to promote as much as possible between young persons, with that scrupulous70 attention to the delicacy71 and propriety72 of female conduct, which I consider the fundamental basis of all our most valuable social relations.
Mr Escot. There would be some plausibility73 in your argument, if it were not the very essence of this species of intercourse to exhibit them to each other under false colours. Here all is show, and varnish74, and hypocrisy75, and coquetry; they dress up their moral character for the evening at the same toilet where they manufacture their shapes and faces. Ill-temper lies buried under a studied accumulation of smiles. Envy, hatred76, and malice77, retreat from the countenance78, to entrench79 themselves more deeply in the heart. Treachery lurks80 under the flowers of courtesy. Ignorance and folly81 take refuge in that unmeaning gabble which it would be profanation82 to call language, and which even those whom long experience in “the dreary83 intercourse of daily life” has screwed up to such a pitch of stoical endurance that they can listen to it by the hour, have branded with the ignominious84 appellation85 of “small talk.” Small indeed!— the absolute minimum of the infinitely little.
Mr Jenkison. Go on. I have said all I intended to say on the favourable86 side. I shall have great pleasure in hearing you balance the argument.
Mr Escot. I expect you to confess that I shall have more than balanced it. A ball-room is an epitome87 of all that is most worthless and unamiable in the great sphere of human life. Every petty and malignant passion is called into play. Coquetry is perpetually on the alert to captivate, caprice to mortify89, and vanity to take offence. One amiable88 female is rendered miserable90 for the evening by seeing another, whom she intended to outshine, in a more attractive dress than her own; while the other omits no method of giving stings to her triumph, which she enjoys with all the secret arrogance91 of an oriental sultana. Another is compelled to dance with a monster she abhors92. A third has set her heart on dancing with a particular partner, perhaps for the amiable motive of annoying one of her dear friends: not only he does not ask her, but she sees him dancing with that identical dear friend, whom from that moment she hates more cordially than ever. Perhaps, what is worse than all, she has set her heart on refusing some impertinent fop, who does not give her the opportunity.— As to the men, the case is very nearly the same with them. To be sure, they have the privilege of making the first advances, and are, therefore, less liable to have an odious93 partner forced upon them; though this sometimes happens, as I know by woeful experience: but it is seldom they can procure94 the very partner they prefer; and when they do, the absurd necessity of changing every two dances forces them away, and leaves them only the miserable alternative of taking up with something disagreeable perhaps in itself, and at all events rendered so by contrast, or of retreating into some solitary95 corner, to vent64 their spleen on the first idle coxcomb96 they can find.
Mr Jenkison. I hope that is not the motive which brings you to me.
Mr Escot. Clearly not. But the most afflicting97 consideration of all is, that these malignant and miserable feelings are masked under that uniform disguise of pretended benevolence98, that fine and delicate irony99, called politeness, which gives so much ease and pliability100 to the mutual intercourse of civilised man, and enables him to assume the appearance of every virtue101 without the reality of one.1
The second set of dances was now terminated, and Mr Escot flew off to reclaim102 the hand of the beautiful Cephalis, with whom he figured away with surprising alacrity103, and probably felt at least as happy among the chandeliers and silk stockings, at which he had just been railing, as he would have been in an American forest, making one in an Indian ring, by the light of a blazing fire, even though his hand had been locked in that of the most beautiful squaw that ever listened to the roar of Niagara.
Squire17 Headlong was now beset104 by his maiden105 aunt, Miss Brindle-mew Grimalkin Ph?be Tabitha Ap-Headlong, on one side, and Sir Patrick O’Prism on the other; the former insisting that he should immediately procure her a partner; the latter earnestly requesting the same interference in behalf of Miss Philomela Poppyseed. The squire thought to emancipate106 himself from his two petitioners107 by making them dance with each other; but Sir Patrick vehemently108 pleading a prior engagement, the squire threw his eyes around till they alighted on Mr Jenkison and the Reverend Doctor Gaster; both of whom, after waking the latter, he pressed into the service. The doctor, arising with a strange kind of guttural sound, which was half a yawn and half a groan, was handed by the officious squire to Miss Philomela, who received him with sullen109 dignity: she had not yet forgotten his falling asleep during the first chapter of her novel, while she was condescending110 to detail to him the outlines of four superlative volumes. The doctor, on his part, had most completely forgotten it; and though he thought there was something in her physiognomy rather more forbidding than usual, he gave himself no concern about the cause, and had not the least suspicion that it was at all connected with himself. Miss Brindle-mew was very well contented111 with Mr Jenkison, and gave him two or three ogles112, accompanied by a most risible113 distortion of the countenance which she intended for a captivating smile. As to Mr Jenkison, it was all one to him with whom he danced, or whether he danced or not: he was therefore just as well pleased as if he had been left alone in his corner; which is probably more than could have been said of any other human being under similar circumstances.
At the end of the third set, supper was announced; and the party, pairing off like turtles, adjourned114 to the supper-room. The squire was now the happiest of mortal men, and the little butler the most laborious115. The centre of the largest table was decorated with a model of Snowdon, surmounted116 with an enormous artificial leek117, the leaves of angelica, and the bulb of blancmange. A little way from the summit was a tarn118, or mountain-pool, supplied through concealed119 tubes with an inexhaustible flow of milk-punch, which, dashing in cascades120 down the miniature rocks, fell into the more capacious lake below, washing the mimic121 foundations of Headlong Hall. The reverend doctor handed Miss Philomela to the chair most conveniently situated122 for enjoying this interesting scene, protesting he had never before been sufficiently impressed with the magnificence of that mountain, which he now perceived to be well worthy123 of all the fame it had obtained.
“Now, when they had eaten and were satisfied,” Squire Headlong called on Mr Chromatic124 for a song; who, with the assistance of his two accomplished125 daughters, regaled the ears of the company with the following
TERZETTO2
Grey Twilight126, from her shadowy hill,
Discolours Nature’s vernal bloom,
And sheds on grove127, and field, and rill,
One placid128 tint129 of deepening gloom.
The sailor sighs ‘mid shoreless seas,
Touched by the thought of friends afar,
As, fanned by ocean’s flowing breeze,
He gazes on the western star.
The wanderer hears, in pensive130 dream,
The accents of the last farewell,
As, pausing by the mountain stream,
He listens to the evening bell.
This terzetto was of course much applauded; Mr Milestone131 observing, that he thought the figure in the last verse would have been more picturesque132, if it had been represented with its arms folded and its back against a tree; or leaning on its staff, with a cockle-shell in its hat, like a pilgrim of ancient times.
Mr Chromatic professed133 himself astonished that a gentleman of genuine modern taste, like Mr Milestone, should consider the words of a song of any consequence whatever, seeing that they were at the best only a species of pegs134, for the more convenient suspension of crotchets and quavers. This remark drew on him a very severe reprimand from Mr Mac Laurel, who said to him, “Dinna ye ken135, sir, that soond is a thing utterly136 worthless in itsel, and only effectual in agreeable excitements, as far as it is an aicho to sense? Is there ony soond mair meeserable an’ peetifu’ than the scrape o’ a feddle, when it does na touch ony chord i’ the human sensorium? Is there ony mair divine than the deep note o’ a bagpipe137, when it breathes the auncient meelodies o’ leeberty an’ love? It is true, there are peculiar138 trains o’ feeling an’ sentiment, which parteecular combinations o’ meelody are calculated to excite; an’ sae far music can produce its effect without words: but it does na follow, that, when ye put words to it, it becomes a matter of indefference what they are; for a gude strain of impassioned poetry will greatly increase the effect, and a tessue o’ nonsensical doggrel will destroy it a’ thegither. Noo, as gude poetry can produce its effect without music, sae will gude music without poetry; and as gude music will be mair pooerfu’ by itsel’ than wi’ bad poetry, sae will gude poetry than wi’ bad music: but, when ye put gude music an’ gude poetry thegither, ye produce the divinest compound o’ sentimental139 harmony that can possibly find its way through the lug8 to the saul.”
Mr Chromatic admitted that there was much justice in these observations, but still maintained the subserviency140 of poetry to music. Mr Mac Laurel as strenuously141 maintained the contrary; and a furious war of words was proceeding142 to perilous143 lengths, when the squire interposed his authority towards the reproduction of peace, which was forthwith concluded, and all animosities drowned in a libation of milk-punch, the Reverend Doctor Gaster officiating as high priest on the occasion.
Mr Chromatic now requested Miss Caprioletta to favour the company with an air. The young lady immediately complied, and sung the following simple
BALLAD145
“O Mary, my sister, thy sorrow give o’er,
I soon shall return, girl, and leave thee no more:
But with children so fair, and a husband so kind,
I shall feel less regret when I leave thee behind.
“I have made thee a bench for the door of thy cot,
And more would I give thee, but more I have not:
Sit and think of me there, in the warm summer day,
And give me three kisses, my labour to pay.”
She gave him three kisses, and forth144 did he fare.
And long did he wander, and no one knew where;
And long from her cottage, through sunshine and rain,
She watched his return, but he came not again.
Her children grew up, and her husband grew grey;
She sate146 on the bench through the long summer day:
One evening, when twilight was deep on the shore,
There came an old soldier, and stood by the door.
In English he spoke147, and none knew what he said,
But her oatcake and milk on the table she spread;
Then he sate to his supper, and blithely148 he sung,
And she knew the dear sounds of her own native tongue:
“O rich are the feasts in the Englishman’s hall,
And the wine sparkles bright in the goblets149 of Gaul:
But their mingled150 attractions I well could withstand,
For the milk and the oatcake of Meirion’s dear land.”
“And art thou a Welchman, old soldier?” she cried.
“Many years have I wandered,” the stranger replied:
“‘Twixt Danube and Thames many rivers there be,
But the bright waves of Cynfael are fairest to me.
“I felled the grey oak, ere I hastened to roam,
And I fashioned a bench for the door of my home;
And well my dear sister my labour repaid,
Who gave me three kisses when first it was made.
“In the old English soldier thy brother appears:
Here is gold in abundance, the saving of years:
Give me oatcake and milk in return for my store,
And a seat by thy side on the bench at the door.”
Various other songs succeeded, which, as we are not composing a song book, we shall lay aside for the present.
An old squire, who had not missed one of these anniversaries, during more than half a century, now stood up, and filling a half-pint bumper151, pronounced, with a stentorian152 voice —“To the immortal153 memory of Headlong Ap-Rhaiader, and to the health of his noble descendant and worthy representative!” This example was followed by all the gentlemen present. The harp struck up a triumphal strain; and, the old squire already mentioned, vociferating the first stave, they sang, or rather roared, the following
CHORUS
Hail to the Headlong! the Headlong Ap-Headlong!
All hail to the Headlong, the Headlong Ap-Headlong!
The Headlong Ap-Headlong
Ap-Breakneck Ap-Headlong
Ap-Cataract Ap-Pistyll Ap-Rhaiader Ap-Headlong!
The bright bowl we steep in the name of the Headlong:
Let the youths pledge it deep to the Headlong Ap-Headlong,
And the rosy-lipped lasses
Touch the brim as it passes,
And kiss the red tide for the Headlong Ap-Headlong!
The loud harp resounds154 in the hall of the Headlong:
The light step rebounds155 in the hall of the Headlong:
Where shall music invite us,
Or beauty delight us,
If not in the hall of the Headlong Ap-Headlong?
Huzza! to the health of the Headlong Ap-Headlong!
Fill the bowl, fill in floods, to the health of the Headlong!
Till the stream ruby-glowing,
On all sides o’erflowing,
Shall fall in cascades to the health of the Headlong!
The Headlong Ap-Headlong
Ap-Breakneck Ap-Headlong
Ap-Cataract Ap-Pistyll Ap-Rhaiader Ap-Headlong!
Squire Headlong returned thanks with an appropriate libation, and the company re-adjourned to the ballroom156, where they kept it up till sunrise, when the little butler summoned them to breakfast.
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1
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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27
slakes
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| v.满足( slake的第三人称单数 ) | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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30
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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31
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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distils
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| v.蒸馏( distil的第三人称单数 )；从…提取精华 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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47
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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48
deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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49
deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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51
subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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53
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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54
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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56
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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57
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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58
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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59
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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60
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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61
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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62
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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63
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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64
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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65
allege
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| vt.宣称，申述，主张，断言 | |
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66
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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67
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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68
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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69
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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70
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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71
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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72
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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73
plausibility
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| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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74
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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75
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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76
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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77
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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78
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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79
entrench
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| v.使根深蒂固；n.壕沟；防御设施 | |
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80
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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81
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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82
profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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83
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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84
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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85
appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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86
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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87
epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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88
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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89
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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90
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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91
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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92
abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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93
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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94
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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95
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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96
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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97
afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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98
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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99
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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100
pliability
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| n.柔韧性；可弯性 | |
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101
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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102
reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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103
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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104
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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105
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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106
emancipate
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| v.解放，解除 | |
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107
petitioners
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| n.请求人，请愿人( petitioner的名词复数 )；离婚案原告 | |
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108
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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109
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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110
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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111
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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112
ogles
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113
risible
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| adj.能笑的；可笑的 | |
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114
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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116
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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117
leek
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| n.韭葱 | |
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118
tarn
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| n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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119
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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120
cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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121
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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122
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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123
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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124
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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125
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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126
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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127
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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128
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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129
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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130
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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131
milestone
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| n.里程碑；划时代的事件 | |
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132
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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133
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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134
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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135
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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136
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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137
bagpipe
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| n.风笛 | |
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138
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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139
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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140
subserviency
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| n.有用，裨益 | |
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141
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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142
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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143
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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144
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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145
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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146
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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147
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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148
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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149
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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150
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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151
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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152
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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153
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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154
resounds
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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155
rebounds
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| 反弹球( rebound的名词复数 )； 回弹球； 抢断篮板球； 复兴 | |
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156
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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