THE sudden death of so prominent a member of the social world as the Honorable Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon created a sensation (at least, in the circles more immediately connected with the deceased) which had hardly quite subsided1 in a fortnight.
It may be remarked, however, that, of all the events which constitute a person’s biography, there is scarcely one — none, certainly, of anything like a similar importance — to which the world so easily reconciles itself as to his death. In most other cases and contingencies2, the individual is present among us, mixed up with the daily revolution of affairs, and affording a definite point for observation. At his decease, there is only a vacancy3, and a momentary4 eddy5 — very small, as compared with the apparent magnitude of the ingurgitated object — and a bubble or two, ascending6 out of the black depth and bursting at the surface. As regarded Judge Pyncheon, it seemed probable, at first blush, that the mode of his final departure might give him a larger and longer posthumous7 vogue8 than ordinarily attends the memory of a distinguished9 man. But when it came to be understood, on the highest professional authority, that the event was a natural, and — except for some unimportant particulars, denoting a slight idiosyncrasy — by no means an unusual form of death, the public, with its customary alacrity10, proceeded to forget that he had ever lived. In short, the honorable Judge was beginning to be a stale subject before half the country newspapers had found time to put their columns in mourning, and publish his exceedingly eulogistic11 obituary12.
Nevertheless, creeping darkly through the places which this excellent person had haunted in his lifetime, there was a hidden stream of private talk, such as it would have shocked all decency13 to speak loudly at the street-corners. It is very singular, how the fact of a man’s death often seems to give people a truer idea of his character, whether for good or evil, than they have ever possessed14 while he was living and acting15 among them. Death is so genuine a fact that it excludes falsehood, or betrays its emptiness; it is a touchstone that proves the gold, and dishonors the baser metal. Could the departed, whoever he may be, return in a week after his decease, he would almost invariably find himself at a higher or lower point than he had formerly16 occupied, on the scale of public appreciation17. But the talk, or scandal, to which we now allude18, had reference to matters of no less old a date than the supposed murder, thirty or forty years ago, of the late Judge Pyncheon’s uncle. The medical opinion with regard to his own recent and regretted decease had almost entirely19 obviated20 the idea that a murder was committed in the former case. Yet, as the record showed, there were circumstances irrefragably indicating that some person had gained access to old Jaffrey Pyncheon’s private apartments, at or near the moment of his death. His desk and private drawers, in a room contiguous to his bedchamber, had been ransacked22; money and valuable articles were missing; there was a bloody23 hand-print on the old man’s linen24; and, by a powerfully welded chain of deductive evidence, the guilt25 of the robbery and apparent murder had been fixed26 on Clifford, then residing with his uncle in the House of the Seven Gables.
Whencesoever originating, there now arose a theory that undertook so to account for these circumstances as to exclude the idea of Clifford’s agency. Many persons affirmed that the history and elucidation27 of the facts, long so mysterious, had been obtained by the daguerreotypist from one of those mesmerical seers who, nowadays, so strangely perplex the aspect of human affairs, and put everybody’s natural vision to the blush, by the marvels28 which they see with their eyes shut.
According to this version of the story, Judge Pyncheon, exemplary as we have portrayed29 him in our narrative30, was, in his youth, an apparently31 irreclaimable scapegrace. The brutish, the animal instincts, as is often the case, had been developed earlier than the intellectual qualities, and the force of character, for which he was afterwards remarkable32. He had shown himself wild, dissipated, addicted33 to low pleasures, little short of ruffianly in his propensities34, and recklessly expensive, with no other resources than the bounty35 of his uncle. This course of conduct had alienated36 the old bachelor’s affection, once strongly fixed upon him. Now it is averred37 — but whether on authority available in a court of justice, we do not pretend to have investigated — that the young man was tempted38 by the devil, one night, to search his uncle’s private drawers, to which he had unsuspected means of access. While thus criminally occupied, he was startled by the opening of the chamber21-door. There stood old Jaffrey Pyncheon, in his nightclothes! The surprise of such a discovery, his agitation39, alarm, and horror, brought on the crisis of a disorder40 to which the old bachelor had an hereditary41 liability; he seemed to choke with blood, and fell upon the floor, striking his temple a heavy blow against the corner of a table. What was to be done? The old man was surely dead! Assistance would come too late! What a misfortune, indeed, should it come too soon, since his reviving consciousness would bring the recollection of the ignominious42 offence which he had beheld43 his nephew in the very act of committing!
But he never did revive. With the cool hardihood that always pertained44 to him, the young man continued his search of the drawers, and found a will, of recent date, in favor of Clifford, — which he destroyed — and an older one, in his own favor, which he suffered to remain. But before retiring, Jaffrey bethought himself of the evidence, in these ransacked drawers, that some one had visited the chamber with sinister45 purposes. Suspicion, unless averted46, might fix upon the real offender47. In the very presence of the dead man, therefore, he laid a scheme that should free himself at the expense of Clifford, his rival, for whose character he had at once a contempt and a repugnance48. It is not probable, be it said, that he acted with any set purpose of involving Clifford in a charge of murder. Knowing that his uncle did not die by violence, it may not have occurred to him, in the hurry of the crisis, that such an inference might be drawn49. But, when the affair took this darker aspect, Jaffrey’s previous steps had already pledged him to those which remained. So craftily50 had he arranged the circumstances, that, at Clifford’s trial, his cousin hardly found it necessary to swear to anything false, but only to withhold51 the one decisive explanation, by refraining to state what he had himself done and witnessed.
Thus Jaffrey Pyncheon’s inward criminality, as regarded Clifford, was, indeed, black and damnable; while its mere52 outward show and positive commission was the smallest that could possibly consist with so great a sin. This is just the sort of guilt that a man of eminent53 respectability finds it easiest to dispose of. It was suffered to fade out of sight or be reckoned a venial54 matter, in the Honorable Judge Pyncheon’s long subsequent survey of his own life. He shuffled55 it aside, among the forgotten and forgiven frailties56 of his youth, and seldom thought of it again.
We leave the Judge to his repose57. He could not be styled fortunate at the hour of death. Unknowingly, he was a childless man, while striving to add more wealth to his only child’s inheritance. Hardly a week after his decease, one of the Cunard steamers brought intelligence of the death, by cholera58, of Judge Pyncheon’s son, just at the point of embarkation59 for his native land. By this misfortune Clifford became rich; so did Hepzibah; so did our little village maiden60, and, through her, that sworn foe61 of wealth and all manner of conservatism — the wild reformer — Holgrave!
It was now far too late in Clifford’s life for the good opinion of society to be worth the trouble and anguish62 of a formal vindication63. What he needed was the love of a very few; not the admiration64, or even the respect, of the unknown many. The latter might probably have been won for him, had those on whom the guardianship65 of his welfare had fallen deemed it advisable to expose Clifford to a miserable66 resuscitation67 of past ideas, when the condition of whatever comfort he might expect lay in the calm of forgetfulness. After such wrong as he had suffered, there is no reparation. The pitiable mockery of it, which the world might have been ready enough to offer, coming so long after the agony had done its utmost work, would have been fit only to provoke bitterer laughter than poor Clifford was ever capable of. It is a truth (and it would be a very sad one but for the higher hopes which it suggests) that no great mistake, whether acted or endured, in our mortal sphere, is ever really set right. Time, the continual vicissitude68 of circumstances, and the invariable inopportunity of death, render it impossible. If, after long lapse69 of years, the right seems to be in our power, we find no niche70 to set it in. The better remedy is for the sufferer to pass on, and leave what he once thought his irreparable ruin far behind him.
The shock of Judge Pyncheon’s death had a permanently71 invigorating and ultimately beneficial effect on Clifford. That strong and ponderous72 man had been Clifford’s nightmare. There was no free breath to be drawn, within the sphere of so malevolent73 an influence. The first effect of freedom, as we have witnessed in Clifford’s aimless flight, was a tremulous exhilaration. Subsiding74 from it, he did not sink into his former intellectual apathy75. He never, it is true, attained76 to nearly the full measure of what might have been his faculties77. But he recovered enough of them partially78 to light up his character, to display some outline of the marvellous grace that was abortive79 in it, and to make him the object of No less deep, although less melancholy80 interest than heretofore. He was evidently happy. Could we pause to give another picture of his daily life, with all the appliances now at command to gratify his instinct for the Beautiful, the garden scenes, that seemed so sweet to him, would look mean and trivial in comparison.
Very soon after their change of fortune, Clifford, Hepzibah, and little Phoebe, with the approval of the artist, concluded to remove from the dismal81 old House of the Seven Gables, and take up their abode82, for the present, at the elegant country-seat of the late Judge Pyncheon. Chanticleer and his family had already been transported thither83, where the two hens had forthwith begun an indefatigable85 process of egg-laying, with an evident design, as a matter of duty and conscience, to continue their illustrious breed under better auspices86 than for a century past. On the day set for their departure, the principal personages of our story, including good Uncle Venner, were assembled in the parlor87.
“The country-house is certainly a very fine one, so far as the plan goes,” observed Holgrave, as the party were discussing their future arrangements. “But I wonder that the late Judge — being so opulent, and with a reasonable prospect88 of transmitting his wealth to descendants of his own — should not have felt the propriety89 of embodying90 so excellent a piece of domestic architecture in stone, rather than in wood. Then, every generation of the family might have altered the interior, to suit its own taste and convenience; while the exterior91, through the lapse of years, might have been adding venerableness to its original beauty, and thus giving that impression of permanence which I consider essential to the happiness of any one moment.”
“Why,” cried Phoebe, gazing into the artist’s face with infinite amazement92, “how wonderfully your ideas are changed! A house of stone, indeed! It is but two or three weeks ago that you seemed to wish people to live in something as fragile and temporary as a bird’s-nest!”
“Ah, Phoebe, I told you how it would be!” said the artist, with a half-melancholy laugh.“You find me a conservative already! Little did I think ever to become one. It is especially unpardonable in this dwelling93 of so much hereditary misfortune, and under the eye of yonder portrait of a model conservative, who, in that very character, rendered himself so long the evil destiny of his race.”
“That picture!” said Clifford, seeming to shrink from its stern glance. “Whenever I look at it, there is an old dreamy recollection haunting me, but keeping just beyond the grasp of my mind. Wealth, it seems to say!— boundless94 wealth!— unimaginable wealth! I could fancy that, when I was a child, or a youth, that portrait had spoken, and told me a rich secret, or had held forth84 its hand, with the written record of hidden opulence95. But those old matters are so dim with me, nowadays! What could this dream have been?”
“Perhaps I can recall it,” answered Holgrave. “See! There are a hundred chances to one that no person, unacquainted with the secret, would ever touch this spring.”
“A secret spring!” cried Clifford. “Ah, I remember Now! I did discover it, one summer afternoon, when I was idling and dreaming about the house, long, long ago. But the mystery escapes me.”
The artist put his finger on the contrivance to which he had referred. In former days, the effect would probably have been to cause the picture to start forward. But, in so long a period of concealment96, the machinery97 had been eaten through with rust98; so that at Holgrave’s pressure, the portrait, frame and all, tumbled suddenly from its position, and lay face downward on the floor. A recess99 in the wall was thus brought to light, in which lay an object so covered with a century’s dust that it could not immediately be recognized as a folded sheet of parchment. Holgrave opened it, and displayed an ancient deed, signed with the hieroglyphics100 of several Indian sagamores, and conveying to Colonel Pyncheon and his heirs, forever, a vast extent of territory at the Eastward101.
“This is the very parchment, the attempt to recover which cost the beautiful Alice Pyncheon her happiness and life,” said the artist, alluding102 to his legend. “It is what the Pyncheons sought in vain, while it was valuable; and now that they find the treasure, it has long been worthless.”
“Poor Cousin Jaffrey! This is what deceived him,” exclaimed Hepzibah. “When they were young together, Clifford probably made a kind of fairy-tale of this discovery. He was always dreaming hither and thither about the house, and lighting103 up its dark corners with beautiful stories. And poor Jaffrey, who took hold of everything as if it were real, thought my brother had found out his uncle’s wealth. He died with this delusion104 in his mind!”
“But,” said Phoebe, apart to Holgrave, “how came you to know the secret?”
“My dearest Phoebe,” said Holgrave, “how will it please you to assume the name of Maule? As for the secret, it is the only inheritance that has come down to me from my ancestors. You should have known sooner (only that I was afraid of frightening you away) that, in this long drama of wrong and retribution, I represent the old wizard, and am probably as much a wizard as ever he was. The son of the executed Matthew Maule, while building this house, took the opportunity to construct that recess, and hide away the Indian deed, on which depended the immense land-claim of the Pyncheons. Thus they bartered105 their eastern territory for Maule’s garden-ground.”
“And now” said Uncle Venner “I suppose their whole claim is not worth one man’s share in my farm yonder!”
“Uncle Venner,” cried Phoebe, taking the patched philosopher’s hand, “you must never talk any more about your farm! You shall never go there, as long as you live! There is a cottage in our new garden — the prettiest little yellowish-brown cottage you ever saw; and the sweetest-looking place, for it looks just as if it were made of gingerbread — and we are going to fit it up and furnish it, on purpose for you. And you shall do nothing but what you choose, and shall be as happy as the day is long, and shall keep Cousin Clifford in spirits with the wisdom and pleasantness which is always dropping from your lips!”
“Ah! my dear child,” quoth good Uncle Venner, quite overcome, “if you were to speak to a young man as you do to an old one, his chance of keeping his heart another minute would not be worth one of the buttons on my waistcoat! And — soul alive!— that great sigh, which you made me heave, has burst off the very last of them! But, never mind! It was the happiest sigh I ever did heave; and it seems as if I must have drawn in a gulp106 of heavenly breath, to make it with. Well, well, Miss Phoebe! They’ll miss me in the gardens hereabouts, and round by the back doors; and Pyncheon Street, I’m afraid, will hardly look the same without old Uncle Venner, who remembers it with a mowing107 field on one side, and the garden of the Seven Gables on the other. But either I must go to your country-seat, or you must come to my farm — that’s one of two things certain; and I leave you to choose which!”
“Oh, come with us, by all means, Uncle Venner!” said Clifford, who had a remarkable enjoyment108 of the old man’s mellow109, quiet, and simple spirit. “I want you always to be within five minutes, saunter of my chair. You are the only philosopher I ever knew of whose wisdom has not a drop of bitter essence at the bottom!”
“Dear me!” cried Uncle Venner, beginning partly to realize what manner of man he was. “And yet folks used to set me down among the simple ones, in my younger days! But I suppose I am like a Roxbury russet — a great deal the better, the longer I can be kept. Yes; and my words of wisdom, that you and Phoebe tell me of, are like the golden dandelions, which never grow in the hot months, but may be seen glistening110 among the withered111 grass, and under the dry leaves, sometimes as late as December. And you are welcome, friends, to my mess of dandelions, if there were twice as many!”
A plain, but handsome, dark-green barouche had now drawn up in front of the ruinous portal of the old mansion-house. The party came forth, and (with the exception of good Uncle Venner, who was to follow in a few days) proceeded to take their places. They were chatting and laughing very pleasantly together; and — as proves to be often the case, at moments when we ought to palpitate with sensibility — Clifford and Hepzibah bade a final farewell to the abode of their forefathers112, with hardly more emotion than if they had made it their arrangement to return thither at tea-time. Several children were drawn to the spot by so unusual a spectacle as the barouche and pair of gray horses. Recognizing little Ned Higgins among them, Hepzibah put her hand into her pocket, and presented the urchin113, her earliest and staunchest customer, with silver enough to people the Domdaniel cavern114 of his interior with as various a procession of quadrupeds as passed into the ark.
Two men were passing, just as the barouche drove off.
“Well, Dixey,” said one of them, “what do you think of this? My wife kept a cent-shop three months, and lost five dollars on her outlay115. Old Maid Pyncheon has been in trade just about as long, and rides off in her carriage with a couple of hundred thousand — reckoning her share, and Clifford’s, and Phoebe’s — and some say twice as much! If you choose to call it luck, it is all very well; but if we are to take it as the will of Providence116, why, I can’t exactly fathom117 it!”
“Pretty good business!” quoth the sagacious Dixey —“pretty good business!”
Maule’s well, all this time, though left in solitude118, was throwing up a succession of kaleidoscopic119 pictures, in which a gifted eye might have seen foreshadowed the coming fortunes of Hepzibah and Clifford, and the descendant of the legendary120 wizard, and the village maiden, over whom he had thrown Love’s web of sorcery. The Pyncheon Elm, moreover, with what foliage121 the September gale122 had spared to it, whispered unintelligible123 prophecies. And wise Uncle Venner, passing slowly from the ruinous porch, seemed to hear a strain of music, and fancied that sweet Alice Pyncheon — after witnessing these deeds, this bygone woe124 and this present happiness, of her kindred mortals — had given one farewell touch of a spirit’s joy upon her harpsichord125, as she floated heavenward from the HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES!
The End
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1
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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eulogistic
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| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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obviated
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| v.避免，消除（贫困、不方便等）( obviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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pertained
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| 关于( pertain的过去式和过去分词 )； 有关； 存在； 适用 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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52
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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53
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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54
venial
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| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
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55
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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56
frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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57
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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58
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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59
embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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60
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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61
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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62
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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63
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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64
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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65
guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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66
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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67
resuscitation
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| n.复活 | |
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68
vicissitude
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| n.变化，变迁，荣枯，盛衰 | |
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69
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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70
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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71
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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72
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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73
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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74
subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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75
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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76
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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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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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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79
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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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
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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82
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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83
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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84
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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85
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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86
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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87
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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90
embodying
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| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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93
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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94
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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97
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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98
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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99
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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100
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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101
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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102
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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103
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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104
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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105
bartered
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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107
mowing
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| n.割草，一次收割量，牧草地v.刈，割( mow的现在分词 ) | |
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108
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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109
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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110
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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111
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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112
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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113
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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114
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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115
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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116
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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117
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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118
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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119
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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120
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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121
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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122
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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123
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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124
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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125
harpsichord
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| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
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