In Patagonia I added something to my small stock of private facts concerning eyes — their appearance, colour, and expression — and vision, subjects which have had a mild attraction for me as long as I can remember. When, as a boy, I mixed with the gauchos2 of the pampas, there was one among them who greatly awed3 me by his appearance and character. He was distinguished4 among his fellows by his tallness, the thickness of his eyebrows5 and the great length of his crow-black beard, the form and length of his ‘facon’, or knife, which was nothing but a sword worn knife-wise, and the ballads6 he composed, in which were recounted, in a harsh tuneless voice to the strum-strum of a guitar, the hand-to-hand combats he had had with others of his class — fighters and desperadoes — and in which he had always been the victor, for his adversaries8 had all been slain9 to a man. But his eyes, his most wonderful feature, impressed me more than anything else; for one was black and the other dark blue. All other strange and extranatural things in nature, of which I had personal knowledge, as, for instance, mushrooms growing in rings, and the shrinking of the sensitive plant when touched, and will-o’-the-wisps, and crowing hens, and the murderous attack of social birds and beasts on one of their fellows, seemed less strange and wonderful than the fact that this man’s eyes did not correspond, but were the eyes of two men, as if there had been two natures and souls in one body. My astonishment11 was, perhaps, not unaccountable, when we reflect that the eye is to us the window of the mind or soul, that it expresses the soul, and is, as it were, the soul itself materialised. Some person lately published in England a book entitled ‘Soul–Shapes’, treating not only of the shapes of souls but also of their colour. The letterpress of this work interests me less than the coloured plates adorning12 it. Passing over the mixed and vari-coloured souls, which resemble, in the illustrations, coloured maps in an atlas13, we come to the blue soul, for which the author has a very special regard. Its blue is like that of the commonest type of blue eye. This curious fancy of a blue soul probably originated in the close association of eye and soul in the mind. It is worthy14 of note that while the mixed and other coloured souls seem very much out of shape, like an old felt hat or a stranded15 jelly-fish, the pure-coloured blue soul is round, like an iris16, and only wanted a pupil to be made an eye.
But the subject of the colour and expression of eyes in man and animals must be reserved for the next chapter; in the present chapter I shall confine myself to the subject of vision in savage17 and semi-barbarous men as compared with ours.
Here again I recall an incident of my boyhood, and am not sure that it was not this that first gave me an interest in the subject.
One summer day at home, I was attentively18 listening, out of doors, to a conversation between two men, both past middle life and about the same age, one an educated Englishman, wearing spectacles, the other a native, who was very impressive in his manner, and was holding forth19 in a loud authoritative20 voice on a variety of subjects. All at once he fixed21 his eyes on the spectacles worn by the other, and, bursting into a laugh, cried out, “Why do you always wear those eye-hiding glasses straddled across your nose? Are they supposed to make a man look handsomer or wiser than his fellows, or do you, a sensible person, really believe that you can see better than another man because of them? If so, then all I can say is that it is a fable22, a delusion23; no man can believe such a thing.”
He was only expressing the feeling that all persons of his class, whose lives are passed in the semi-barbarous conditions of the gauchos on the pampas, experience at the sight of such artificial helps to vision as spectacles. They look through a pane24 of common glass, and it makes the view no clearer, but rather dimmer — how can the two diminutive25 circular panes26 carried before the eyes produce any other effect? Besides, their sight as a rule is good when they are young, and as they progress in life they are not conscious of decadence27 in it; from infancy28 to old age the world looks, they imagine, the same, the grass as green, the sky as blue as ever, and the scarlet29 verbenas in the grass just as scarlet. The man lives in his sight; it is his life; he speaks of the loss of it as a calamity30 great as loss of reason. To see spectacles amuses and irritates him at the same time; he has the monkey’s impulse to snatch the idle things from his fellow’s nose; for not only is it useless to the wearer, and a sham31, but it is annoying to others, who do not like to look at a man and not properly see his eyes, and the thought that is in them.
To the mocking speech he had made the other good-humouredly replied that he had worn glasses for twenty years, that not only did they enable him to see much better than he could without them, but they had preserved his sight from further decadence. Not satisfied with defending himself against the charge of being a fantastical person for wearing glasses, he in his turn attacked the mocker. “How do you know,” he said, “that your own eyesight has not degenerated32 with time? You can only ascertain33 that by trying on a number of glasses suited to a variety of sights, all in some degree defective34. A score of men with decaying sight may be together, and in no two will the sight be the same. You must try on spectacles, as you try on boots, until you find a pair to fit you. You may try mine if you like; our years are the same, and it is just possible that our eyes may be in the same condition.”
The gaucho1 laughed a loud and scornful laugh, and exclaimed that the idea was too ridiculous. “What, see better with this thing!” and he took them gingerly in his hand, and held them up to examine them, and finally put them on his nose — something in the spirit of the person who takes a newspaper twisted into the shape of an extinguisher, and puts it on his head. He looked at the other, then at me, then stared all round him, with an expression of utter astonishment, and in the end burst out in loud exclamations35 of delight. For, strange to say, the glasses exactly suited his vision, which, unknown to him, had probably been decaying for years. “Angels of heaven, what is this I see!” he shouted. “What makes the trees look so green — they were never so green before! And so distinct — I can count their leaves! And the cart over there — why, it is red as blood!” And to satisfy himself that it had not just been freshly painted he ran over to it and placed his hand on the wood. It proved hard to convince him that objects had once looked as distinct, and leaves as green, and the sky as blue, and red paint as red, to his natural sight, as they now did through those magical glasses. The distinctness and brightness seemed artificial and uncanny. But in the end he was convinced, and then he wanted to keep the spectacles, and pulled out his money to pay for them there and then, and was very much put out when their owner insisted on having them back. However, shortly afterwards a pair was got for him; and with these on his nose he galloped36 about the country, exhibiting them to all his neighbours, and boasting of the miraculous38 power they imparted to his eyes of seeing the world as no one else could see it.
My Patagonian host and friend, whose intimate knowledge of cards I have mentioned in a former chapter, once informed me that always after the first few rounds of a game he knew some of the cards, and could recognise them as they were being dealt out, by means of certain slight shades of difference in the colouring of the backs. He had turned his attention to this business when very young, and as he was close upon fifty when he imparted this interesting piece of information, and had always existed comfortably on his winnings, I saw no reason to disbelieve what he told me. Yet this very man, whose vision was keen enough to detect differences in cards so slight that another could not see them, even when pointed39 out — this preternaturally sharp-eyed individual was greatly surprised when I explained to him that half a dozen birds of the sparrow kind, that fed in his courtyard, and sang and built their nests in his garden and vineyard and fields, were not one but six distinct species. He had never seen any difference in them: they all had the same customs, the same motions; in size, colour, and shape they were all one; to his hearing they all chirped40 and twittered alike, and warbled the same song.
And as it was with this man, so, to some extent, it is with all of us. that special thing which interests us, and in which we find our profit or pleasure, we see very distinctly, and our memories are singularly tenacious41 of its image; while other things, in which we take only a general interest, or which are nothing to us, are not seen so sharply, and soon become blurred42 in memory; and if there happens to be a pretty close resemblance in several of them, as in the case of my gambling43 friend’s half-a-dozen sparrows, which, like snowflakes, were “seen rather than distinguished,” this indistinctness of their images on the eye and the mind causes them all to appear alike. We have, as it were, two visions — one to which all objects appear vividly44 and close to us, and are permanently45 photographed on the mind; the other which sees things at a distance, and with that indistinctness of outline and uniformity of colour which distance gives.
In this place I had proposed to draw on my La Plata note-books for some amusing illustrations of this fact of our two sights; but it is not necessary to go so far afield for illustrations, or to insist on a thing so familiar. “The shepherd knows his sheep,” is a saying just as true of this country — of Scotland, at all events — as of the far East. Detectives, also military men who take an interest in their profession, see faces more sharply than most people, and remember them as distinctly as others remember the faces of a very limited number of individuals — of those they love or fear or constantly associate with. Sailors see atmospheric46 changes which are not apparent to others; and, in the like manner, the physician detects the signs of malady47 in faces which to the uninstructed vision seem healthy enough. And so on through the whole range of professions and pursuits which men have; each person inhabits a little world of his own, as it were, which to others is only part of the distant general blueness obscuring all things, but in which, to him, every object stands out with wonderful clearness, and plainly tells its story.
All this may sound very trite48, very trivial, and matter of common knowledge — so common as to be known to every schoolboy, and to the boy that goeth not to school; yet it is because this simple familiar fact has been ignored, or has not always been borne in mind by our masters, that they have taught us an error, namely, that savages49 are our superiors in visual power, and that the difference is so great that ours is a dim decaying sense compared with their brilliant faculty50, and that only when we survey the prospect51 through powerful field-glasses do we rise to their level, and see the world as they see it. The truth is that the savage sight is no better than ours, although it might seem natural enough to think the contrary, on account of their simple natural life in the desert, which is always green and restful to the eye, or supposed to be so; and because they have no gas nor even candlelight to irritate the visual nerve, and do themselves no injury by poring over miserable52 books.
Possibly, then, the beginning of the error was in this preconceived notion, that greenness and the absence of artificial light, with other conditions of a primitive53 life, keep the sight from deteriorating54. The eye’s adaptiveness did not get sufficient credit. We know how the muscles may be developed by training, that the blacksmith and the prizefighter have mightier55 arms than others; but it was perhaps assumed that the complex structure and extreme delicacy56 of the eye would make it less adaptive than other and coarser organs. Whatever the origin of the error may have been, it is certain that it has received the approval of scientists, and that they never open their lips on the subject except to give it fresh confirmation57. Their researches have brought to light a great variety of eye-troubles, which, in many cases, are not troublesome at all, until they are discovered, named with a startling name, and described in terms very alarming to persons of timid character. Frequently they are not maladies, but inherited defects, like bandy legs, prominent teeth, crushed toes, tender skin, and numberless other malformations. That such eye-defects are as common among savages as among ourselves, I do not say, and to this matter I shall return later on; but until the eyes of savages are scientifically examined, it seems a very bold thing to say that defective colour-sense is due to the inimical conditions of our civilisation58; for we know as little about the colour-sense of savages as we do about the colour-sense of the old Greeks. That the savage sight is vastly more powerful than ours was perhaps not so bold a thing to say, seeing that in this matter our teachers were misled by travellers’ tales, and perhaps by other considerations, as, for instance, the absence of artificial aids to sight among the children of nature. The redskin may be very old, but as he sits sunning himself before his wigwam in the early morning he is never observed to trombone his newspaper.
The reader may spare himself the trouble of smiling, for this is not mere59 supposition; in this case observation came first and reflection afterwards, for I happen to know something of savages from experience, and when they were using their eyes in their way, and for their purposes, I used mine for my purpose, which was different. It is true that the redskin will point you out an object in the distance and tell its character, and it will be to your sight only a dark-coloured object, which might be a bush, or stone, or animal of some large kind, or even a house. The secret of the difference is that his eye is trained and accustomed to see certain things, which he looks for and expects to find. Put him where the conditions are new to him and he will be at fault; or, even on his native heath, set him before an unfamiliar60 or unexpected object, and he will show no superiority over his civilised brother. I have witnessed one instance in which not one but five men were all in fault, and made a wrong guess; while the one person of our party who guessed correctly, or saw better perhaps, was a child of civilisation and a reader of books, and, what is perhaps even more, the descendant of a long line of bookish men. This amazed me at the moment, for until then my childlike faith in the belief of Humboldt, and of the world generally, on the subject had never been disturbed. Now I see how this curious thing happened. The object was at such a distance that to all of us alike it presented no definite form, but was merely something dark, standing61 against a hoary62 background of tall grass-plumes. Our guides, principally regarding its size, at once guessed it to be an animal which they no doubt expected to find in that place — namely, a wild horse. The other, who did not have that training of the eye and mind for distant objects in the desert which is like an instinct, and, like instinct, is liable to mistakes, and who carefully studied its appearance for himself, pronounced it to be a dark bush. When we got near it turned out to be a clump63 of tall bulrushes, growing in a place where they had no business to grow, and burnt by drought and frosts to so dark a brown that at a distance they seemed quite black.
In the following case the savage was right. I pointed out an object, dark, far off, so low down as to be just visible above the tall grasses, passing with a falling and rising motion like that of a horseman going at a swinging gallop37. “There goes a mounted man,” I remarked. “No — a traru,” returned my companion, after one swift glance; the traru being a large, black, eagle-like bird of the plains, the carancho of the whites — ‘Polyborus tharus’. But the object was not necessarily more distinct to him than to me; he could not see wings and beak64 at that distance; but the trarú was a familiar object, which he was accustomed to see at all distances — a figure in the landscape which he looked for and expected to find. It was only a dark blot65 on the horizon; but he knew the animal’s habits and appearance, and that when seen far off, in its low down, dilatory66, rising and falling flight, it simulates the appearance of a horseman in full gallop. To know this and a few other things was his vocation67. If one had set him to find a reversed little “s” in the middle of a closely-printed page the tears would have run down his brown cheeks, and he would have abandoned the vain quest with aching eyeballs. Yet the proof-reader can find the reversed little “s” in a few moments, without straining his sight. But it is infinitely68 more important to the savage of the plains than to us to see distant moving objects quickly and guess their nature correctly. His daily food, the recovery of his lost animals, and his personal safety depend on it; and it is not, therefore, strange that every blot of dark colour, every moving and motionless object on the horizon, tells its story better to him than to a stranger; especially when we consider how small a variety of objects he is called on to see and judge of in the level monotonous69 region he inhabits.
This quick judging of dimly-seen distant things, the eye — and mind-achievement of the mounted barbarian70 on the unobstructed plains, is not nearly so admirable as that of his fellow-savage in sub-tropical regions overspread with dense71 vegetation, with animal life in great abundance and variety, and where half the attention must be given to species dangerous to man, often very small in size. In some hot humid forest districts, the European who should attempt to hunt or explore with bare feet and legs would be pricked72 and lacerated at almost every step of his progress, and probably get bitten by a serpent before the day’s end. Yet the Indian passes his life there, and, naked or half naked, explores the unknown wilderness73 of thorns, and has only his arrows to provide food for himself and his wife and children. He does not get pierced with thorns and bitten by serpents, because his eye is nicely trained to pick them out in time to save himself. He walks rapidly, but he knows every shade of green, every smooth and crinkled leaf, in that dense tangle74, full of snares75 and deceptions76, through which he is obliged to walk; and much as leaf resembles leaf, he sets his foot where he can safely set it, or, quickly choosing between two evils, where the prickles and thorns are softest, or, for some reason known to him, hurt least. In like manner he distinguishes the coiled-up venomous snake, although it lies so motionless — a habit common to the most deadly kinds — and in its dull imitative colouring is so difficult to be distinguished on the brown earth, and among grey sticks and sere77 and variegated78 leaves.
A friend of mine, Fontana of Buenos Ayres, who has a life-long acquaintance with the Argentine Indians, expresses the opinion that at the age of twelve years the savage of the pampas has completed his education, and is thereafter able to take care of himself; but that the savage of the Gran Chaco — the sub-tropical Argentine territory bordering on Paraguay and Bolivia — if left to shift for himself at that age would speedily perish, since he is then only in the middle of his long, difficult, and painful apprenticeship79. It was curious and pitiful, he says, to see the little Indian children in the Chaco, when their skins were yet tender, stealing away from their mother, and trying to follow the larger ones playing at a distance. At every step they would fall, and get pricked with thorns or cut with sharp-edged rushes, and tangled80 in the creepers, and hurt and crying they would struggle on, and in this painful manner learn at last where to set their feet.
The snake on the ground, coloured like the ground, and shaped like the dead curved sticks or vines seen everywhere on the ground, and motionless like the vine, does not more closely assimilate to its surroundings than birds in trees often do — the birds which the Indian must also see. A stranger in these regions, even the naturalist81 with a sight quickened by enthusiasm, finds it hard to detect a parrot in a lofty tree, even when he knows that parrots are there; for their greenness in the green foliage82, and the correlated habit they possess of remaining silent and motionless in the presence of an intruder, make them invisible to him, and he is astonished that the Indian should be able to detect them. The Indian knows how to look for them; it is his trade, which is long to learn; but he is obliged to learn it, for his success in life, and even life itself, depends on it, since in the savage state Nature kills those who fail in her competitive examinations.
The reader has doubtless often seen those little picture-puzzles, variously labelled “Where’s the Cat?” or “Mad Bull,” or “Burglar,” or “Policeman,” or “Snake in the Grass,” etc., in which the thing named and to be discovered is formed by branches and foliage, and by running water, and drapery, and lights and shadows in the sketch83. At first one finds it extremely difficult to detect this picture within a picture; and at last — with the suddenness with which one invariably detects a dull-coloured snake, seen previously84 but not distinguished — the object sought for appears, and is thereafter so plain to the eye that one cannot look at the sketch, even held at a distance, without seeing the cat, or policeman, or whatever it happens to be. And after patiently studying some scores or hundreds of these puzzles one gets to know just how to find the thing concealed85, and finds it quickly — almost at a glance at last. Now the ingenious person that first invented this pretty puzzle probably had no thought of Nature, with her curious imitative and protective resemblances, in his mind; yet he might very well have taken the hint from Nature, for this is what she does. The animal that must be seen to be avoided, and the animal that must be seen to be taken, are there in her picture, sketched86 in with such cunning art that to the uninstructed eye they form only portions of branch and foliage and shadow and sunlight above, and dull-hued or variegated earth and stones and dead and withering87 herbage underneath88.
It is possible that slight differences may exist in the seeing powers of different nations, due to the effect of physical conditions: thus, the inhabitants of mountainous districts and of dry elevated table-lands may have a better sight than dwellers89 in low, humid, and level regions, although just the reverse may be the case. Among European nations the Germans are generally supposed to have weak eyes, owing, some imagine, to their excessive indulgence in tobacco; while others attribute the supposed decay to the form of type used in their books, which requires closer looking at than ours in reading. That they will deteriorate90 still further in this direction, and from being a spectacled people become a blind one, to the joy of their enemies, is not likely to happen, and probably the decadence has been a great deal exaggerated. Animals living in darkness become near-sighted, and then nearer-sighted still, and so on progressively until the vanishing point is reached. In a community or nation a similar decline might begin from much reading of German books, or perpetual smoking of pipes with big china bowls, or from some other unknown cause; but the decay could not progress far, because there is nothing in man to take the place of sight, as there is in the blind cave rats and fishes and insects. And if we could survey mankind from China to Peru with all the scientific appliances which are brought to bear on the Board-school children in London, and on the nation generally, the differences in the powers of vision in the various races, nations, and tribes would probably appear very insignificant91. The mistake which eye specialists and writers on the eye make is that they think too much about the eye. When they affirm that the conditions of our civilisation are highly injurious to the sight, do they mean all the million conditions, or sets of conditions, embraced by our system, with the infinite variety of occupations and modes of living which men have, from the lighthouse-keeper to the worker underground, whose day is the dim glimmer92 of a miner’s lamp? “An organ exercised beyond its wont93 will grow, and thus meet increase of demand by increase of supply,” Herbert Spencer says; but, he adds, there is a limit soon reached, beyond which it is impossible to go. This increase of demand with us is everywhere — now on this organ and now on that, according to our work and way of life, and the eye is in no worse case than the other organs. There are among us many cases of heart complaint; civilisation, in such cases, has put too great a strain on that organ, and it has reached the limit beyond which it cannot go. And so with the eye. The total number of the defective among us is no doubt very large, for we know that our system of life retards94 — it cannot effectually prevent — the healthy action of natural selection. Nature pulls one way and we pull the other, compassionately96 trying to save the unfit from the consequences of their unfitness. The humane97 instinct compels us; but the cruel instinct of the savage is less painful to contemplate98 than that mistaken or perverted99 compassion95 which seeks to perpetuate100 unfitness, and in the interest of suffering individuals inflicts101 a lasting102 injury on the race. It is a beautiful and sacred thing to minister to the blind, and to lead them, but a horrible thing to encourage them to marry and transmit the miserable defective condition to their posterity103. Yet this is very common; and not long ago a leader-writer in one of the principal London journals spoke104 of this very thing in terms of rapturous approval, and looked forward to the growth of a totally blind race of men among us, as though it were something to be proud of — a triumph of our civilisation!
Pelleschi, in his admirable book on the Chaco Indians, says that malformations are never seen in these savages, that physically105 they are all perfect men; and he remarks that in their exceedingly hard struggle for existence in a thorny106 wilderness, beset107 with perils108, any bodily defect or ailment109 would be fatal. And as the eye in their life is the most important organ, it must be an eye without flaw. In this circumstance only do savages differ from us — namely, in the absence or rarity of defective eyes among them; and when those who, like Dr. Brudenell Carter, believe in the decadence of the eye in civilised man quote Humboldt’s words about the miraculous sight of South American savages, they quote an error. It is not strange that Humboldt should have fallen into it, for after all, he had only the means which we all possess of finding out things — a limited sight and a fallible mind. Like the savage, he had trained his faculties110 to observe and infer, and his inferences, like those of the savage, were sometimes wrong.
The savage sight is no better than ours for the simple reason that a better is not required. Nature has given to him, as to all her creatures, only what was necessary, and nothing for ostentation111. Standing on the ground, his horizon is a limited one; and the animals he preys112 on, if often sharper-eyed and swifter than he, are without intelligence, and thus things are made equal. He can see the rhea as far as the rhea can see him; and if he possessed113 the eagle’s far-seeing faculty it would be of no advantage to him. The high-soaring eagle requires to see very far, but the low-flying owl10 is near-sighted. And so on through the whole animal world: each kind has sight sufficient to find its food and escape from its enemies, and nothing beyond. Animals that live close to the surface have a very limited sight. Moreover, other faculties may usurp114 the eye’s place, or develop so greatly as to make the eye of only secondary importance as an organ of intelligence. The snake offers a curious case. No other sense seems to have developed in it, yet I take the snake to be one of the nearest-sighted creatures in existence. From long observation of them I am convinced that small snakes of very sluggish115 habits do not see distinctly farther than from one to three yards. But the sluggish snake is the champion faster in the animal world, and can afford to lie quiescent116 until the wind of chance blows something eatable in its way; hence it does not require to see an object distinctly until almost within striking distance. Another remarkable118 case is that of the armadillo. Of two species I can confidently say that, if they are not blind, they are next door to blindness; yet they are diurnal119 animals that go abroad in the full glare of noon and wander far in search of food. But their sense of smell is marvellously acute, and, as in the case of the mole120, it has made sight superfluous121. To come back to man: if, in a state of nature, he is able to guess the character of objects nine times in ten, or nineteen in twenty, seen as far as he requires to see anything, his intellectual faculties make a better sight unnecessary. If the armadillo’s scent117 had not been so keen, and man had not been gifted with nimble brains, the sight in both cases would have been vastly stronger; but the sharpening of its sense of smell has dimmed the armadillo’s eyes and made him blinder than a snake; while man (from no fault of his own) is unable to see farther than the wolf and the ostrich122 and the wild ass7.
1 gaucho | |
n. 牧人 | |
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2 gauchos | |
n.南美牧人( gaucho的名词复数 ) | |
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3 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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5 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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6 ballads | |
民歌,民谣,特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 ); 讴 | |
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7 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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8 adversaries | |
n.对手,敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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9 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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10 owl | |
n.猫头鹰,枭 | |
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11 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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12 adorning | |
修饰,装饰物 | |
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13 atlas | |
n.地图册,图表集 | |
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14 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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15 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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16 iris | |
n.虹膜,彩虹 | |
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17 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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18 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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19 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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20 authoritative | |
adj.有权威的,可相信的;命令式的;官方的 | |
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21 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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22 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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23 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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24 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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25 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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26 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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27 decadence | |
n.衰落,颓废 | |
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28 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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29 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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30 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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31 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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32 degenerated | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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34 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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35 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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36 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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37 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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38 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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39 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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40 chirped | |
鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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41 tenacious | |
adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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42 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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43 gambling | |
n.赌博;投机 | |
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44 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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45 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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46 atmospheric | |
adj.大气的,空气的;大气层的;大气所引起的 | |
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47 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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48 trite | |
adj.陈腐的 | |
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49 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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50 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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51 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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52 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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53 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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54 deteriorating | |
恶化,变坏( deteriorate的现在分词 ) | |
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55 mightier | |
adj. 强有力的,强大的,巨大的 adv. 很,极其 | |
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56 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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57 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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58 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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59 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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60 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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61 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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62 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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63 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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64 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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65 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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66 dilatory | |
adj.迟缓的,不慌不忙的 | |
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67 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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68 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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69 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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70 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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71 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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72 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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73 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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74 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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75 snares | |
n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 );圈套;诱人遭受失败(丢脸、损失等)的东西;诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉,诱陷,陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76 deceptions | |
欺骗( deception的名词复数 ); 骗术,诡计 | |
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77 sere | |
adj.干枯的;n.演替系列 | |
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78 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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79 apprenticeship | |
n.学徒身份;学徒期 | |
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80 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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81 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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82 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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83 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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84 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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85 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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86 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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87 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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88 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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89 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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90 deteriorate | |
v.变坏;恶化;退化 | |
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91 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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92 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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93 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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94 retards | |
使减速( retard的第三人称单数 ); 妨碍; 阻止; 推迟 | |
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95 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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96 compassionately | |
adv.表示怜悯地,有同情心地 | |
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97 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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98 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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99 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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100 perpetuate | |
v.使永存,使永记不忘 | |
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101 inflicts | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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103 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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104 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 | |
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105 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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106 thorny | |
adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
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107 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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108 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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109 ailment | |
n.疾病,小病 | |
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110 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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111 ostentation | |
n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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112 preys | |
v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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113 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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114 usurp | |
vt.篡夺,霸占;vi.篡位 | |
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115 sluggish | |
adj.懒惰的,迟钝的,无精打采的 | |
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116 quiescent | |
adj.静止的,不活动的,寂静的 | |
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117 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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118 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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119 diurnal | |
adj.白天的,每日的 | |
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120 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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121 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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122 ostrich | |
n.鸵鸟 | |
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