"What we make children love and desire is more important than what we make them learn."
When I was a little girl (oh, six most charming words!)—it is not necessary to name the year, but it was so long ago that children were still reminded that they should be seen and not heard, and also that they could eat what was set before them or go without (two maxims1 that suggest a hoary2 antiquity3 of time not easily measured by the senses),—when I was a little girl, I had the great good fortune to live in a country village.
I believe I always had a taste for books; but I will pass over that early period when I manifested it by carrying them to my mouth, and endeavored to assimilate their contents by the cramming4 process; and also that later stage, which heralded5 the dawn of the critical faculty6, perhaps, when I tore them in bits and held up the tattered7 fragments with shouts of derisive8 laughter. Unlike the critic, no more were given me to mar9; but, like the critic, I had marred10 a good many ere my vandal hand was stayed.
As soon as I could read, I had free access to an excellent medical library, the gloom of which was brightened by a few shelves of theological works, bequeathed to the family by some orthodox ancestor, and tempered by a volume or two of Blackstone; but outside of these, which were emphatically not the stuff my dreams were made of, I can only remember a certain little walnut11 bookcase hanging on the wall of the family sitting-room12.
It had but three shelves, yet all the mysteries of love and life and death were in the score of well-worn volumes that stood there side by side; and we turned to them, year after year, with undiminished interest. The number never seemed small, the stories never grew tame: when we came to the end of the third shelf, we simply went back and began again,—a process all too little known to latter-day children.
I can see them yet, those rows of shabby and incongruous volumes, the contents of which were transferred to our hungry little brains. Some of them are close at hand now, and I love their ragged13 corners, their dog's-eared pages that show the pressure of childish thumbs, and their dear old backs, broken in my service.
There was a red-covered "Book of Snobs15;" "Vanity Fair" with no cover at all; "Scottish Chiefs" in crimson16; a brown copy of George Sand's "Teverino;" and next it a green Bailey's "Festus," which I only attacked when mentally rabid, and a little of which went a surprisingly long way; and then a maroon17 "David Copperfield," whose pages were limp with my kisses. (To write a book that a child would kiss! Oh, dear reward! oh, sweet, sweet fame!)
In one corner—spare me your smiles—was a fat autobiography18 of P.T. Barnum, given me by a grateful farmer for saving the life of a valuable Jersey19 calf20 just as she was on the point of strangling herself. This book so inflamed21 a naturally ardent22 imagination, that I was with difficulty dissuaded23 from entering the arena24 as a circus manager. Considerations of age or sex had no weight with me, and lack of capital eventually proved the deterrent25 force. On the shelf above were "Kenilworth," "The Lady of the Lake," and half of "Rob Roy." I have always hesitated to read the other half, for fear that it should not end precisely26 as I made it end when I was forced, by necessity, to supplement Sir Walter Scott. Then there was "Gulliver's Travels," and if any of the stories seemed difficult to believe, I had only to turn to the maps of Lilliput and Brobdingnag, with the degrees of latitude27 and longitude28 duly marked, which always convinced me that everything was fair and aboveboard. Of course, there was a great green and gold Shakespeare, not a properly expurgated edition for female seminaries, either, nor even prose tales from Shakespeare adapted to young readers, but the real thing. We expurgated as we read, child fashion, taking into our sleek29 little heads all that we could comprehend or apprehend30, and unconsciously passing over what might have been hurtful, perhaps, at a later period. I suppose we failed to get a very close conception of Shakespeare's colossal31 genius, but we did get a tremendous and lasting32 impression of force and power, life and truth.
When we declaimed certain scenes in an upper chamber33 with sloping walls and dormer windows, a bed for a throne, a cotton umbrella for a sceptre, our creations were harmless enough. If I remember rightly, our nine-year-old Lady Macbeths and Iagos, Falstaffs and Cleopatras, after they had been dipped in the divine alembic of childish innocence34, came out so respectable that they would not have brought the historic "blush to the cheek of youth."
On the shelf above the Shakespeare were a few things presumably better suited to childish tastes,—Hawthorne's "Wonder Book," Kingsley's "Water Babies," Miss Edgeworth's "Rosamond," and the "Arabian Nights."
There were also two little tales given us by a wandering revivalist, who was on a starring tour through the New England villages, "How Gussie Grew in Grace," and "Little Harriet's Work for the Heathen,"—melodramatic histories of spiritually perfect and physically35 feeble children who blessed the world for a season, but died young, enlivened by a few pages devoted36 to completely vicious and adorable ones who lived to curse the world to a good old age.
Last of all, brought out only on state occasions, was a most seductive edition of that nursery Gaboriau, "Who Killed Cock Robin37?" with colored illustrations in which the heads of the birds were made to move oracularly, by means of cunningly arranged strips pulled from the bottom of the page. This was a relic38 of infancy39, our first introduction to the literature of plot, counterplot, intrigue40, and crime, and the mystery of the murder was very real to us. This book, still in existence, with all the birds headless from over-exertion, is always inextricably associated in my mind with childish woes41, as a desire on my part to make the birds wag their heads was always contemporaneous, to a second, with a like desire on my sister's part; and on those rare days when the precious volume was taken down, one of us always donned the penitential nightgown early in the afternoon and supped frugally42 in bed, while the other feasted gloriously at the family board, never quite happy in her virtue43, however, since it separated her from beloved vice14 in disgrace. That paltry44 tattered volume, when it confronts me from its safe nook in a bureau drawer, makes my heart beat faster and sets me dreaming! Pray tell me if any book read in your later and wiser years ever brings to your mind such vivid memories, to your lips so lingering a smile, to your eye so ready a tear? True enough, "we could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it…. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known and loved because it is known?"
It is in remembering what books greatly moved us in earlier days; what books wakened strong and healthy desires, enlarged the horizon of our understanding, and inspired us to generous action, that we get some clue to the books with which to surround our children; and a reminiscence of this kind becomes a sort of psychological observation. The moment we realize clearly that the books we read in childhood and youth make a profound impression that can never be repeated later (save in some rare crisis of heart and soul, where a printed page marks an epoch47 in one's mental or spiritual life), then we become reinforced in our opinion that it makes a deal of difference what children read and how they read it.
Agnes Repplier says: "It is part of the irony48 of life that our discriminating49 taste for books should be built up on the ashes of an extinct enjoyment50."
A book is such a fact to children, its people are so alive and so heartily51 loved and hated, its scenes so absolutely real! Prone52 on the hearth-rug before the fire, or curled in the window seat, they forget everything but the story. The shadows deepen, until they can read no longer; but they do not much care, for the window looks into an enchanted53 region peopled with brilliant fancies. The old garden is sometimes the Forest of Arden, sometimes the Land of Lilliput, sometimes the Border. The gray rock on the river bank is now the cave of Monte Cristo, and now a castle defended by scores of armed knights54 who peep one by one from the alder-bushes, while Fair Ellen and the lovely Undine float together on the quiet stream.
For forming a truly admirable literary taste, I cannot indeed say much in favor of my own motley collection of books just mentioned, for I was simply tumbled in among them and left to browse55, in accordance with Charles Lamb's whimsical plan for Bridget Elia. More might have been added, and some taken away; but they had in them a world of instruction and illumination which children miss who read too exclusively those books written with rigid56 determination down to their level, neglecting certain old classics for which we fondly believe there are no substitutes. You cannot always persuade the children of this generation to attack "Robinson Crusoe," and if they do they are too sophisticated to thrill properly when they come to Friday's footsteps in the sand. Think of it, my contemporaries: think of substituting for that intense moment some of the modern "tuppenny" climaxes57!
I do not wish to drift into a cheap cynicism, and apotheosize the old days at the expense of the new. We are often inclined to paint the Past with a halo round its head which it never wore when it was the Present. We can reproduce neither the children nor the conditions of fifty or even twenty-five years ago. To-day's children must be fitted for to-day's tasks, educated to answer to-day's questions, equipped to solve to-day's problems; but are we helping58 them to do this in absolutely the best way? At all events, it is difficult to join in the paean59 of gratitude60 for the tons of children's books that are turned out yearly by parental61 publishers. If the children of the past did not have quite enough deference62 paid to their individuality, their likes and dislikes, and if their needs were too often left until the needs of everybody else had been considered,—on the other hand, they were not surfeited63 with well-meant but ill-directed attentions. If the hay was thrown so high in the rack that they could not pluck a single straw without stretching up for it, why, the hay was generally worth stretching for, and was, perhaps, quite as healthful as the sweet and easily digested nursery porridge which some people adopt as exclusive diet for their darlings nowadays.
Let us look a little at some of the famous children's books of a past generation, and see what was their general style and purpose. Take, for instance, those of Mrs. Barbauld, who may be included in that group of men and women who completely altered the style of teaching and writing for children—Rousseau, de Genlis, the Edgeworths, Jacotot, Froebel, and Diesterweg, all great teachers,—didactic, deadly-dull Mrs. Barbauld, who composed, as one of her biographers tells us, "a considerable number of miscellaneous pieces for the instruction and amusement of young persons, especially females." (Girls were always "young females" in those days; children were "infants," and stories were "tales.") Who can ever forget those "Early Lessons," written for her adopted son Charles, who appeared in the page sometimes in a state of hopeless ignorance and imbecility, and sometimes clad in the wisdom of the ancients? The use of the offensive phrase "excessively pretty," as applied64 to a lace tidy by a very tiny female named Lucy, brings down upon her sinful head eleven pages of such moralizing as would only be delivered by a modern mamma on hearing a confession65 of robbery or murder.
All this does strike us as insufferably didactic, yet we cannot approve the virulence66 with which Southey and Charles Lamb attacked good Mrs. Barbauld in her old age; for her purpose was eminently67 earnest, her views of education healthy and sensible for the time in which she lived, her style polished and admirably quiet, her love for young people indubitably sincere and profound, and her character worthy68 of all respect and admiration69 in its dignity, womanliness, and strength. Nevertheless, Charles Lamb exclaims in a whimsical burst of spleen: "'Goody Two Shoes' is out of print, while Mrs. Barbauld's and Mrs. Trimmer's nonsense lies in piles around. Hang them—the cursed reasoning crew, those blights70 and blasts of all that is human in man and child."
Miss Edgeworth has what seems to us, in these days, the same overplus of sublime71 purpose, and, though a much greater writer, is quite as desirous of being instructive, first, last, and all the time, and quite as unable or unwilling72 to veil her purpose. No books, however, have ever had a more remarkable73 influence upon young people, and there are many of them—old-fashioned as they are—which the sophisticated children of to-day could read with pleasure and profit.
Poor, naughty Rosamond! choosing the immortal74 "purple jar" out of that apothecary's window, instead of the shoes she needed; and in a following chapter, after pages of excellent maternal75 advice, taking the hideous76 but useful "red morocco housewife" instead of the coveted77 "plum."
People may say what they like of Miss Edgeworth's lack of proportion as a moralist and economist78, but we have few writers for children at present who possess the practical knowledge, mental vigor79, and moral force which made her an imposing80 figure in juvenile81 literature for nearly a century.
There has never been a time when the difficulty of making a good use of books was as great as it is to-day, or a time when it required so much decision to make a wise choice, simply because there is so much printed matter precipitated82 upon us that we cannot "see the wood for the trees."
It is not my province to discriminate83 between the various writers for children at the present time. To give a complete catalogue of useful books for children would be quite impossible; to give a partial list, or endeavor to point out what is worthy and what unworthy, would be little better. No course of reading laid down by one person ever suits another, and the published "lists of best books," with their solemn platitudes84 in the way of advice, are generally interesting only in their reflection of the writer's personality.
I would not choose too absolutely for a child save in his earliest years, but would rather surround him with the best and worthiest85 books, and let him choose for himself; for there are elective affinities86 and antipathies87 here that need not be disregarded,—that are, indeed, certain indications of latent powers, and trustworthy guides to the child's unfolding possibilities.
"Books can only be profoundly influential88 as they unite themselves with decisive tendencies." Provide the right conditions for mental growth, and then let the child do the growing. If we dictate89 too absolutely, we _en_velop instead of _de_veloping his mind, and weaken his power of choice. On the other hand, we do not wish his reading to be partial or one-sided, as it may be without intelligent oversight90.
I was telling bedtime stories, the other night, to a proper, wise, dull little girl of ten years. When I had successfully introduced a mother-cat and kittens to her attention, I plunged91 into what I thought a graphic45 and perfectly93 natural conversation between them, when she cut me short with the observation that she disliked stories in which animals talked, because they were not true! I was rebuked94, and tried again with better success, until there came an unlucky figure of speech concerning a blossoming locust-tree, that bent95 its green boughs96 and laughed in the summer sunshine, because its flowers were fragrant97 and lovely, and the world so green and beautiful. This she thought, on sober second thought, a trifle silly, as trees never did laugh! Now, that exasperating98 scrap99 of humanity (she is abnormal, to be sure) ought to be locked up and fed upon fairy tales until she is able to catch a faint glimpse of "the light that never was on sea or land." Poor, blind, deaf little person, predestined, perhaps, to be the mother of a lot of other blind, deaf little persons some day,—how I should like to develop her imagination!
Whatever children read, let us see that it is good of its kind, and that it gives variety, so that no integral want of human nature shall be neglected,—so that neither imagination, memory, nor reflection shall be starved. I own it is difficult to help them in their choice, when most of us have not learned to choose wisely for ourselves. A discriminating taste in literature is not to be gained without effort, and our constant reading of the little books spoils our appetite for the great ones.
Style is a matter of some moment, even at this early stage. Mothers sometimes forget that children cannot read slipshod, awkward, redundant100 prose, and sing-song vapid101 verse, for ten or twelve years, and then take kindly102 to the best things afterward103.
Long before a child is conscious of such a thing as purity, delicacy104, directness, or strength of style, he has been acted upon unconsciously, so that when the period of conscious choice comes, he is either attracted or repelled105 by what is good, according to his training. Children are fond of vivacity106 and color, and love a bit of word painting or graceful107 nonsense; but there are people who strive for this, and miss, after all, the true warmth and geniality108 that is most desirable for little people. Apropos109 of nonsense, we remember Leigh Hunt, who says that there are two kinds of nonsense, one resulting from a superabundance of ideas, the other from a want of them. Style in the hands of some writers is like war-paint to the savage—of no perceptible value unless it is laid on thick. Our little ones begin too often on cheap and tawdry stories in one or two syllables110, where pictures in primary colors try their best to atone111 for lack of matter. Then they enter on a prolonged series of children's books, some of them written by people who have neither the intelligence nor the literary skill to write for a more critical audience; on the same basis of reasoning which puts the young and inexperienced teachers into the lowest grades, where the mind ought to be formed, and assigns to the more practiced the simpler task of _in_forming the already partially112 formed (or _de_formed) mind.
There has never been such conscientious113, intelligent, and purposeful work done for children as in the last ten years; and if an overwhelming flood of trash has been poured into our laps along with the better things, we must accept the inevitable114. The legends, myths, and fables115 of the world, as well as its history and romance, are being brought within reach of young readers by writers of wide knowledge and trained skill.
Knowing, then, as we do, the dangers and obstacles in the way, and realizing the innumerable inspirations which the best thought gives to us, can we not so direct the reading of our children that our older boys and girls shall not be so exclusively modern in their tastes; so that they may be inclined to take a little less Mr. Saltus, a little more Shakespeare, temper their devotion to Mr. Kipling by small doses of Dante, forsake116 "The Duchess" for a dip into Thackeray, and use Hawthorne as a safe and agreeable antidote117 to Mr. Haggard? We need not despair of the child who does not care to read, for books are not the only means of culture; but they are a very great means when the mind is really stimulated118, and not simply padded with them.
Mr. Frederic Harrison says: "Books are no more education than laws are virtue. Of all men, perhaps the book-lover needs most to be reminded that man's business here is to know for the sake of living, not to live for the sake of knowing."
But a child who has no taste for reading, who is utterly119 incapable120 of losing himself in a printed page, quite unable to forget his childish griefs,
Soul forward, headlong into a book's profound,
Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth,"
—such a child is to be pitied as missing one of the chief joys of life. Such a child has no dear old book-friendships to look back upon. He has no sweet associations with certain musty covers and time-worn pages; no sacred memories of quiet moments when a new love of goodness, a new throb121 of generosity122, a new sense of humanity, were born in the ardent young soul; born when we had turned the last page of some well-thumbed volume and pressed our tear-stained childish cheek against the window pane123, when it was growing dusk without, and a mother's voice called us from our shelter to "Lay the book down, dear, and come to tea." For, to speak in better words than my own, "It is the books we read before middle life that do most to mould our characters and influence our lives; and this not only because our natures are then plastic and our opinions flexible, but also because, to produce lasting impression, it is necessary to give a great author time and meditation124. The books that are with us in the leisure of youth, that we love for a time not only with the enthusiasm, but with something of the exclusiveness, of a first love, are those that enter as factors forever in our mental life."
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1
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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dissuaded
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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deterrent
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| n.阻碍物，制止物；adj.威慑的，遏制的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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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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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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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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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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frugally
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| adv. 节约地, 节省地 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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55
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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57
climaxes
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| n.顶点( climax的名词复数 )；极点；高潮；性高潮 | |
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58
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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59
paean
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| n.赞美歌，欢乐歌 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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61
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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62
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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63
surfeited
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| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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66
virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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67
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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68
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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69
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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70
blights
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| 使凋萎( blight的第三人称单数 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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71
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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72
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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73
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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74
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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76
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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77
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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78
economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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79
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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80
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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83
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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84
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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85
worthiest
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| 应得某事物( worthy的最高级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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88
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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89
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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98
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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99
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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100
redundant
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| adj.多余的，过剩的；(食物)丰富的；被解雇的 | |
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101
vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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102
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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103
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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104
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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105
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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106
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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107
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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108
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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109
apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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110
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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111
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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112
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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113
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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114
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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115
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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116
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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117
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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118
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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119
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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120
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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121
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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122
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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123
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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124
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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