As various as my dishes. — The feast’s naught3,
Where one huge plate predominates. John Plaintext,
He shall be mighty4 beef, our English staple5;
The worthy6 Alderman, a butter’d dumpling;
Yon pair of whisker’d Cornets, ruffs and rees:
Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets.
And so the hoard7 is spread at once and fill’d
On the same principle — Variety.
New play.
“And what brave lass is this?” said Hob Miller9, as Mary Avenel entered the apartment to supply the absence of Dame10 Elspeth Glendinning.
“The young Lady of Avenel, father,” said the Maid of the Mill, dropping as low a curtsy as her rustic13 manners enabled her to make. The Miller, her father, doffed14 his bonnet15, and made his reverence16, not altogether so low perhaps as if the young lady had appeared in the pride of rank and riches, yet so as to give high birth the due homage17 which the Scotch18 for a length of time scrupulously19 rendered to it.
Indeed, from having had her mother’s example before her for so many years, and from a native sense of propriety20 and even of dignity, Mary Avenel had acquired a demeanour, which marked her title to consideration, and effectually checked any attempt at familiarity on the part of those who might be her associates in her present situation, but could not be well termed her equals. She was by nature mild, pensive21, and contemplative, gentle in disposition22, and most placable when accidentally offended; but still she was of a retired23 and reserved habit, and shunned24 to mix in ordinary sports, even — when the rare occurrence of a fair or wake gave her an opportunity of mingling25 with companions of her own age. If at such scenes she was seen for an instant, she appeared to behold26 them with the composed indifference27 of one to whom their gaiety was a matter of no interest, and who seemed only desirous to glide28 away from the scene as soon as she possibly could.
Something also had transpired29 concerning her being born on All-hallow Eve, and the powers with which that circumstance was supposed to invest her over the invisible world. And from all-these particulars combined, the young men and women of the Halidome used to distinguish Mary among themselves by the name of the Spirit of Avenel, as if the fair but fragile form, the beautiful but rather colourless cheek, the dark blue eye, and the shady hair, had belonged rather to the immaterial than the substantial world. The general tradition of the White Lady, who was supposed to wait on the fortunes of the family of Avenel, gave a sort of zest30 to this piece of rural wit. It gave great offence, however, to the two sons of Simon Glendinning; and when the expression was in their presence applied31 to the young lady, Edward was wont32 to check the petulance33 of those who used it by strength of argument, and Halbert by strength of arm. In such cases Halbert had this advantage, that although ho could render no aid to his brother’s argument, yet when circumstances required it, he was sure to have that of Edward, who never indeed himself commenced a fray34, but, on the other hand, did not testify any reluctance35 to enter into combat in Halbert’s behalf or in his rescue.
But the zealous36 attachment37 of the two youths, being themselves, from the retired situation in which they dwelt, comparative strangers in the Halidome, did not serve in any degree to alter the feelings of the inhabitants towards the young lady, who seemed to have dropped amongst them from another sphere of life. Still, however, she was regarded with respect, if not with fondness; and the attention of the Sub-Prior to the family, not to mention the formidable name of Julian Avenel, which every new incident of those tumultuous times tended to render more famous, attached to his niece a certain importance. Thus some aspired38 to her acquaintance out of pride while the more timid of the feuars were anxious to inculcate upon their children the necessity of being respectful to the noble orphan40. So that Mary Avenel, little loved because little known, was regarded with a mysterious awe41, partly derived42 from fear of her uncle’s moss-troopers, and partly from her own retired and distant habits, enhanced by the superstitious43 opinions of the time and country.
It was not without some portion of this awe, that Mysie felt herself left alone in company with a young person so distant in rank, and so different in bearing, from herself; for her worthy father had taken the first opportunity to step out unobserved, in order to mark how the barnyard was filled, and what prospect44 it afforded of grist to the mill. In youth, however, there is a sort of free-masonry, which, without much conversation, teaches young persons to estimate each other’s character, and places them at ease on the shortest acquaintance. It is only when taught deceit by the commerce of the world, that we learn to shroud45 our character from observation, and to disguise our real sentiments from those with whom we are placed in communion.
Accordingly, the two young women were soon engaged in such objects of interest as best became their age. They visited Mary Avenel’s pigeons, which she nursed with the tenderness of a mother; they turned over her slender stores of finery, which yet contained some articles that excited the respect of her companion, though Mysie was too good-humoured to nourish envy. A golden rosary, and some female ornaments46 marking superior rank, had been rescued in the moment of their utmost adversity, more by Tibb Tacket’s presence of mind, than by the care of their owner — who was at that sad period too much sunk in grief to pay any attention to such circumstances. They struck Mysie with a deep impression of veneration47; for, excepting what the Lord Abbot and the convent might possess, she did not believe there was so much real gold in the world as was exhibited in these few trinkets, and Mary, however sage49 and serious, was not above being pleased with the admiration50 of her rustic companion.
Nothing, indeed, could exhibit a stronger contrast than the appearance of the two girls — the good-humoured laughter-loving countenance51 of the Maid of the Mill, who stood gazing with unrepressed astonishment52 on whatever was in her inexperienced eye rare and costly53, and with an humble54, and at the same time cheerful acquiescence55 in her inferiority, asking all the little queries56 about the use and value of the ornaments, while Mary Avenel, with her quiet composed dignity and placidity57 of manner, produced them one after another for the amusement of her companion.
As they became gradually more familiar, Mysie of the Mill was just venturing to ask, why Mary Avenel never appeared at the May-pole, and to express her wonder when the young lady said she disliked dancing, when a trampling58 of horses at the gate of the tower interrupted their conversation.
Mysie flew to the shot-window in the full ardour of unrestrained female curiosity. “Saint Mary! sweet lady! here come two well-mounted gallants; will you step this way to look at them?”
“No,” said Mary Avenel, “you shall tell me who they are.”
“Well, if you like it better,” said Mysie —“but how shall I know them? —— Stay, I do know one of them, and so do you, lady; he is a blithe61 man, somewhat light of hand, they say, but the gallants of these days think no great harm of that. He is your uncle’s henchman, that they call Christie of the Clinthill; and he has not his old green jerkin and the rusty62 blackjack over it, but a scarlet63 cloak, laid down with silver lace three inches broad, and a breast-plate you might see to dress your hair in, as well as in that keeking-glass in the ivory frame that you showed me even now. Come, dear lady, come to the shot-window and see him.”
“If it be the man you mean, Mysie,” replied the orphan of Avenel, “I shall see him soon enough, considering either the pleasure or comfort the sight will give me.”
“Nay, but if you will not come to see gay Christie,” replied the Maid of the Mill, her face flushed with eager curiosity, “come and tell me who the gallant60 is that is with him, the handsomest, the very lovesomest young man I ever saw with sight.”
“It is my foster-brother, Halbert Glendinning,” said Mary, with, apparent indifference; for she had been accustomed to call the sons of Elspeth her foster-brethren, and to live with them as if they had been brothers in earnest.
“Nay, by Our Lady, that it is not,” said Mysie; “I know the favour of both the Glendinnings well, and I think this rider be not of our country. He has a crimson64 velvet65 bonnet, and long brown hair falling down under it, and a beard on his upper lip, and his chin clean and close shaved, save a small patch on the point of the chin, and a sky-blue jerkin slashed66 and lined with white satin, and trunk-hose to suit, and no weapon but a rapier and dagger67 — Well, if I was a man, I would never wear weapon but the rapier! it is so slender and becoming, instead of having a cartload of iron at my back, like my father’s broad-sword with its great rusty basket-hilt. Do you not delight in the rapier and poniard, lady?”
“The best sword,” answered Mary, “if I must needs answer a question of the sort, is that which is drawn68 in the best cause, and which is best used when it is out of the scabbard.”
“But can you not guess who this stranger should be?” said Mysie.
“Indeed, I cannot even attempt it; but to judge by his companion, it is no matter how little he is known,” replied Mary.
“My benison69 on his bonny face,” said Mysie, “if he is not going to alight here! Now, I am as much pleased as if my father had given me the silver earrings70 he has promised me so often — nay, you had as well come to the window, for you must see him by and by whether you will or not.” I do not know how much sooner Mary Avenel might have sought the point of observation, if she had not been scared from it by the unrestrained curiosity expressed by her buxom71 friend; but at length the same feeling prevailed over her sense of dignity, and satisfied with having displayed all the indifference that was necessary in point of decorum, she no longer thought herself bound to restrain her curiosity.
From the outshot or projecting window, she could perceive that Christie of the Clinthill was attended on the present occasion by a very gay and gallant cavalier, who, from the nobleness of his countenance and manner, his rich and handsome dress, and the showy appearance of his horse and furniture, must, she agreed with her new friend, be a person of some consequence.
Christie also seemed conscious of something, which made him call out with more than his usual insolence72 of manner, “What, ho! so ho! the house! Churl73 peasants, will no one answer when I call? — Ho! Martin — Tibb — Dame Glendinning — a murrain on you, must we stand keeping our horses in the cold here, and they steaming with heat, when we have ridden so sharply?”
At length he was obeyed, and old Martin made his appearance. “Ha!” said Christie, “art thou there, old Truepenny? here, stable me these steeds, and see them well bedded, and stretch thine old limbs by rubbing them down; and see thou quit not the stable till there is not a turned hair on either of them.”
Martin took the horses to the stable as commanded, but suppressed not his indignation a moment after he could vent48 it with safety. “Would not any one think,” he said to Jasper, an old ploughman, who, in coming to his assistance, had heard Christie’s imperious injunctions, “that this loon74, this Christie of the Clinthill, was laird or lord at least of him? No such thing, man! I remember him a little dirty turnspit boy in the house of Avenel, that every body in a frosty morning like this warmed his fingers by kicking or cuffing75! and now he is a gentleman, and swears, d — n him and renounce76 him, as if the gentlemen could not so much as keep their own wickedness to themselves, without the like of him going to hell in their very company, and by the same road. I have as much a mind as ever I had to my dinner, to go back and tell him to sort his horse himself, since he is as able as I am.”
“Hout tout77, man!” answered Jasper, “keep a calm sough; better to fleech a fool than fight with him.”
Martin acknowledged the truth of the proverb, and, much comforted therewith, betook himself to cleaning the stranger’s horse with great assiduity, remarking, it was a pleasure to handle a handsome nag78, and turned over the other to the charge of Jasper. Nor was it until Christie’s commands were literally79 complied with that he deemed it proper, after fitting ablutions, to join the party in the spence; not for the purpose of waiting upon them, as a mere80 modern reader might possibly expect, but that he might have his share of dinner in their company.
In the meanwhile, Christie had presented his companion to Dame Glendinning as Sir Piercie Shafton, a friend of his and of his master, come to spend three or four days with little din11 in the tower. The good dame could not conceive how she was entitled to such an honour, and would fain have pleaded her want of every sort of convenience to entertain a guest of that quality. But, indeed, the visiter, when he cast his eyes round the bare walls, eyed the huge black chimney, scrutinized81 the meagre and broken furniture of the apartment, and beheld82 the embarrassment83 of the mistress of the family, intimated great reluctance to intrude84 upon Dame Glendinning a visit, which could scarce, from all appearances, prove otherwise than an inconvenience to her, and a penance85 to himself.
But the reluctant hostess and her guest had to do with an inexorable man, who silenced all expostulations with, “such was his master’s pleasure. And, moreover,” he continued, “though the Baron86 of Avenel’s will must, and ought to prove law to all within ten miles around him, yet here, dame,” he said, “is a letter from your petticoated baron, the lord-priest yonder, who enjoins87 you, as you regard his pleasure, that you afford to this good knight88 such decent accommodation as is in your power, suffering him to live as privately89 as he shall desire. — And for you, Sir Piercie Shafton,” continued Christie, “you will judge for yourself, whether secrecy90 and safety is not more your object even now, than soft beds and high cheer. And do not judge of the dame’s goods by the semblance91 of her cottage; for you will see by the dinner she is about to spread for us, that the vassal92 of the kirk is seldom found with her basket bare.” To Mary Avenel, Christie presented the stranger, after the best fashion he could, as to the niece of his master the baron.
While he thus laboured to reconcile Sir Piercie Shafton to his fate, the widow, having consulted her son Edward on the real import of the Lord Abbot’s injunction, and having found that Christie had given a true exposition, saw nothing else left for her but to make that fate as easy as she could to the stranger. He himself also seemed reconciled to his lot by some feeling probably of strong necessity, and accepted with a good grace the hospitality which the dame offered with a very indifferent one.
In fact, the dinner, which soon smoked before the assembled guests, was of that substantial kind which warrants plenty and comfort. Dame Glendinning had cooked it after her best manner; and, delighted with the handsome appearance which her good cheer made when placed on the table, forgot both her plans and the vexations which interrupted them, in the hospitable93 duty of pressing her assembled visiters to eat and drink, watching every trencher as it waxed empty, and loading it with fresh supplies ere the guest could utter a negative.
In the meanwhile, the company attentively94 regarded each other’s motions, and seemed endeavouring to form a judgment95 of each other’s character. Sir Piercie Shafton condescended96 to speak to no one but to Mary Avenel, and on her he conferred exactly the same familiar and compassionate98, though somewhat scornful sort of attention, which a pretty fellow of these days will sometimes condescend97 to bestow99 on a country miss, when there is no prettier or more fashionable woman present. The manner indeed was different, for the etiquette100 of those times did not permit Sir Piercie Shafton to pick his teeth, or to yawn, or to gabble like the beggar whose tongue (as he says) was cut out by the Turks, or to affect deafness or blindness, or any other infirmity of the organs. But though the embroidery101 of his conversation was different, the groundwork was the same, and the high-flown and ornate compliments with which the gallant knight of the sixteenth century inter-larded his conversation, were as much the offspring of egotism and self-conceit, as the jargon102 of the coxcombs of our own days.
The English knight was, however, something daunted103 at finding that Mary Avenel listened with an air of indifference, and answered with wonderful brevity, to all the fine things which ought, as he conceived, to have dazzled her with their brilliancy, and puzzled her by their obscurity. But if he was disappointed in making the desired, or rather the expected impression, upon her whom he addressed, Sir Piercie Shafton’s discourse104 was marvellous in the ears of Mysie the Miller’s daughter, and not the less so that she did not comprehend the meaning of a single word which he uttered. Indeed, the gallant knight’s language was far too courtly to be understood by persons of much greater acuteness than Mysie’s.
It was about this period, that the “only rare poet of his time, the witty105, comical, facetiously-quick, and quickly-facetious, John Lylly — he that sate106 at Apollo’s table, and to whom Phoebus gave a wreath of his own bays without snatching” 38 — he, in short, who wrote that singularly coxcomical work, called Euphues and his England, was in the very zenith of his absurdity107 and his reputation. The quaint39, forced, and unnatural108 style which he introduced by his “Anatomy109 of Wit,” had a fashion as rapid as it was momentary110 — all the court ladies were his scholars, and to parler Euphuisme, was as necessary a qualification to a courtly gallant, as those of understanding how to use his rapier, or to dance a measure.
It was no wonder that the Maid of the Mill was soon as effectually blinded by the intricacies of this erudite and courtly style of conversation, as she had ever been by the dust of her father’s own meal-sacks. But there she sate with her mouth and eyes as open as the mill-door and the two windows, showing teeth as white as her father’s bolted flour, and endeavouring to secure a word or two for her own future use out of the pearls of rhetoric111 which Sir Piercie Shafton scattered112 around him with such bounteous113 profusion114.
For the male part of the company, Edward felt ashamed of his own manner and slowness of speech, when he observed the handsome young courtier, with an ease and volubility of which he had no conception, run over all the commonplace topics of high-flown gallantry. It is true the good sense and natural taste of young Glendinning soon informed him that the gallant cavalier was speaking nonsense. But, alas115! where is the man of modest merit, and real talent, who has not suffered from being outshone in conversation and outstripped116 in the race of life, by men of less reserve, and of qualities more showy, though less substantial? and well constituted must the mind be, that can yield up the prize without envy to competitors more worthy than himself.
Edward Glendinning had no such philosophy. While he despised the jargon of the gay cavalier, he envied the facility with which he could run on, as well as the courtly tone and expression, and the perfect ease and elegance117 with which he offered all the little acts of politeness to which the duties of the table gave opportunity. And if I am to speak truth, I must own that he envied those qualities the more as they were all exercised in Mary Avenel’s service, and, although only so far accepted as they could not be refused, intimated a wish on the stranger’s part to place himself in her good graces, as the only person in the room to whom he thought it worth while to recommend himself. His title, rank, and very handsome figure, together with some sparks of wit and spirit which flashed across the cloud of nonsense which he uttered, rendered him, as the words of the old song say, “a lad for a lady’s viewing;” so that poor Edward, with all his real worth and acquired knowledge, in his home-spun doublet, blue cap, and deerskin trowsers, looked like a clown beside the courtier, and, feeling the full inferiority, nourished no good-will to him by whom he was eclipsed.
Christie, on the other hand, as soon as he had satisfied to the full a commodious118 appetite, by means of which persons of his profession could, like the wolf and eagle, gorge119 themselves with as much food at one meal as might serve them for several days, began also to feel himself more in the back-ground than he liked to be. This worthy had, amongst his other good qualities, an excellent opinion of himself; and, being of a bold and forward disposition, had no mind to be thrown into the shade by any one. With an impudent120 familiarity which such persons mistake for graceful121 ease, he broke in upon the knight’s finest speeches with as little remorse122 as he would have driven the point of his lance through a laced doublet. Sir Piercie Shafton, a man of rank and high birth, by no means encouraged or endured this familiarity, and requited123 the intruder either with total neglect, or such laconic124 replies as intimated a sovereign contempt for the rude spearman, who affected125 to converse126 with him upon terms of equality.
The Miller held his peace; for, as his usual conversation turned chiefly on his clapper and toll-dish, he had no mind to brag127 of his wealth in presence of Christie of the Clinthill, or to intrude his discourse on the English cavalier.
A little specimen128 of the conversation may not be out of place, were it but to show young ladies what fine things they have lost by living when Euphuism is out of fashion.
“Credit me, fairest lady,” said the knight, “that such is the cunning of our English courtiers, of the hodiernal strain, that, as they have infinitely129 refined upon the plain and rusticial discourse of our fathers, which, as I may say, more beseemed the mouths of country roisterers in a May-game than that of courtly gallants in a galliard, so I hold it ineffably130 and unutterably impossible, that those who may succeed us in that garden of wit and courtesy shall alter or amend131 it. Venus delighted but in the language of Mercury, Bucephalus will stoop to no one but Alexander, none can sound Apollo’s pipe but Orpheus.”
“Valiant sir,” said Mary, who could scarcely help laughing, “we have but to rejoice in the chance which hath honoured this solitude132 with a glimpse of the sun of courtesy, though it rather blinds than enlightens us.”
“Pretty and quaint, fairest lady,” answered the Euphuist. “Ah, that I had with me my Anatomy of Wit — that all-to-be-unparalleled volume — that quintessence of human wit — that treasury133 of quaint invention — that exquisitively-pleasant-to-read, and inevitably-necessary-to-be-remembered manual, of all that is worthy to be known — which indoctrines the rude in civility, the dull in intellectuality, the heavy in jocosity134, the blunt in gentility, the vulgar in nobility, and all of them in that unutterable perfection, of human utterance135, that eloquence136 which no other eloquence is sufficient to praise, that art which, when we call it by its own name of Euphuism, we bestow on it its richest panegyric137.”
“By Saint Mary,” said Christie of the Clinthill, “if your worship had told me that you had left such stores of wealth as you talk of at Prudhoe Castle, Long Dickie and I would have had them off with us if man and horse could have carried them; but you told us of no treasure I wot of, save the silver tongs138 for turning up your mustachoes.”
The knight treated this intruder’s mistake — for certainly Christie had no idea that all these epithets139 which sounded so rich and splendid, were lavished140 upon a small quarto volume — with a stare, and then turning again to Mary Avenel, the only person whom he thought worthy to address, he proceeded in his strain of high-flown oratory141, “Even thus,” said he, “do hogs142 contemn143 the splendour of Oriental pearls; even thus are the delicacies144 of a choice repast in vain offered to the long-eared grazer of the common, who turneth from them to devour145 a thistle. Surely as idle is it to pour forth146 the treasures of oratory before the eyes of the ignorant, and to spread the dainties of the intellectual banquet before those who are, morally and metaphysically speaking, no better than asses147.”
“Sir Knight, since that is your quality,” said Edward, “we cannot strive with you in loftiness of language; but I pray you in fair courtesy, while you honour my father’s house with your presence, to spare us such vile148 comparisons.”
“Peace, good villagio,” said the knight, gracefully149 waving his hand, “I prithee peace, kind rustic; and you, my guide, whom I may scarce call honest, let me prevail upon you to imitate the laudable taciturnity of that honest yeoman, who sits as mute as a mill-post, and of that comely150 damsel, who seems as with her ears she drank in what she did not altogether comprehend, even as a palfrey listening to a lute151, whereof, howsoever, he knoweth not the gamut152.”
“Marvellous fine words,” at length said Dame Glendinning, who began to be tired of sitting so long silent, “marvellous fine words, neighbour Happer, are they not?”
“Brave words — very brave words — very exceeding pyet words,” answered the Miller; “nevertheless, to speak my mind, a lippy of bran were worth a bushel of them.”
“I think so too, under his worship’s favour,” answered Christie of the Clinthill. “I well remember that at the race of Morham, as we call it, near Berwick, I took a young Southern fellow out of saddle with my lance, and cast him, it might be, a gad’s length from his nag; and so, as he had some gold on his laced doublet, I deemed he might ha’ the like on it in his pocket too, though that is a rule that does not aye hold good — So I was speaking to him of ransom153, and out he comes with a handful of such terms as his honour there hath gleaned154 up, and craved155 me for mercy, as I was a true son of Mars, and such like.”
“And obtained no mercy at thy hand, I dare be sworn,” said the knight, who deigned156 not to speak Euphuism excepting to the fair sex.
“By my troggs,” replied Christie, “I would have thrust my lance down his throat, but just then they flung open that accursed postern-gate, and forth pricked157 old Hunsdon, and Henry Carey, and as many fellows at their heels as turned the chase northward158 again. So I e’en pricked Bayard with the spur, and went off with the rest; for a man should ride when he may not wrestle159, as they say in Tynedale.”
“Trust me,” said the knight, again turning to Mary Avenel, “if I do not pity you, lady, who, being of noble blood, are thus in a manner compelled to abide160 in the cottage of the ignorant, like the precious stone in the head of the toad161, or like a precious garland on the brow of an ass8. — But soft, what gallant have we here, whose garb162 savoureth more of the rustic than doth his demeanour, and whose looks seem more lofty than his habit; even as —”
“I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Mary, “to spare your courtly similitudes for refined ears, and give me leave to name unto you my foster-brother, Halbert Glendinning.”
“The son of the good dame of the cottage, as I opine,” answered the English knight; “for by some such name did my guide discriminate163 the mistress of this mansion164, which you, madam, enrich with your presence. — And yet, touching165 this juvenal, he hath that about him which belongeth to higher birth, for all are not black who dig coals —”
“Nor all white who are millers,” said honest Happer, glad to get in a word, as they say, edgeways.
Halbert, who had sustained the glance of the Englishman with some impatience166, and knew not what to make of his manner and language, replied with some asperity167, “Sir Knight, we have in this land of Scotland an ancient saying, ‘Scorn not the bush that bields you’— you are a guest of my father’s house to shelter you from danger, if I am rightly informed by the domestics. Scoff168 not its homeliness169, nor that of its inmates170 — ye might long have abidden at the court of England, ere we had sought your favour, or cumbered you with our society. Since your fate has sent you hither amongst us, be contented171 with such fare and such converse as we can afford you, and scorn us not for our kindness; for the Scots wear short patience and long daggers172.”
All eyes were turned on Halbert while he was thus speaking, and there was a general feeling that his countenance had an expression of intelligence, and his person an air of dignity, which they had never before observed. Whether it were that the wonderful Being with whom he had so lately held communication, had bestowed173 on him a grace and dignity of look and bearing which he had not before, or whether the being conversant174 in high matters, and called to a destiny beyond that of other men, had a natural effect in giving becoming confidence to his language and manner, we pretend not to determine. But it was evident to all, that, from this day, young Halbert was an altered man; that he acted with the steadiness, promptitude, and determination, which belonged to riper years, and bore himself with a manner which appertained to higher rank.
The knight took the rebuke175 with good humour. “By my mine honour,” he said, “thou hast reason on thy side, good juvenal — nevertheless, I spoke176 not as in ridicule177 of the roof which relieves me, but rather in your own praise, to whom, if this roof be native, thou mayst nevertheless rise from its lowliness; even as the lark178, which maketh its humble nest in the furrow179, ascendeth towards the sun, as well as the eagle which buildeth her eyry in the cliff.”
This high-flown discourse was interrupted by Dame Glendinning, who, with all the busy anxiety of a mother, was loading her son’s trencher with food, and dinning12 in his ear her reproaches on account of his prolonged absence. “And see,” she said, “that you do not one day get such a sight while you are walking about among the haunts of them that are not of our flesh and bone, as befell Mungo Murray when he slept on the greensward ring of the Auld180 Kirkhill at sunset, and wakened at daybreak in the wild hills of Breadalbane. And see that, when you are looking for deer, the red stag does not gall59 you as he did Diccon Thorburn, who never overcast181 the wound that he took from a buck’s horn. And see, when you go swaggering about with a long broadsword by your side, whilk it becomes no peaceful man to do, that you dinna meet with them that have broadsword and lance both — there are enow of rank riders in this land, that neither fear God nor regard man.”
Here her eye “in a fine frenzy182 rolling,” fell full upon that of Christie of the Clinthill, and at once her fears for having given offence interrupted the current of maternal183 rebuke, which, like rebuke matrimonial, may be often better meant than timed. There was something of sly and watchful184 significance in Christie’s eye, an eye gray, keen, fierce, yet wily, formed to express at once cunning, and malice185, which made the dame instantly conjecture186 she had said too much, while she saw in imagination her twelve goodly cows go lowing down the glen in a moonlight night, with half a score of Border spearsmen at their heels.
Her voice, therefore, sunk from the elevated tone of maternal authority into a whimpering apologetic sort of strain, and she proceeded to say, “It is no that I have ony ill thoughts of the Border riders, for Tibb Tacket there has often heard me say that I thought spear and bridle187 as natural to a Borderman as a pen to a priest, or a feather-fan to a lady; and — have you not heard me say it, Tibb?”
Tibb showed something less than her expected alacrity188 in attesting189 her mistress’s deep respect for the freebooters of the southland hills; but, thus conjured190, did at length reply, “Hout ay, mistress, I’se warrant I have heard you say something like that.”
“Mother!” said Halbert, in a firm and commanding tone of voice, “what or whom is it that you fear under my father’s roof? — I well hope that it harbours not a guest in whose presence you are afraid to say your pleasure to me or my brother? I am sorry I have been detained so late, being ignorant of the fair company which I should encounter on my return. — I pray you let this excuse suffice: and what satisfies you, will, I trust, be nothing less than acceptable to your guests.”
An answer calculated so jistly betwixt the submission191 due to his parent, and the natural feeling of dignity in one who was by birth master of the mansion, excited universal satisfaction. And as Elspeth herself confessed to Tibb on the same evening, “She did not think it had been in the callant. Till that night, he took pets and passions if he was spoke to, and lap through the house like a four-year-auld at the least word of advice that was minted at him, but now he spoke as grave and as douce as the Lord Abbot himself. She kendna,” she said, “what might be the upshot of it, but it was like he was a wonderfu’ callant even now.”
The party then separated, the young men retiring to their apartments, the elder to their household cares. While Christie went to see his horse properly accommodated, Edward betook himself to his book, and Halbert, who was as ingenious in employing his hands as he had hitherto appeared imperfect in mental exertion192, applied himself to constructing a place of concealment193 in the floor of his apartment by raising a plank194, beneath which he resolved to deposit that copy of the Holy Scriptures195 which had been so strangely regained196 from the possession of men and spirits.
In the meanwhile Sir Piercie Shafton sate still as a stone, in the chair in which he had deposited himself, his hands folded on his breast, his legs stretched straight out before him and resting upon the heels, his eyes cast up to the ceiling as if he had meant to count every mesh197 of every cobweb with which the arched roof was canopied198, wearing at the same time a face of as solemn and imperturbable199 gravity, as if his existence had depended on the accuracy of his calculation.
He could scarce be roused from his listless state of contemplative absorption so as to take some supper, a meal at which the younger females appeared not. Sir Piercie stared around twice or thrice as if he missed something; but he asked not for them, and only evinced his sense of a proper audience being wanting, by his abstraction and absence of mind, seldom speaking until he was twice addressed, and then replying, without trope or figure, in that plain English which nobody could speak better when he had a mind.
Christie, finding himself in undisturbed possession of the conversation, indulged all who chose to listen with details of his own wild and inglorious warfare200, while Dame Elspeth’s curch bristled201 with horror, and Tibb Tacket, rejoiced to find herself once more in the company of a jackman, listened to his tales, like Desdemona to Othello’s, with undisguised delight. Meantime the two young Glendinnings were each wrapped up in his own reflections, and only interrupted in them by the signal to move bedward.
点击收听单词发音
1 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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2 victuals | |
n.食物;食品 | |
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3 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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4 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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5 staple | |
n.主要产物,常用品,主要要素,原料,订书钉,钩环;adj.主要的,重要的;vt.分类 | |
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6 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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7 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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8 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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9 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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10 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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11 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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12 dinning | |
vt.喧闹(din的现在分词形式) | |
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13 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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14 doffed | |
v.脱去,(尤指)脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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16 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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17 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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18 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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19 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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20 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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21 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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22 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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23 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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24 shunned | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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26 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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27 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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28 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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29 transpired | |
(事实,秘密等)被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 ); 泄露; 显露; 发生 | |
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30 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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31 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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32 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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33 petulance | |
n.发脾气,生气,易怒,暴躁,性急 | |
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34 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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35 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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36 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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37 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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38 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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40 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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41 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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42 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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43 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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44 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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45 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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46 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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48 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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49 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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50 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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51 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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52 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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53 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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54 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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55 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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56 queries | |
n.问题( query的名词复数 );疑问;询问;问号v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 );询问 | |
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57 placidity | |
n.平静,安静,温和 | |
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58 trampling | |
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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59 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
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60 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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61 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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62 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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63 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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64 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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65 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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66 slashed | |
v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 );鞭打;割破;削减 | |
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67 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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68 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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69 benison | |
n.祝福 | |
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70 earrings | |
n.耳环( earring的名词复数 );耳坠子 | |
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71 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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72 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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73 churl | |
n.吝啬之人;粗鄙之人 | |
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74 loon | |
n.狂人 | |
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75 cuffing | |
v.掌打,拳打( cuff的现在分词 );袖口状白血球聚集 | |
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76 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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77 tout | |
v.推销,招徕;兜售;吹捧,劝诱 | |
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78 nag | |
v.(对…)不停地唠叨;n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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79 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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80 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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81 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82 beheld | |
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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83 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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84 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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85 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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86 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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87 enjoins | |
v.命令( enjoin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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89 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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90 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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91 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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92 vassal | |
n.附庸的;属下;adj.奴仆的 | |
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93 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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94 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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95 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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96 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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97 condescend | |
v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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98 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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99 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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100 etiquette | |
n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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101 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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102 jargon | |
n.术语,行话 | |
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103 daunted | |
使(某人)气馁,威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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105 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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106 sate | |
v.使充分满足 | |
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107 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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108 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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109 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
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110 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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111 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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112 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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113 bounteous | |
adj.丰富的 | |
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114 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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115 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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116 outstripped | |
v.做得比…更好,(在赛跑等中)超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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118 commodious | |
adj.宽敞的;使用方便的 | |
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119 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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120 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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121 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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122 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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123 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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124 laconic | |
adj.简洁的;精练的 | |
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125 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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126 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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127 brag | |
v./n.吹牛,自夸;adj.第一流的 | |
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128 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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129 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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130 ineffably | |
adv.难以言喻地,因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
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131 amend | |
vt.修改,修订,改进;n.[pl.]赔罪,赔偿 | |
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132 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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133 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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134 jocosity | |
n.诙谐 | |
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135 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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136 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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137 panegyric | |
n.颂词,颂扬 | |
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138 tongs | |
n.钳;夹子 | |
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139 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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140 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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142 hogs | |
n.(尤指喂肥供食用的)猪( hog的名词复数 );(供食用的)阉公猪;彻底地做某事;自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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143 contemn | |
v.蔑视 | |
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144 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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145 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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146 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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147 asses | |
n. 驴,愚蠢的人,臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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148 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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149 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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150 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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151 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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152 gamut | |
n.全音阶,(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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153 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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154 gleaned | |
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗 | |
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155 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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156 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157 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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158 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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159 wrestle | |
vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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160 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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161 toad | |
n.蟾蜍,癞蛤蟆 | |
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162 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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163 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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164 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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165 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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166 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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167 asperity | |
n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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168 scoff | |
n.嘲笑,笑柄,愚弄;v.嘲笑,嘲弄,愚弄,狼吞虎咽 | |
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169 homeliness | |
n.简朴,朴实;相貌平平 | |
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170 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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171 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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172 daggers | |
匕首,短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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173 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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175 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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176 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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177 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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178 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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179 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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180 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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181 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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182 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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183 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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184 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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185 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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186 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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187 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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188 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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189 attesting | |
v.证明( attest的现在分词 );证实;声称…属实;使宣誓 | |
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190 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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191 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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192 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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193 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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194 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
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195 scriptures | |
经文,圣典( scripture的名词复数 ); 经典 | |
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196 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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197 mesh | |
n.网孔,网丝,陷阱;vt.以网捕捉,啮合,匹配;vi.适合; [计算机]网络 | |
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198 canopied | |
adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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199 imperturbable | |
adj.镇静的 | |
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200 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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201 bristled | |
adj. 直立的,多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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