The Arabia touched at Halifax; and as the touch extended from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. we had an opportunity of seeing a good deal of that colony; not quite sufficient to justify2 me at this critical age in writing a chapter of travels in Nova Scotia, but enough perhaps to warrant a paragraph. It chanced that a cousin of mine was then in command of the troops there, so that we saw the fort with all the honors. A dinner on shore was, I think, a greater treat to us even than this. We also inspected sundry3 specimens4 of the gold which is now being found for the first time in Nova Scotia, as to the glory and probable profits of which the Nova Scotians seemed to be fully5 alive. But still, I think the dinner on shore took rank with us as the most memorable6 and meritorious7 of all that we did and saw at Halifax. At seven o’clock on the morning but one after that we were landed at Boston.
At Boston I found friends ready to receive us with open arms, though they were friends we had never known before. I own that I felt myself burdened with much nervous anxiety at my first introduction to men and women in Boston. I knew what the feeling there was with reference to England, and I knew also how impossible it is for an Englishman to hold his tongue and submit to dispraise of England. As for going among a people whose whole minds were filled with affairs of the war, and saying nothing about the war, I knew that no resolution to such an effect could be carried out. If one could not trust one’s self to speak, one should have stayed at home in England. I will here state that I always did speak out openly what I thought and felt, and that though I encountered very strong — sometimes almost fierce — opposition8, I never was subjected to anything that was personally disagreeable to me.
In September we did not stay above a week in Boston, having been fairly driven out of it by the musquitoes. I had been told that I should find nobody in Boston whom I cared to see, as everybody was habitually9 out of town during the heat of the latter summer and early autumn; but this was not so. The war and attendant turmoils10 of war had made the season of vacation shorter than usual, and most of those for whom I asked were back at their posts. I know no place at which an Englishman may drop down suddenly among a pleasanter circle of acquaintance, or find himself with a more clever set of men, than he can do at Boston. I confess that in this respect I think that but few towns are at present more fortunately circumstanced than the capital of the Bay State, as Massachusetts is called, and that very few towns make a better use of their advantages. Boston has a right to be proud of what it has done for the world of letters. It is proud; but I have not found that its pride was carried too far.
Boston is not in itself a fine city, but it is a very pleasant city. They say that the harbor is very grand and very beautiful. It certainly is not so fine as that of Portland, in a nautical11 point of view, and as certainly it is not as beautiful. It is the entrance from the sea into Boston of which people say so much; but I did not think it quite worthy12 of all I had heard. In such matters, however, much depends on the peculiar13 light in which scenery is seen. An evening light is generally the best for all landscapes; and I did not see the entrance to Boston harbor by an evening light. It was not the beauty of the harbor of which I thought the most, but of the tea which had been sunk there, and of all that came of that successful speculation14. Few towns now standing15 have a right to be more proud of their antecedents than Boston.
But as I have said, it is not specially16 interesting to the eye; what new town, or even what simply adult town, can be so? There is an Atheneum, and a State Hall, and a fashionable street — Beacon17 Street, very like Piccadilly as it runs along the Green Park — and there is the Green Park opposite to this Piccadilly, called Boston Common. Beacon Street and Boston Common are very pleasant. Excellent houses there are, and large churches, and enormous hotels; but of such things as these a man can write nothing that is worth the reading. The traveler who desires to tell his experience of North America must write of people rather than of things.
As I have said, I found myself instantly involved in discussions on American politics and the bearing of England upon those politics. “What do you think, you in England — what do you believe will be the upshot of this war?” That was the question always asked in those or other words. “Secession, certainly,” I always said, but not speaking quite with that abruptness19. “And you believe, then, that the South will beat the North?” I explained that I personally had never so thought, and that I did not believe that to be the general idea. Men’s opinions in England, however, were too divided to enable me to say that there was any prevailing20 conviction on the matter. My own impression was, and is, that the North will, in a military point of view, have the best of the contest — will beat the South; but that the Northerners will not prevent secession, let their success be what it may. Should the North prevail after a two years’ conflict, the North will not admit the South to an equal participation21 of good things with themselves, even though each separate rebellious22 State should return suppliant23, like a prodigal24 son, kneeling on the floor of Congress, each with a separate rope of humiliation25 round its neck. Such was my idea as expressed then, and I do not know that I have since had much cause to change it.
“We will never give it up,” one gentleman said to me — and, indeed, many have said the same —“till the whole territory is again united from the Bay to the Gulf26. It is impossible that we should allow of two nationalities within those limits.” “And do you think it possible,” I asked, “that you should receive back into your bosom27 this people which you now hate with so deep a hatred28, and receive them again into your arms as brothers on equal terms? Is it in accordance with experience that a conquered people should be so treated, and that, too, a people whose every habit of life is at variance29 with the habits of their presumed conquerors30? When you have flogged them into a return of fraternal affection, are they to keep their slaves or are they to abolish them?” “No,” said my friend, “it may not be practicable to put those rebellious States at once on an equality with ourselves. For a time they will probably be treated as the Territories are now treated.” (The Territories are vast outlying districts belonging to the union, but not as yet endowed with State governments or a participation in the United States Congress.) “For a time they must, perhaps, lose their full privileges; but the union will be anxious to readmit them at the earliest possible period.” “And as to the slaves?” I asked again. “Let them emigrate to Liberia — back to their own country.” I could not say that I thought much of the solution of the difficulty. It would, I suggested, overtask even the energy of America to send out an emigration of four million souls, to provide for their wants in a new and uncultivated country, and to provide, after that, for the terrible gap made in the labor31 market of the Southern States. “The Israelites went back from bondage,” said my friend. But a way was opened for them by a miracle across the sea, and food was sent to them from heaven, and they had among them a Moses for a leader, and a Joshua to fight their battles. I could not but express my fear that the days of such immigrations were over. This plan of sending back the negroes to Africa did not reach me only from one or from two mouths, and it was suggested by men whose opinions respecting their country have weight at home and are entitled to weight abroad. I mention this merely to show how insurmountable would be the difficulty of preventing secession, let which side win that may.
“We will never abandon the right to the mouth of the Mississippi.” That, in all such arguments, is a strong point with men of the Northern States — perhaps the point to which they all return with the greatest firmness. It is that on which Mr. Everett insists in the last paragraph of the oration32 which he made in New York on the 4th of July, 1861. “The Missouri and the Mississippi Rivers,” he says, “with their hundred tributaries33, give to the great central basin of our continent its character and destiny. The outlet34 of this system lies between the States of Tennessee and Missouri, of Mississippi and Arkansas, and through the State of Louisiana. The ancient province so called, the proudest monument of the mighty35 monarch36 whose name it bears, passed from the jurisdiction37 of France to that of Spain in 1763. Spain coveted38 it — not that she might fill it with prosperous colonies and rising States, but that it might stretch as a broad waste barrier, infested39 with warlike tribes, between the Anglo-American power and the silver mines of Mexico. With the independence of the United States the fear of a still more dangerous neighbor grew upon Spain; and, in the insane expectation of checking the progress of the union westward40, she threatened, and at times attempted, to close the mouth of the Mississippi on the rapidly-increasing trade of the West. The bare suggestion of such a policy roused the population upon the banks of the Ohio, then inconsiderable, as one man. Their confidence in Washington scarcely restrained them from rushing to the seizure42 of New Orleans, when the treaty of San Lorenzo El Real, in 1795, stipulated43 for them a precarious44 right of navigating45 the noble river to the sea, with a right of deposit at New Orleans. This subject was for years the turning-point of the politics of the West; and it was perfectly46 well understood that, sooner or later, she would be content with nothing less than the sovereign control of the mighty stream from its head-spring to its outlet in the Gulf. AND THAT IS AS TRUE NOW AS IT WAS THEN.”
This is well put. It describes with force the desires, ambition, and necessities of a great nation, and it tells with historical truth the story of the success of that nation. It was a great thing done when the purchase of the whole of Louisiana was completed by the United States — that cession18 by France, however, having been made at the instance of Napoleon, and not in consequence of any demand made by the States. The district then called Louisiana included the present State of that name and the States of Missouri and Arkansas — included also the right to possess, if not the absolute possession of all that enormous expanse of country running from thence back to the Pacific: a huge amount of territory, of which the most fertile portion is watered by the Mississippi and its vast tributaries. That river and those tributaries are navigable through the whole center of the American continent up to Wisconsin and Minnesota. To the United States the navigation of the Mississippi was, we may say, indispensable; and to the States, when no longer united, the navigation will be equally indispensable. But the days are gone when any country such as Spain was can interfere47 to stop the highways of the world with the all but avowed48 intention of arresting the progress of civilization. It may be that the North and the South can never again be friends as the component49 parts of one nation. Such, I take it, is the belief of all politicians in Europe, and of many of those who live across the water. But as separate nations they may yet live together in amity50, and share between them the great water-ways which God has given them for their enrichment. The Rhine is free to Prussia and to Holland. The Danube is not closed against Austria. It will be said that the Danube has in fact been closed against Austria, in spite of treaties to the contrary. But the faults of bad and weak governments are made known as cautions to the world, and not as facts to copy. The free use of the waters of a common river between two nations is an affair for treaty; and it has not yet come to that that treaties must necessarily be null and void through the falseness of politicians.
“And what will England do for cotton? Is it not the fact that Lord John Russell, with his professed51 neutrality, intends to express sympathy with the South — intends to pave the way for the advent52 of Southern cotton?” “You ought to love us,” so say men in Boston, “because we have been with you in heart and spirit for long, long years. But your trade has eaten into your souls, and you love American cotton better than American loyalty53 and American fellowship.” This I found to be unfair, and in what politest language I could use I said so. I had not any special knowledge of the minds of English statesmen on this matter; but I knew as well as Americans could do what our statesmen had said and done respecting it. That cotton, if it came from the South, would be made very welcome in Liverpool, of course I knew. If private enterprise could bring it, it might be brought. But the very declaration made by Lord John Russell was the surest pledge that England, as a nation, would not interfere even to supply her own wants. It may easily be imagined what eager words all this would bring about; but I never found that eager words led to feelings which were personally hostile.
All the world has heard of Newport, in Rhode Island, as being the Brighton, and Tenby, and Scarborough of New England. And the glory of Newport is by no means confined to New England, but is shared by New York and Washington, and in ordinary years by the extreme South. It is the habit of Americans to go to some watering-place every summer — that is, to some place either of sea water or of inland waters. This is done much in England, more in Ireland than in England, but I think more in the States than even in Ireland. But of all such summer haunts, Newport is supposed to be in many ways the most captivating. In the first place, it is certainly the most fashionable, and, in the next place, it is said to be the most beautiful. We decided54 on going to Newport — led thither55 by the latter reputation rather than the former. As we were still in the early part of September, we expected to find the place full, but in this we were disappointed — disappointed, I say, rather than gratified, although a crowded house at such a place is certainly a nuisance. But a house which is prepared to make up six hundred beds, and which is called on to make up only twenty-five, becomes, after awhile, somewhat melancholy56. The natural depression of the landlord communicates itself to his servants, and from the servants it descends57 to the twenty-five guests, who wander about the long passages and deserted58 balconies like the ghosts of those of the summer visitors, who cannot rest quietly in their graves at home.
In England we know nothing of hotels prepared for six hundred visitors, all of whom are expected to live in common. Domestic architects would be frightened at the dimensions which are needed, and at the number of apartments which are required to be clustered under one roof. We went to the Ocean Hotel at Newport, and fancied, as we first entered the hall under a veranda59 as high as the house, and made our way into the passage, that we had been taken to a well-arranged barrack. “Have you rooms?” I asked, as a man always does ask on first reaching his inn. “Rooms enough,” the clerk said; “we have only fifty here.” But that fifty dwindled60 down to twenty-five during the next day or two.
We were a melancholy set, the ladies appearing to be afflicted61 in this way worse than the gentlemen, on account of their enforced abstinence from tobacco. What can twelve ladies do scattered62 about a drawing-room, so called, intended for the accommodation of two hundred? The drawing-room at the Ocean Hotel, Newport, is not as big as Westminster Hall, but would, I should think, make a very good House of Commons for the British nation. Fancy the feelings of a lady when she walks into such a room, intending to spend her evening there, and finds six or seven other ladies located on various sofas at terrible distances, all strangers to her. She has come to Newport probably to enjoy herself; and as, in accordance with the customs of the place, she has dined at two, she has nothing before her for the evening but the society of that huge, furnished cavern63. Her husband, if she have one, or her father, or her lover, has probably entered the room with her. But a man has never the courage to endure such a position long. He sidles out with some muttered excuse, and seeks solace64 with a cigar. The lady, after half an hour of contemplation, creeps silently near some companion in the desert, and suggests in a whisper that Newport does not seem to be very full at present.
We stayed there for a week, and were very melancholy; but in our melancholy we still talked of the war. Americans are said to be given to bragging65, and it is a sin of which I cannot altogether acquit66 them. But I have constantly been surprised at hearing the Northern men speak of their own military achievements with anything but self-praise. “We’ve been whipped, sir; and we shall be whipped again before we’ve done; uncommon67 well whipped we shall be.” “We began cowardly, and were afraid to send our own regiments68 through one of our own cities.” This alluded70 to a demand that had been made on the Government that troops going to Washington should not be sent through Baltimore, because of the strong feeling for rebellion which was known to exist in that city. President Lincoln complied with this request, thinking it well to avoid a collision between the mob and the soldiers. “We began cowardly, and now we’re going on cowardly, and darn’t attack them. Well; when we’ve been whipped often enough, then we shall learn the trade.” Now all this — and I heard much of such a nature — could not be called boasting. But yet with it all there was a substratum of confidence. I have heard Northern gentlemen complaining of the President, complaining of all his ministers, one after another, complaining of the contractors71 who were robbing the army, of the commanders who did not know how to command the army, and of the army itself, which did not know how to obey; but I do not remember that I have discussed the matter with any Northerner who would admit a doubt as to ultimate success.
We were certainly rather melancholy at Newport, and the empty house may perhaps have given its tone to the discussions on the war. I confess that I could not stand the drawing-room — the ladies’ drawing-room, as such like rooms are always called at the hotels — and that I basely deserted my wife. I could not stand it either here or elsewhere, and it seemed to me that other husbands — ay, and even lovers — were as hard pressed as myself. I protest that there is no spot on the earth’s surface so dear to me as my own drawing-room, or rather my wife’s drawing-room, at home; that I am not a man given hugely to clubs, but one rather rejoicing in the rustle72 of petticoats. I like to have women in the same room with me. But at these hotels I found myself driven away — propelled as it were by some unknown force — to absent myself from the feminine haunts. Anything was more palatable73 than them, even “liquoring up” at a nasty bar, or smoking in a comfortless reading-room among a deluge74 of American newspapers. And I protest also — hoping as I do so that I may say much in this book to prove the truth of such protestation — that this comes from no fault of the American women. They are as lovely as our own women. Taken generally, they are better instructed, though perhaps not better educated. They are seldom troubled with mauvaise honte; I do not say it in irony75, but begging that the words may be taken at their proper meaning. They can always talk, and very often can talk well. But when assembled together in these vast, cavernous, would-be luxurious76, but in truth horribly comfortless hotel drawing-rooms, they are unapproachable. I have seen lovers, whom I have known to be lovers, unable to remain five minutes in the same cavern with their beloved ones.
And then the music! There is always a piano in a hotel drawing-room, on which, of course, some one of the forlorn ladies is generally employed. I do not suppose that these pianos are in fact, as a rule, louder and harsher, more violent and less musical, than other instruments of the kind. They seem to be so, but that, I take it, arises from the exceptional mental depression of those who have to listen to them. Then the ladies, or probably some one lady, will sing, and as she hears her own voice ring and echo through the lofty corners and round the empty walls, she is surprised at her own force, and with increased efforts sings louder and still louder. She is tempted41 to fancy that she is suddenly gifted with some power of vocal77 melody unknown to her before, and, filled with the glory of her own performance, shouts till the whole house rings. At such moments she at least is happy, if no one else is so. Looking at the general sadness of her position, who can grudge78 her such happiness?
And then the children — babies, I should say if I were speaking of English bairns of their age; but seeing that they are Americans, I hardly dare to call them children. The actual age of these perfectly-civilized and highly-educated beings may be from three to four. One will often see five or six such seated at the long dinner-table of the hotel, breakfasting and dining with their elders, and going through the ceremony with all the gravity, and more than all the decorum, of their grandfathers. When I was three years old I had not yet, as I imagine, been promoted beyond a silver spoon of my own wherewith to eat my bread and milk in the nursery; and I feel assured that I was under the immediate79 care of a nursemaid, as I gobbled up my minced80 mutton mixed with potatoes and gravy81. But at hotel life in the States the adult infant lisps to the waiter for everything at table, handles his fish with epicurean delicacy82, is choice in his selection of pickles83, very particular that his beef-steak at breakfast shall be hot, and is instant in his demand for fresh ice in his water. But perhaps his, or in this case her, retreat from the room when the meal is over, is the chef-d’oeuvre of the whole performance. The little, precocious84, full-blown beauty of four signifies that she has completed her meal — or is “through” her dinner, as she would express it — by carefully extricating85 herself from the napkin which has been tucked around her. Then the waiter, ever attentive86 to her movements, draws back the chair on which she is seated, and the young lady glides87 to the floor. A little girl in Old England would scramble88 down, but little girls in New England never scramble. Her father and mother, who are no more than her chief ministers, walk before her out of the saloon, and then she — swims after them. But swimming is not the proper word. Fishes, in making their way through the water, assist, or rather impede89, their motion with no dorsal90 wriggle91. No animal taught to move directly by its Creator adopts a gait so useless, and at the same time so graceless. Many women, having received their lessons in walking from a less eligible92 instructor93, do move in this way, and such women this unfortunate little lady has been instructed to copy. The peculiar step to which I allude69 is to be seen often on the boulevards in Paris. It is to be seen more often in second-rate French towns, and among fourth-rate French women. Of all signs in women betokening94 vulgarity, bad taste, and aptitude95 to bad morals, it is the surest. And this is the gait of going which American mothers — some American mothers I should say — love to teach their daughters! As a comedy at a hotel it is very delightful96, but in private life I should object to it.
To me Newport could never be a place charming by reason of its own charms. That it is a very pleasant place when it is full of people and the people are in spirits and happy, I do not doubt. But then the visitors would bring, as far as I am concerned, the pleasantness with them. The coast is not fine. To those who know the best portions of the coast of Wales or Cornwall — or better still, the western coast of Ireland, of Clare and Kerry for instance — it would not be in any way remarkable97. It is by no means equal to Dieppe or Biarritz, and not to be talked of in the same breath with Spezzia. The hotels, too, are all built away from the sea; so that one cannot sit and watch the play of the waves from one’s windows. Nor are there pleasant rambling98 paths down among the rocks, and from one short strand99 to another. There is excellent bathing for those who like bathing on shelving sand. I don’t. The spot is about half a mile from the hotels, and to this the bathers are carried in omnibuses. Till one o’clock ladies bathe, which operation, however, does not at all militate against the bathing of men, but rather necessitates100 it as regards those men who have ladies with them. For here ladies and gentlemen bathe in decorous dresses, and are very polite to each other. I must say that I think the ladies have the best of it. My idea of sea bathing, for my own gratification, is not compatible with a full suit of clothing. I own that my tastes are vulgar, and perhaps indecent; but I love to jump into the deep, clear sea from off a rock, and I love to be hampered101 by no outward impediments as I do so. For ordinary bathers, for all ladies, and for men less savage102 in their instincts than I am, the bathing at Newport is very good.
The private houses — villa103 residences as they would be termed by an auctioneer in England — are excellent. Many of them are, in fact, large mansions104, and are surrounded with grounds which, as the shrubs105 grow up, will be very beautiful. Some have large, well-kept lawns, stretching down to the rocks, and these, to my taste, give the charm to Newport. They extend about two miles along the coast. Should my lot have made me a citizen of the United States, I should have had no objection to become the possessor of one of these “villa residences;” but I do not think that I should have “gone in” for hotel life at Newport.
We hired saddle-horses, and rode out nearly the length of the island. It was all very well, but there was little in it remarkable either as regards cultivation106 or scenery. We found nothing that it would be possible either to describe or remember. The Americans of the United States have had time to build and populate vast cities, but they have not yet had time to surround themselves with pretty scenery. Outlying grand scenery is given by nature; but the prettiness of home scenery is a work of art. It comes from the thorough draining of land, from the planting and subsequent thinning of trees, from the controlling of waters, and constant use of minute patches of broken land. In another hundred years or so, Rhode Island may be, perhaps, as pretty as the Isle107 of Wight. The horses which we got were not good. They were unhandy and badly mouthed, and that which my wife rode was altogether ignorant of the art of walking. We hired them from an Englishman who had established himself at New York as a riding-master for ladies, and who had come to Newport for the season on the same business. He complained to me with much bitterness of the saddle-horses which came in his way — of course thinking that it was the special business of a country to produce saddle-horses, as I think it the special business of a country to produce pens, ink, and paper of good quality. According to him, riding has not yet become an American art, and hence the awkwardness of American horses. “Lord bless you, sir! they don’t give an animal a chance of a mouth.” In this he alluded only, I presume, to saddle-horses. I know nothing of the trotting108 horses, but I should imagine that a fine mouth must be an essential requisite109 for a trotting match in harness. As regards riding at Newport, we were not tempted to repeat the experiment. The number of carriages which we saw there — remembering as I did that the place was comparatively empty — and their general smartness, surprised me very much. It seemed that every lady, with a house of her own, had also her own carriage. These carriages were always open, and the law of the land imperatively110 demands that the occupants shall cover their knees with a worked worsted apron111 of brilliant colors. These aprons112 at first I confess seemed tawdry; but the eye soon becomes used to bright colors, in carriage aprons as well as in architecture, and I soon learned to like them.
Rhode Island, as the State is usually called, is the smallest State in the union. I may perhaps best show its disparity to other States by saying that New York extends about two hundred and fifty miles from north to south, and the same distance from east to west; whereas the State called Rhode Island is about forty miles long by twenty broad, independently of certain small islands. It would, in fact, not form a considerable addition if added on to many of the other States. Nevertheless, it has all the same powers of self-government as are possessed113 by such nationalities as the States of New York and Pennsylvania, and sends two Senators to the Senate at Washington, as do those enormous States. Small as the State is, Rhode Island itself forms but a small portion of it. The authorized114 and proper name of the State is Providence115 Plantation116 and Rhode Island. Roger Williams was the first founder117 of the colony, and he established himself on the mainland at a spot which he called Providence. Here now stands the City of Providence, the chief town of the State; and a thriving, comfortable town it seems to be, full of banks, fed by railways and steamers, and going ahead quite as quickly as Roger Williams could in his fondest hopes have desired.
Rhode Island, as I have said, has all the attributes of government in common with her stouter118 and more famous sisters. She has a governor, and an upper house and a lower house of legislature; and she is somewhat fantastic in the use of these constitutional powers, for she calls on them to sit now in one town and now in another. Providence is the capital of the State; but the Rhode Island parliament sits sometimes at Providence and sometimes at Newport. At stated times also it has to collect itself at Bristol, and at other stated times at Kingston, and at others at East Greenwich. Of all legislative119 assemblies it is the most peripatetic120. Universal suffrage121 does not absolutely prevail in this State, a certain property qualification being necessary to confer a right to vote even for the State representatives. I should think it would be well for all parties if the whole State could be swallowed up by Massachusetts or by Connecticut, either of which lie conveniently for the feat122; but I presume that any suggestion of such a nature would be regarded as treason by the men of Providence Plantation.
We returned back to Boston by Attleborough, a town at which, in ordinary times, the whole population is supported by the jewelers’ trade. It is a place with a specialty123, upon which specialty it has thriven well and become a town. But the specialty is one ill adapted for times of war and we were assured that the trade was for the present at an end. What man could now-a-days buy jewels, or even what woman, seeing that everything would be required for the war? I do not say that such abstinence from luxury has been begotten124 altogether by a feeling of patriotism125. The direct taxes which all Americans will now be called on to pay, have had and will have much to do with such abstinence. In the mean time the poor jewelers of Attleborough have gone altogether to the wall.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
meritorious
|
|
| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
turmoils
|
|
| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
nautical
|
|
| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
speculation
|
|
| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
beacon
|
|
| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
cession
|
|
| n.割让，转让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
abruptness
|
|
| n. 突然，唐突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
prevailing
|
|
| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
participation
|
|
| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
suppliant
|
|
| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
variance
|
|
| n.矛盾，不同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
conquerors
|
|
| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
oration
|
|
| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tributaries
|
|
| n. 支流 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
outlet
|
|
| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
monarch
|
|
| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
jurisdiction
|
|
| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
coveted
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
infested
|
|
| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
westward
|
|
| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
seizure
|
|
| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
stipulated
|
|
| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
precarious
|
|
| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
navigating
|
|
| v.给（船舶、飞机等）引航，导航( navigate的现在分词 )；（从海上、空中等）横越；横渡；飞跃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
avowed
|
|
| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
component
|
|
| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
amity
|
|
| n.友好关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
descends
|
|
| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
dwindled
|
|
| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
cavern
|
|
| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
bragging
|
|
| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
acquit
|
|
| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
regiments
|
|
| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
allude
|
|
| v.提及，暗指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
contractors
|
|
| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
palatable
|
|
| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
deluge
|
|
| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
minced
|
|
| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
gravy
|
|
| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
pickles
|
|
| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
precocious
|
|
| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
extricating
|
|
| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
glides
|
|
| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
scramble
|
|
| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
impede
|
|
| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
dorsal
|
|
| adj.背部的，背脊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
wriggle
|
|
| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
eligible
|
|
| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
instructor
|
|
| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
betokening
|
|
| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
aptitude
|
|
| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
necessitates
|
|
| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
hampered
|
|
| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
mansions
|
|
| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
isle
|
|
| n.小岛，岛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
trotting
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
imperatively
|
|
| adv.命令式地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
aprons
|
|
| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
authorized
|
|
| a.委任的，许可的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
plantation
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
Founder
|
|
| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
stouter
|
|
| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
legislative
|
|
| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
peripatetic
|
|
| adj.漫游的，逍遥派的，巡回的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
suffrage
|
|
| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
feat
|
|
| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
specialty
|
|
| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
begotten
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
patriotism
|
|
| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |