IT was not long before there was a visible improvement in the pages of “The Asinaeum.” The slashing2 part of that incomparable journal was suddenly conceived and carried on with a vigour3 and spirit which astonished the hallowed few who contributed to its circulation. It was not difficult to see that a new soldier had been enlisted5 in the service; there was something so fresh and hearty6 about the abuse that it could never have proceeded from the worn-out acerbity7 of an old slasher. To be sure, a little ignorance of ordinary facts, and an innovating8 method of applying words to meanings which they never were meant to denote, were now and then distinguishable in the criticisms of the new Achilles; nevertheless, it was easy to attribute these peculiarities9 to an original turn of thinking; and the rise of the paper on the appearance of a series of articles upon contemporary authors, written by this “eminent hand,” was so remarkable10 that fifty copies — a number perfectly12 unprecedented13 in the annals of “The Asinaeum”— were absolutely sold in one week; indeed, remembering the principle on which it was founded, one sturdy old writer declared that the journal would soon do for itself and become popular. There was a remarkable peculiarity14 about the literary debutant who signed himself “Nobilitas:” he not only put old words to a new sense, but he used words which had never, among the general run of writers, been used before. This was especially remarkable in the application of hard names to authors. Once, in censuring15 a popular writer for pleasing the public and thereby16 growing rich, the “eminent hand” ended with “He who surreptitiously accumulates bustle17 [money] is, in fact, nothing better than a buzz gloak!” [Pickpocket].
These enigmatical words and recondite18 phrases imparted a great air of learning to the style of the new critic; and from the unintelligible19 sublimity20 of his diction, it seemed doubtful whether he was a poet from Highgate or a philosopher from Konigsberg. At all events, the reviewer preserved his incognito21, and while his praises were rung at no less than three tea-tables, even glory appeared to him less delicious than disguise.
In this incognito, reader, thou hast already discovered Paul; and now we have to delight thee with a piece of unexampled morality in the excellent MacGrawler. That worthy22 Mentor23, perceiving that there was an inherent turn for dissipation and extravagance in our hero, resolved magnanimously rather to bring upon himself the sins of treachery and malappropriation than suffer his friend and former pupil to incur24 those of wastefulness25 and profusion26. Contrary therefore to the agreement made with Paul, instead of giving that youth the half of those profits consequent on his brilliant lucubrations, he imparted to him only one fourth, and, with the utmost tenderness for Paul’s salvation27, applied28 the other three portions of the same to his own necessities. The best actions are, alas29! often misconstrued in this world; and we are now about to record a remarkable instance of that melancholy30 truth.
One evening MacGrawler, having “moistened his virtue” in the same manner that the great Cato is said to have done, in the confusion which such a process sometimes occasions in the best regulated heads, gave Paul what appeared to him the outline of a certain article which he wished to be slashingly filled up, but what in reality was the following note from the editor of a monthly periodical:—
SIR— Understanding that my friend, Mr. —— proprietor31 of “The Asinaeum,” allows the very distinguished32 writer whom you have introduced to the literary world, and who signs himself “Nobilitas,” only five shillings an article, I beg, through you, to tender him double that sum. The article required will be of an ordinary length.
I am, sir, etc.,
Now, that very morning, MacGrawler had informed Paul of this offer, altering only, from the amiable33 motives34 we have already explained, the sum of ten shillings to that of four; and no sooner did Paul read the communication we have placed before the reader than, instead of gratitude35 to MacGrawler for his consideration of Paul’s moral infirmities, he conceived against that gentleman the most bitter resentment36. He did not, however, vent1 his feelings at once upon the Scotsman — indeed, at that moment, as the sage37 was in a deep sleep under the table, it would have been to no purpose had he unbridled his indignation — but he resolved without loss of time to quit the abode38 of the critic. “And, indeed,” said he, soliloquizing, “I am heartily39 tired of this life, and shall be very glad to seek some other employment. Fortunately, I have hoarded40 up five guineas and four shillings; and with that independence in my possession, since I have forsworn gambling41, I cannot easily starve.”
To this soliloquy succeeded a misanthropical42 revery upon the faithlessness of friends; and the meditation43 ended in Paul’s making up a little bundle of such clothes, etc., as Dummie had succeeded in removing from the Mug, and which Paul had taken from the rag-merchant’s abode one morning when Dummie was abroad.
When this easy task was concluded, Paul wrote a short and upbraiding44 note to his illustrious preceptor, and left it unsealed on the table. He then, upsetting the ink-bottle on MacGrawler’s sleeping countenance45, departed from the house, and strolled away he cared not whither.
The evening was gradually closing as Paul, chewing the cud of his bitter fancies, found himself on London Bridge. He paused there, and leaning over the bridge, gazed wistfully on the gloomy waters that rolled onward46, caring not a minnow for the numerous charming young ladies who have thought proper to drown themselves in those merciless waves, thereby depriving many a good mistress of an excellent housemaid or an invaluable47 cook, and many a treacherous48 Phaon of letters beginning with “Parjured Villen,” and ending with “Your affectionot but melancholy Molly.”
While thus musing49, he was suddenly accosted50 by a gentleman in boots and spurs, having a riding-whip in one hand, and the other hand stuck in the pocket of his inexpressibles. The hat of the gallant51 was gracefully52 and carefully put on, so as to derange53 as little as possible a profusion of dark curls, which, streaming with unguents, fell low not only on either side of the face, but on the neck and even the shoulders of the owner. The face was saturnine54 and strongly marked, but handsome and striking. There was a mixture of frippery and sternness in its expression — something between Madame Vestries and T. P. Cooke, or between “lovely Sally” and a “Captain bold of Halifax.” The stature56 of this personage was remarkably57 tall, and his figure was stout58, muscular, and well knit. In fine, to complete his portrait, and give our readers of the present day an exact idea of this hero of the past, we shall add that he was altogether that sort of gentleman one sees swaggering in the Burlington Arcade59, with his hair and hat on one side, and a military cloak thrown over his shoulders; or prowling in Regent Street, towards the evening, whiskered and cigarred.
Laying his hand on the shoulder of our hero, this gentleman said, with an affected60 intonation61 of voice —
“How dost, my fine fellow? Long since I saw you! Damme, but you look the worse for wear. What hast thou been doing with thyself?”
“Ha!” cried our hero, returning the salutation of the stranger, “and is it Long Ned whom I behold62? I am indeed glad to meet you; and I say, my friend, I hope what I heard of you is not true!”
“Hist!” said Long Ned, looking round fearfully, and sinking his voice; “never talk of what you hear of gentlemen, except you wish to bring them to their last dying speech and confession63. But come with me, my lad; there is a tavern64 hard by, and we may as well discuss matters over a pint65 of wine. You look cursed seedy, to be sure; but I can tell Bill the waiter — famous fellow, that Bill! — that you are one of my tenants66, come to complain of my steward67, who has just distrained you for rent, you dog! No wonder you look so worn in the rigging. Come, follow me. I can’t walk with thee. It would look too like Northumberland House and the butcher’s abode next door taking a stroll together.”
“Really, Mr. Pepper,” said our hero, colouring, and by no means pleased with the ingenious comparison of his friend, “if you are ashamed of my clothes, which I own might be newer, I will not wound you with my —”
“Pooh! my lad, pooh!” cried Long Ned, interrupting him; “never take offence. I never do. I never take anything but money, except, indeed, watches. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings; all of us have been poor once. ‘Gad, I remember when I had not a dud to my back; and now, you see me — you see me, Paul! But come, ‘t is only through the streets you need separate from me. Keep a little behind, very little; that will do. Ay, that will do,” repeated Long Ned, mutteringly to himself; “they’ll take him for a bailiff. It looks handsome nowadays to be so attended; it shows one had credit once!”
Meanwhile Paul, though by no means pleased with the contempt expressed for his personal appearance by his lengthy68 associate, and impressed with a keener sense than ever of the crimes of his coat and the vices69 of his other garment — “Oh, breathe not its name!”— followed doggedly70 and sullenly71 the strutting72 steps of the coxcombical Mr. Pepper. That personage arrived at last at a small tavern, and arresting a waiter who was running across the passage into the coffee-room with a dish of hung-beef, demanded (no doubt from a pleasing anticipation73 of a similar pendulous74 catastrophe) a plate of the same excellent cheer, to be carried, in company with a bottle of port, into a private apartment. No sooner did he find himself alone with Paul than, bursting into a loud laugh, Mr. Ned surveyed his comrade from head to foot through an eyeglass which he wore fastened to his button-hole by a piece of blue ribbon.
“Well, ‘gad now,” said he, stopping ever and anon, as if to laugh the more heartily, “stab my vitals, but you are a comical quiz. I wonder what the women would say, if they saw the dashing Edward Pepper, Esquire, walking arm in arm with thee at Ranelagh or Vauxhall! Nay75, man, never be downcast; if I laugh at thee, it is only to make thee look a little merrier thyself. Why, thou lookest like a book of my grandfather’s called Burton’s ‘‘Anatomy of Melancholy;’ and faith, a shabbier bound copy of it I never saw.”
“These jests are a little hard,” said Paul, struggling between anger and an attempt to smile; and then recollecting76 his late literary occupations, and the many extracts he had taken from “Gleanings of the Belles78 Lettres,” in order to impart elegance79 to his criticisms, he threw out his hand theatrically80, and spouted81 with a solemn face —
“‘Of all the griefs that harass82 the distrest,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest!’”
“Well, now, prithee forgive me,” said Long Ned, composing his features, “and just tell me what you have been doing the last two months.”
“Slashing and plastering!” said Paul, with conscious pride.
“Slashing and what? The boy’s mad. What do you mean, Paul?”
“In other words,” said our hero, speaking very slowly, “know, O very Long Ned! that I have been critic to ‘The Asinaeum.’”
If Paul’s comrade laughed at first, he now laughed ten times more merrily than ever. He threw his full length of limb upon a neighbouring sofa, and literally83 rolled with cachinnatory convulsions; nor did his risible84 emotions subside85 until the entrance of the hung-beef restored him to recollection. Seeing, then, that a cloud lowered over Paul’s countenance, he went up to him with something like gravity, begged his pardon for his want of politeness, and desired him to wash away all unkindness in a bumper86 of port. Paul, whose excellent dispositions87 we have before had occasion to remark, was not impervious88 to his friend’s apologies. He assured Long Ned that he quite forgave him for his ridicule89 of the high situation he (Paul) had enjoyed in the literary world; that it was the duty of a public censor90 to bear no malice91, and that he should be very glad to take his share in the interment of the hung-beef.
The pair now sat down to their repast; and Paul, who had fared but meagerly in that Temple of Athena over which MacGrawler presided, did ample justice to the viands92 before him. By degrees, as he ate and drank, his heart opened to his companion; and laying aside that Asinaeum dignity which he had at first thought it incumbent93 on him to assume, he entertained Pepper with all the particulars of the life he had lately passed. He narrated94 to him his breach95 with Dame55 Lobkins, his agreement with MacGrawler, the glory he had acquired, and the wrongs he had sustained; and he concluded, as now the second bottle made its appearance, by stating his desire of exchanging for some more active profession that sedentary career which he had so promisingly96 begun.
This last part of Paul’s confessions97 secretly delighted the soul of Long Ned; for that experienced collector of the highways — Ned was, indeed, of no less noble a profession — had long fixed98 an eye upon our hero, as one whom he thought likely to be an honour to that enterprising calling which he espoused99, and an useful assistant to himself. He had not, in his earlier acquaintance with Paul, when the youth was under the roof and the surveillance of the practised and wary100 Mrs. Lobkins, deemed it prudent101 to expose the exact nature of his own pursuits, and had contented102 himself by gradually ripening103 the mind and the finances of Paul into that state when the proposition of a leap from a hedge would not be likely greatly to revolt the person to whom it was made. He now thought that time near at hand; and filling our hero’s glass up to the brim, thus artfully addressed him:—
“Courage, my friend! Your narration104 has given me a sensible pleasure; for curse me if it has not strengthened my favourite opinion — that everything is for the best. If it had not been for the meanness of that pitiful fellow, MacGrawler, you might still be inspired with the paltry105 ambition of earning a few shillings a week and vilifying106 a parcel of poor devils in the what-d’ye-call it, with a hard name; whereas now, my good Paul, I trust I shall be able to open to your genius a new career, in which guineas are had for the asking — in which you may wear fine clothes, and ogle107 the ladies at Ranelagh; and when you are tired of glory and liberty, Paul, why, you have only to make your bow to an heiress, or a widow with a spanking108 jointure, and quit the hum of men like a Cincinnatus!”
Though Paul’s perception into the abstruser branches of morals was not very acute — and at that time the port wine had considerably109 confused the few notions he possessed110 upon “the beauty of virtue,”— yet he could not but perceive that Mr. Pepper’s insinuated111 proposition was far from being one which the bench of bishops112 or a synod of moralists would conscientiously113 have approved. He consequently remained silent; and Long Ned, after a pause, continued:—
“You know my genealogy114, my good fellow? I was the son of Lawyer Pepper, a shrewd old dog, but as hot as Calcutta; and the grandson of Sexton Pepper, a great author, who wrote verses on tombstones, and kept a stall of religious tracts77 in Carlisle. My grandfather, the sexton, was the best temper of the family; for all of us are a little inclined to be hot in the mouth. Well, my fine fellow, my father left me his blessing115, and this devilish good head of hair. I lived for some years on my own resources. I found it a particularly inconvenient116 mode of life, and of late I have taken to live on the public. My father and grandfather did it before me, though in a different line. ‘T is the pleasantest plan in the world. Follow my example, and your coat shall be as spruce as my own. Master Paul, your health!”
“But, O longest of mortals!” said Paul, refilling his glass, “though the public may allow you to eat your mutton off their backs for a short time, they will kick up at last, and upset you and your banquet; in other words (pardon my metaphor117, dear Ned, in remembrance of the part I have lately maintained in ‘The Asinaeum,’ that most magnificent and metaphorical118 of journals!) — in other words, the police will nab thee at last; and thou wilt119 have the distinguished fate, as thou already hast the distinguishing characteristic, of Absalom!”
“You mean that I shall be hanged,” said Long Ned, “that may or may not be; but he who fears death never enjoys life. Consider, Paul, that though hanging is a bad fate, starving is a worse; wherefore fill your glass, and let us drink to the health of that great donkey, the people, and may we never want saddles to ride it!”
“To the great donkey,” cried Paul, tossing off his bumper; “may your (y)ears be as long! But I own to you, my friend, that I cannot enter into your plans. And, as a token of my resolution, I shall drink no more, for my eyes already begin to dance in the air; and if I listen longer to your resistless eloquence120, my feet may share the same fate!”
So saying, Paul rose; nor could any entreaty121, on the part of his entertainer, persuade him to resume his seat.
“Nay, as you will,” said Pepper, affecting a nonchalant tone, and arranging his cravat122 before the glass — “nay, as you will. Ned Pepper requires no man’s companionship against his liking123; and if the noble spark of ambition be not in your bosom124, ‘t is no use spending my breath in blowing at what only existed in my too flattering opinion of your qualities. So then, you propose to return to MacGrawler (the scurvy125 old cheat!), and pass the inglorious remainder of your life in the mangling126 of authors and the murder of grammar? Go, my good fellow, go! scribble127 again and forever for MacGrawler, and let him live upon thy brains instead of suffering thy brains to —”
“Hold!” cried Paul. “Although I may have some scruples128 which prevent my adoption129 of that rising line of life you have proposed to me, yet you are very much mistaken if you imagine me so spiritless as any longer to subject myself to the frauds of that rascal130 MacGrawler. No! My present intention is to pay my old nurse a visit. It appears to me passing strange that though I have left her so many weeks, she has never relented enough to track me out, which one would think would have been no difficult matter; and now, you see, that I am pretty well off, having five guineas and four shillings all my own, and she can scarcely think I want her money, my heart melts to her, and I shall go and ask pardon for my haste!”
“Pshaw! sentimental,” cried Long Ned, a little alarmed at the thought of Paul’s gliding131 from those clutches which he thought had now so firmly closed upon him. “Why, you surely don’t mean, after having once tasted the joys of independence, to go back to the boozing-ken, and bear all Mother Lobkins’s drunken tantrums! Better have stayed with MacGrawler, of the two!”
“You mistake me,” answered Paul; “I mean solely132 to make it up with her, and get her permission to see the world. My ultimate intention is — to travel.”
“Right,” cried Ned, “on the high-road — and on horseback, I hope.”
“No, my Colossus of Roads! no. I am in doubt whether or not I shall enlist4 in a marching regiment133, or — Give me your advice on it! I fancy I have a great turn for the stage, ever since I saw Garrick in ‘Richard.’ Shall I turn stroller? It must be a merry life.”
“Oh, the devil!” cried Ned. “I myself once did Cassio in a barn, and every one swore I enacted134 the drunken scene to perfection; but you have no notion what a lamentable135 life it is to a man of any susceptibility. No, my friend, no! There is only one line in all the old plays worthy thy attention —
“‘Toby [The highway] or not toby, that is the question.’
“I forget the rest!”
“Well,” said our hero, answering in the same jocular vein136, “I confess I have ‘the actor’s high ambition.’ It is astonishing how my heart beat when Richard cried out, ‘Come bustle, bustle!’ Yes, Pepper, avaunt! —
“‘A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.’”
“Well, well,” said Long Ned, stretching himself, “since you are so fond of the play, what say you to an excursion thither137 to-night? Garrick acts.”
“Done!” cried Paul.
“Done!” echoed lazily Long Ned, rising with that blase138 air which distinguishes the matured man of the world from the enthusiastic tyro,-“done! and we will adjourn139 afterwards to the White Horse.”
“But stay a moment,” said Paul; “if you remember, I owed you a guinea when I last saw you — here it is!”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Long Ned, refusing the money — “nonsense! You want the money at present; pay me when you are richer. Nay, never be coy about it; debts of honour are not paid now as they used to be. We lads of the Fish Lane Club have changed all that. Well, well, if I must!”
And Long Ned, seeing that Paul insisted, pocketed the guinea. When this delicate matter had been arranged — “Come,” said Pepper, “come, get your hat; but, bless me! I have forgotten one thing.”
“What?”
“Why, my fine Paul, consider. The play is a bang-up sort of a place; look at your coat and your waistcoat, that’s all!”
Our hero was struck dumb with this arqumentum ad hominem. But Long Ned, after enjoying his perplexity, relieved him of it by telling him that he knew of an honest tradesman who kept a ready-made shop just by the theatre, and who could fit him out in a moment.
In fact, Long Ned was as good as his word; he carried Paul to a tailor, who gave him for the sum of thirty shillings — half ready money, half on credit-a green coat with a tarnished140 gold lace, a pair of red inexpressibles, and a pepper-and-salt waistcoat. It is true, they were somewhat of the largest, for they had once belonged to no less a person than Long Ned himself; but Paul did not then regard those niceties of apparel, as he was subsequently taught to do by Gentleman George (a personage hereafter to be introduced to our reader), and he went to the theatre as well satisfied with himself as if he had been Mr. T—— or the Count de ——.
Our adventurers are now quietly seated in the theatre; and we shall not think it necessary to detail the performances they saw, or the observations they made. Long Ned was one of those superior beings of the road who would not for the world have condescended141 to appear anywhere but in the boxes; and, accordingly, the friends procured142 a couple of places in the dress-tier. In the next box to the one our adventurers adorned143 they remarked, more especially than the rest of the audience, a gentleman and a young lady seated next each other; the latter, who was about thirteen years old, was so uncommonly144 beautiful that Paul, despite his dramatic enthusiasm, could scarcely divert his eyes from her countenance to the stage. Her hair, of a bright and fair auburn, hung in profuse145 ringlets about her neck, shedding a softer shade upon a complexion146 in which the roses seemed just budding as it were into blush. Her eyes, large, blue, and rather languishing147 than brilliant, were curtained by the darkest lashes148; her mouth seemed literally girt with smiles, so numberless were the dimples that every time the full, ripe, dewy lips were parted rose into sight; and the enchantment149 of the dimples was aided by two rows of teeth more dazzling than the richest pearls that ever glittered on a bride. But the chief charm of the face was its exceeding and touching150 air of innocence151 and girlish softness; you might have gazed forever upon that first unspeakable bloom, that all untouched and stainless152 down, which seemed as if a very breath could mar11 it. Perhaps the face might have wanted animation153; but perhaps, also, it borrowed from that want an attraction. The repose154 of the features was so soft and gentle that the eye wandered there with the same delight, and left it with the same reluctance155, which it experiences in dwelling156 on or in quitting those hues157 which are found to harmonize the most with its vision. But while Paul was feeding his gaze on this young beauty, the keen glances of Long Ned had found an object no less fascinating in a large gold watch which the gentleman who accompanied the damsel ever and anon brought to his eye, as if he were waxing a little weary of the length of the pieces or the lingering progression of time.
“What a beautiful face!” whispered Paul.
“Is the face gold, then, as well as the back?” whispered Long Ned, in return.
Our hero started, frowned, and despite the gigantic stature of his comrade, told him, very angrily, to find some other subject for jesting. Ned in his turn stared, but made no reply.
Meanwhile Paul, though the lady was rather too young to fall in love with, began wondering what relationship her companion bore to her. Though the gentleman altogether was handsome, yet his features and the whole character of his face were widely different from those on which Paul gazed with such delight. He was not, seemingly, above five-and-forty, but his forehead was knit into many a line and furrow158; and in his eyes the light, though searching, was more sober and staid than became his years. A disagreeable expression played about the mouth; and the shape of the face, which was long and thin, considerably detracted from the prepossessing effect of a handsome aquiline159 nose, fine teeth, and a dark, manly160, though sallow complexion. There was a mingled161 air of shrewdness and distraction162 in the expression of his face. He seemed to pay very little attention to the play, or to anything about him; but he testified very considerable alacrity163, when the play was over, in putting her cloak around his young companion, and in threading their way through the thick crowd that the boxes were now pouring forth164.
Paul and his companion silently, and each with very different motives from the other, followed them. They were now at the door of the theatre.
A servant stepped forward and informed the gentleman that his carriage was a few paces distant, but that it might be some time before it could drive up to the theatre.
“Can you walk to the carriage, my dear?” said the gentleman to his young charge; and she answering in the affirmative, they both left the house, preceded by the servant.
“Come on!” said Long Ned, hastily, and walking in the same direction which the strangers had taken. Paul readily agreed. They soon overtook the strangers. Long Ned walked the nearest to the gentleman, and brushed by him in passing. Presently a voice cried, “Stop thief!” and Long Ned, saying to Paul, “Shift for yourself, run!” darted165 from our hero’s side into the crowd, and vanished in a twinkling. Before Paul could recover his amaze, he found himself suddenly seized by the collar; he turned abruptly166, and saw the dark face of the young lady’s companion.
“Rascal!” cried the gentleman, “my watch!”
“Watch!” repeated Paul, bewildered, and only for the sake of the young lady refraining from knocking down his arrester — “watch!”
“Ay, young man!” cried a fellow in a great-coat, who now suddenly appeared on the other side of Paul; “this gentleman’s watch. Please your honour,” addressing the complainant, “I be a watch too; shall I take up this chap?”
“By all means,” cried the gentleman; “I would not have lost my watch for twice its value. I can swear I saw this fellow’s companion snatch it from my fob. The thief’s gone; but we have at least the accomplice167. I give him in strict charge to you, watchman; take the consequences if you let him escape.” The watchman answered, sullenly, that he did not want to be threatened, and he knew how to discharge his duty.
“Don’t answer me, fellow!” said the gentleman, haughtily168; “do as I tell you!” And after a little colloquy169, Paul found himself suddenly marched off between two tall fellows, who looked prodigiously170 inclined to eat him. By this time he had recovered his surprise and dismay. He did not want the penetration171 to see that his companion had really committed the offence for which he was charged; and he also foresaw that the circumstance might be attended with disagreeable consequences to himself. Under all the features of the case, he thought that an attempt to escape would not be an imprudent proceeding172 on his part; accordingly, after moving a few paces very quietly and very passively, he watched his opportunity, wrenched173 himself from the gripe of the gentleman on his left, and brought the hand thus released against the cheek of the gentleman on his right with so hearty a good will as to cause him to relinquish174 his hold, and retreat several paces towards the areas in a slanting175 position. But that roundabout sort of blow with the left fist is very unfavourable towards the preservation176 of a firm balance; and before Paul had recovered sufficiently177 to make an effectual bolt, he was prostrated178 to the earth by a blow from the other and undamaged watchman, which utterly179 deprived him of his senses; and when he recovered those useful possessions (which a man may reasonably boast of losing, since it is only the minority who have them to lose), he found himself stretched on a bench in the watchhouse.
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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innovating
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| v.改革，创新( innovate的现在分词 )；引入（新事物、思想或方法）， | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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censuring
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的现在分词 ) | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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18
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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19
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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20
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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21
incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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22
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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23
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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24
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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25
wastefulness
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| 浪费，挥霍，耗费 | |
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26
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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27
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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28
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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29
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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30
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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31
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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32
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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33
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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34
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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35
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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36
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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37
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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38
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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39
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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40
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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42
misanthropical
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43
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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44
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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45
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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46
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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47
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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48
treacherous
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|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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49
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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50
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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51
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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52
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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53
derange
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| v.使精神错乱 | |
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54
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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55
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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56
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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57
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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59
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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60
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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61
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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62
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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63
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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64
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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65
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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66
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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67
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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68
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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69
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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70
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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71
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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72
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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73
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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74
pendulous
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| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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75
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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76
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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77
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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78
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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79
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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80
theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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81
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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82
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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83
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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84
risible
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| adj.能笑的；可笑的 | |
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85
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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86
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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87
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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88
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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89
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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90
censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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91
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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92
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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93
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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94
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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96
promisingly
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| （通常只是开头）给人以希望地，良好地 | |
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97
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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98
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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99
espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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101
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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102
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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103
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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104
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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105
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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106
vilifying
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| v.中伤，诽谤( vilify的现在分词 ) | |
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107
ogle
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| v.看；送秋波；n.秋波，媚眼 | |
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108
spanking
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| adj.强烈的，疾行的；n.打屁股 | |
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109
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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110
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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111
insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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112
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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113
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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114
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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115
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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116
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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117
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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118
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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119
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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120
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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121
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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122
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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123
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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124
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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125
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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126
mangling
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| 重整 | |
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127
scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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128
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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129
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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130
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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131
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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132
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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133
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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134
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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136
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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137
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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138
blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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139
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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140
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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141
condescended
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|
| 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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142
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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143
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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144
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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145
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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146
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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147
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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148
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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149
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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150
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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151
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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152
stainless
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| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
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153
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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154
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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155
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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156
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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157
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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158
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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159
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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160
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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161
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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162
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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163
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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164
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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165
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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166
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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167
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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168
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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169
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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170
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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171
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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172
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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173
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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174
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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175
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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176
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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177
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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178
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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179
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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