The old were middle-aged34, the elderly were in their prime, then, thirty years since, when yon royal George was still fighting the dragon. As for you, my pretty lass, with your saucy35 hat and golden tresses tumbled in your net, and you, my spruce young gentleman in your mandarin36’s cap (the young folks at the country-place where I am staying are so attired), your parents were unknown to each other, and wore short frocks and short jackets, at the date of this five-shilling piece. Only today I met a dog-cart crammed38 with children — children with moustaches and mandarin caps — children with saucy hats and hair-nets — children in short frocks and knickerbockers (surely the prettiest boy’s dress that has appeared these hundred years)— children from twenty years of age to six; and father, with mother by his side, driving in front — and on father’s countenance39 I saw that very laugh which I remember perfectly40 in the time when this crown-piece was coined — in HIS time, in King George’s time, when we were school-boys seated on the same form. The smile was just as broad, as bright, as jolly, as I remember it in the past — unforgotten, though not seen or thought of, for how many decades of years, and quite and instantly familiar, though so long out of sight.
Any contemporary of that coin who takes it up and reads the inscription41 round the laurelled head, “Georgius IV. Britanniarum Rex. Fid. Def. 1823,” if he will but look steadily42 enough at the round, and utter the proper incantation, I dare say may conjure43 back his life there. Look well, my elderly friend, and tell me what you see? First, I see a Sultan, with hair, beautiful hair, and a crown of laurels44 round his head, and his name is Georgius Rex. Fid. Def., and so on. Now the Sultan has disappeared; and what is that I see? A boy — a boy in a jacket. He is at a desk; he has great books before him, Latin and Greek books and dictionaries. Yes, but behind the great books, which he pretends to read, is a little one, with pictures, which he is really reading. It is — yes, I can read now — it is the “Heart of Mid2 Lothian,” by the author of “Waverley”— or, no, it is “Life in London, or the Adventures of Corinthian Tom, Jeremiah Hawthorn45, and their friend Bob Logic46,” by Pierce Egan; and it has pictures — oh! such funny pictures! As he reads, there comes behind the boy, a man, a dervish, in a black gown, like a woman, and a black square cap, and he has a book in each hand, and he seizes the boy who is reading the picture-book, and lays his head upon one of his books, and smacks47 it with the other. The boy makes faces, and so that picture disappears.
Now the boy has grown bigger. HE has got on a black gown and cap, something like the dervish. He is at a table, with ever so many bottles on it, and fruit, and tobacco; and other young dervishes come in. They seem as if they were singing. To them enters an old moollah, he takes down their names, and orders them all to go to bed. What is this? a carriage, with four beautiful horses all galloping49 — a man in red is blowing a trumpet50. Many young men are on the carriage — one of them is driving the horses. Surely they won’t drive into that? — ah! they have all disappeared. And now I see one of the young men alone. He is walking in a street — a dark street — presently a light comes to a window. There is the shadow of a lady who passes. He stands there till the light goes out. Now he is in a room scribbling51 on a piece of paper, and kissing a miniature every now and then. They seem to be lines each pretty much of a length. I can read heart, smart, dart52; Mary, fairy; Cupid, stupid; true, you; and never mind what more. Bah! it is bosh. Now see, he has got a gown on again, and a wig53 of white hair on his head, and he is sitting with other dervishes in a great room full of them, and on a throne in the middle is an old Sultan in scarlet55, sitting before a desk, and he wears a wig too — and the young man gets up and speaks to him. And now what is here? He is in a room with ever so many children, and the miniature hanging up. Can it be a likeness56 of that woman who is sitting before that copper57 urn7, with a silver vase in her hand, from which she is pouring hot liquor into cups? Was SHE ever a fairy? She is as fat as a hippopotamus58 now. He is sitting on a divan59 by the fire. He has a paper on his knees. Read the name of the paper. It is the Superfine Review. It inclines to think that Mr. Dickens is not a true gentleman, that Mr. Thackeray is not a true gentleman, and that when the one is pert and the other is arch, we, the gentlemen of the Superfine Review, think, and think rightly, that we have some cause to be indignant. The great cause why modern humor and modern sentimentalism repel62 us, is that they are unwarrantably familiar. Now, Mr. Sterne, the Superfine Reviewer thinks, “was a true sentimentalist, because he was ABOVE ALL THINGS a true gentleman.” The flattering inference is obvious: let us be thankful for having an elegant moralist watching over us, and learn, if not too old, to imitate his high-bred politeness and catch his unobtrusive grace. If we are unwarrantably familiar, we know who is not. If we repel by pertness, we know who never does. If our language offends, we know whose is always modest. O pity! The vision has disappeared off the silver, the images of youth and the past are vanishing away! We who have lived before railways were made, belong to another world. In how many hours could the Prince of Wales drive from Brighton to London, with a light carriage built expressly, and relays of horses longing63 to gallop48 the next stage? Do you remember Sir Somebody, the coachman of the Age, who took our half-crown so affably? It was only yesterday; but what a gulf64 between now and then! THEN was the old world. Stage-coaches, more or less swift, riding-horses, pack-horses, highwaymen, knights in armor, Norman invaders65, Roman legions, Druids, Ancient Britons painted blue, and so forth66 — all these belong to the old period. I will concede a halt in the midst of it, and allow that gunpowder67 and printing tended to modernize68 the world. But your railroad starts the new era, and we of a certain age belong to the new time and the old one. We are of the time of chivalry71 as well as the Black Prince or Sir Walter Manny. We are of the age of steam. We have stepped out of the old world on to “Brunel’s” vast deck, and across the waters ingens patet tellus. Towards what new continent are we wending? to what new laws, new manners, new politics, vast new expanses of liberties unknown as yet, or only surmised72? I used to know a man who had invented a flying-machine. “Sir,” he would say, “give me but five hundred pounds, and I will make it. It is so simple of construction that I tremble daily lest some other person should light upon and patent my discovery.” Perhaps faith was wanting; perhaps the five hundred pounds. He is dead, and somebody else must make the flying-machine. But that will only be a step forward on the journey already begun since we quitted the old world. There it lies on the other side of yonder embankments. You young folks have never seen it; and Waterloo is to you no more than Agincourt, and George IV. than Sardanapalus. We elderly people have lived in that praerailroad world, which has passed into limbo73 and vanished from under us. I tell you it was firm under our feet once, and not long ago. They have raised those railroad embankments up, and shut off the old world that was behind them. Climb up that bank on which the irons are laid, and look to the other side — it is gone. There IS no other side. Try and catch yesterday. Where is it? Here is a Times newspaper, dated Monday 26th, and this is Tuesday 27th. Suppose you deny there was such a day as yesterday?
We who lived before railways, and survive out of the ancient world, are like Father Noah and his family out of the Ark. The children will gather round and say to us patriarchs, “Tell us, grandpapa, about the old world.” And we shall mumble74 our old stories; and we shall drop off one by one; and there will be fewer and fewer of us, and these very old and feeble. There will be but ten praerailroadites left: then three then two — then one — then 0! If the hippopotamus had the least sensibility (of which I cannot trace any signs either in his hide or his face), I think he would go down to the bottom of his tank, and never come up again. Does he not see that he belongs to bygone ages, and that his great hulking barrel of a body is out of place in these times? What has he in common with the brisk young life surrounding him? In the watches of the night, when the keepers are asleep, when the birds are on one leg, when even the little armadillo is quiet, and the monkeys have ceased their chatter75 — he, I mean the hippopotamus, and the elephant, and the long-necked giraffe, perhaps may lay their heads together and have a colloquy76 about the great silent antediluvian77 world which they remember, where mighty78 monsters floundered through the ooze79, crocodiles basked80 on the banks, and dragons darted81 out of the caves and waters before men were made to slay them. We who lived before railways are antediluvians — we must pass away. We are growing scarcer every day; and old — old — very old relicts of the times when George was still fighting the Dragon.
Not long since, a company of horse-riders paid a visit to our watering-place. We went to see them, and I bethought me that young Walter Juvenis, who was in the place, might like also to witness the performance. A pantomime is not always amusing to persons who have attained82 a certain age; but a boy at a pantomime is always amused and amusing, and to see his pleasure is good for most hypochondriacs.
We sent to Walter’s mother, requesting that he might join us, and the kind lady replied that the boy had already been at the morning performance of the equestrians84, but was most eager to go in the evening likewise. And go he did; and laughed at all Mr. Merryman’s remarks, though he remembered them with remarkable85 accuracy, and insisted upon waiting to the very end of the fun, and was only induced to retire just before its conclusion by representations that the ladies of the party would be incommoded if they were to wait and undergo the rush and trample86 of the crowd round about. When this fact was pointed87 out to him, he yielded at once, though with a heavy heart, his eyes looking longingly88 towards the ring as we retreated out of the booth. We were scarcely clear of the place, when we heard “God save the Queen,” played by the equestrian83 band, the signal that all was over. Our companion entertained us with scraps89 of the dialogue on our way home — precious crumbs90 of wit which he had brought away from that feast. He laughed over them again as we walked under the stars. He has them now, and takes them out of the pocket of his memory, and crunches91 a bit, and relishes92 it with a sentimental61 tenderness, too, for he is, no doubt, back at school by this time; the holidays are over; and Doctor Birch’s young friends have reassembled.
Queer jokes, which caused a thousand simple mouths to grin! As the jaded94 Merryman uttered them to the old gentleman with the whip, some of the old folks in the audience, I dare say, indulged in reflections of their own. There was one joke — I utterly95 forget it — but it began with Merryman saying what he had for dinner. He had mutton for dinner, at one o’clock, after which “he had to COME TO BUSINESS.” And then came the point. Walter Juvenis, Esq., Rev60. Doctor Birch’s, Market Rodborough, if you read this, will you please send me a line, and let me know what was the joke Mr. Merryman made about having his dinner? YOU remember well enough. But do I want to know? Suppose a boy takes a favorite, long-cherished lump of cake out of his pocket, and offers you a bite? Merci! The fact is, I DON’T care much about knowing that joke of Mr. Merryman’s.
But whilst he was talking about his dinner, and his mutton, and his landlord, and his business, I felt a great interest about Mr. M. in private life — about his wife, lodgings96, earnings97, and general history, and I dare say was forming a picture of those in my mind — wife cooking the mutton: children waiting for it; Merryman in his plain clothes, and so forth; during which contemplation the joke was uttered and laughed at, and Mr. M., resuming his professional duties, was tumbling over head and heels. Do not suppose I am going, sicut est mos, to indulge in moralities about buffoons98, paint, motley, and mountebanking. Nay99, Prime Ministers rehearse their jokes; Opposition100 leaders prepare and polish them; Tabernacle preachers must arrange them in their minds before they utter them. All I mean is, that I would like to know any one of these performers thoroughly101, and out of his uniform: that preacher, and why in his travels this and that point struck him; wherein lies his power of pathos102, humor, eloquence103; — that Minister of State, and what moves him, and how his private heart is working; — I would only say that, at a certain time of life certain things cease to interest: but about SOME things when we cease to care, what will be the use of life, sight, hearing? Poems are written, and we cease to admire. Lady Jones invites us, and we yawn; she ceases to invite us, and we are resigned. The last time I saw a ballet at the opera — oh! it is many years ago — I fell asleep in the stalls, wagging my head in insane dreams, and I hope affording amusement to the company, while the feet of five hundred nymphs were cutting flicflacs on the stage at a few paces’ distance. Ah, I remember a different state of things! Credite posteri. To see those nymphs — gracious powers, how beautiful they were! That leering, painted, shrivelled, thin-armed, thick-ankled old thing, cutting dreary104 capers105, coming thumping106 down on her board out of time — THAT an opera-dancer? Pooh! My dear Walter, the great difference between MY time and yours, who will enter life some two or three years hence, is that, now, the dancing women and singing women are ludicrously old, out of time, and out of tune107; the paint is so visible, and the dinge and wrinkles of their wretched old cotton stockings, that I am surprised how anybody can like to look at them. And as for laughing at ME for falling asleep, I can’t understand a man of sense doing otherwise. In MY time, a la bonne heure. In the reign4 of George IV., I give you my honor, all the dancers at the opera were as beautiful as Houris. Even in William IV.‘s time, when I think of Duvernay prancing108 in as the Bayadere — I say it was a vision of loveliness such as mortal eyes can’t see now-a-days. How well I remember the tune to which she used to appear! Kaled used to say to the Sultan, “My lord, a troop of those dancing and singing gurls called Bayaderes approaches,” and, to the clash of cymbals109, and the thumping of my heart, in she used to dance! There has never been anything like it — never. There never will be — I laugh to scorn old people who tell me about your Noblet, your Montessu, your Vestris, your Parisot — pshaw, the senile twaddlers! And the impudence110 of the young men, with their music and their dancers of today! I tell you the women are dreary old creatures. I tell you one air in an opera is just like another, and they send all rational creatures to sleep. Ah, Ronzi de Begnis, thou lovely one! Ah, Caradoni, thou smiling angel! Ah, Malibran! Nay, I will come to modern times, and acknowledge that Lablache was a very good singer thirty years ago (though Porto was the boy for me): and then we had Ambrogetti, and Curioni, and Donzelli, a rising young singer.
But what is most certain and lamentable111 is the decay of stage beauty since the days of George IV. Think of Sontag! I remember her in Otello and the Donna del Lago in ‘28. I remember being behind the scenes at the opera (where numbers of us young fellows of fashion used to go), and seeing Sontag let her hair fall down over her shoulders previous to her murder by Donzelli. Young fellows have never seen beauty like THAT, heard such a voice, seen such hair, such eyes. Don’t tell ME! A man who has been about town since the reign of George IV., ought he not to know better than you young lads who have seen nothing? The deterioration112 of women is lamentable; and the conceit113 of the young fellows more lamentable still, that they won’t see this fact, but persist in thinking their time as good as ours.
Bless me! when I was a lad, the stage was covered with angels, who sang, acted, and danced. When I remember the Adelphi, and the actresses there: when I think of Miss Chester, and Miss Love, and Mrs. Serle at Sadler’s Wells, and her forty glorious pupils — of the Opera and Noblet, and the exquisite114 young Taglioni, and Pauline Leroux, and a host more! One much-admired being of those days I confess I never cared for, and that was the chief MALE dancer — a very important personage then, with a bare neck, bare arms, a tunic115, and a hat and feathers, who used to divide the applause with the ladies, and who has now sunk down a trap-door for ever. And this frank admission ought to show that I am not your mere116 twaddling laudator temporis acti — your old fogy who can see no good except in his own time.
They say that claret is better now-a-days, and cookery much improved since the days of MY monarch — of George IV. Pastry117 Cookery is certainly not so good. I have often eaten half a crown’s worth (including, I trust, ginger-beer) at our school pastry-cook’s, and that is a proof that the pastry must have been very good, for could I do as much now? I passed by the pastry-cook’s shop lately, having occasion to visit my old school. It looked a very dingy118 old baker’s; misfortunes may have come over him — those penny tarts70 certainly did NOT look so nice as I remember them: but he may have grown careless as he has grown old (I should judge him to be now about ninety-six years of age), and his hand may have lost its cunning.
Not that we were not great epicures119. I remember how we constantly grumbled120 at the quantity of the food in our master’s house — which on my conscience I believe was excellent and plentiful121 — and how we tried once or twice to eat him out of house and home. At the pastry-cook’s we may have over-eaten ourselves (I have admitted half a crown’s worth for my own part, but I don’t like to mention the REAL figure for fear of perverting122 the present generation of boys by my monstrous123 confession)— we may have eaten too much, I say. We did; but what then? The school apothecary124 was sent for: a couple of small globules at night, a trifling125 preparation of senna in the morning, and we had not to go to school, so that the draught126 was an actual pleasure.
For our amusements, besides the games in vogue127, which were pretty much in old times as they are now (except cricket, par37 exemple — and I wish the present youth joy of their bowling128, and suppose Armstrong and Whitworth will bowl at them with light field-pieces next), there were novels — ah! I trouble you to find such novels in the present day! O Scottish Chiefs, didn’t we weep over you! O Mysteries of Udolpho, didn’t I and Briggs Minor129 draw pictures out of you, as I have said? Efforts, feeble indeed, but still giving pleasure to us and our friends. “I say, old boy, draw us Vivaldi tortured in the Inquisition,” or, “Draw us Don Quixote and the windmills, you know,” amateurs would say, to boys who had a love of drawing. “Peregrine Pickle” we liked, our fathers admiring it, and telling us (the sly old boys) it was capital fun; but I think I was rather bewildered by it, though “Roderick Random” was and remains delightful130. I don’t remember having Sterne in the school library, no doubt because the works of that divine were not considered decent for young people. Ah! not against thy genius, O father of Uncle Toby and Trim, would I say a word in disrespect. But I am thankful to live in times when men no longer have the temptation to write so as to call blushes on women’s cheeks, and would shame to whisper wicked allusions131 to honest boys. Then, above all, we had WALTER SCOTT, the kindly132, the generous, the pure — the companion of what countless delightful hours; the purveyor133 of how much happiness; the friend whom we recall as the constant benefactor134 of our youth! How well I remember the type and the brownish paper of the old duodecimo “Tales of my Landlord!” I have never dared to read the “Pirate,” and the “Bride of Lammermoor,” or “Kenilworth,” from that day to this, because the finale is unhappy, and people die, and are murdered at the end. But “Ivanhoe,” and “Quentin Durward!” Oh! for a half-holiday, and a quiet corner, and one of those books again! Those books, and perhaps those eyes with which we read them; and, it may be, the brains behind the eyes! It may be the tart69 was good; but how fresh the appetite was! If the gods would give me the desire of my heart, I should be able to write a story which boys would relish93 for the next few dozen of centuries. The boy-critic loves the story: grown up, he loves the author who wrote the story. Hence the kindly tie is established between writer and reader, and lasts pretty nearly for life. I meet people now who don’t care for Walter Scott, or the “Arabian Nights;” I am sorry for them, unless they in their time have found THEIR romancer — their charming Scheherazade. By the way, Walter, when you are writing, tell me who is the favorite novelist in the fourth form now? have you got anything so good and kindly as dear Miss Edgeworth’s Frank? It used to belong to a fellow’s sisters generally; but though he pretended to despise it, and said, “Oh, stuff for girls!” he read it; and I think there were one or two passages which would try my eyes now, were I to meet with the little book.
As for Thomas and Jeremiah (it is only my witty135 way of calling Tom and Jerry), I went to the British Museum the other day on purpose to get it; but somehow, if you will press the question so closely, on reperusal, Tom and Jerry is not so brilliant as I had supposed it to be. The pictures are just as fine as ever; and I shook hands with broad-backed Jerry Hawthorn and Corinthian Tom with delight, after many years’ absence. But the style of the writing, I own, was not pleasing to me; I even thought it a little vulgar — well! well! other writers have been considered vulgar — and as a description of the sports and amusements of London in the ancient times, more curious than amusing.
But the pictures! — oh! the pictures are noble still! First, there is Jerry arriving from the country, in a green coat and leather gaiters, and being measured for a fashionable suit at Corinthian House, by Corinthian Tom’s tailor. Then away for the career of pleasure and fashion. The park! delicious excitement! The theatre! the saloon!! the green-room!!! Rapturous bliss136 — the opera itself! and then perhaps to Temple Bar, to KNOCK DOWN A CHARLEY there! There are Jerry and Tom, with their tights and little cocked hats, coming from the opera — very much as gentlemen in waiting on royalty137 are habited now. There they are at Almack’s itself, amidst a crowd of high-bred personages, with the Duke of Clarence himself looking at them dancing. Now, strange change, they are in Tom Cribb’s parlor138, where they don’t seem to be a whit54 less at home than in fashion’s gilded139 halls: and now they are at Newgate, seeing the irons knocked off the malefactors’ legs previous to execution. What hardened ferocity in the countenance of the desperado in yellow breeches! What compunction in the face of the gentleman in black (who, I suppose, has been forging), and who clasps his hands, and listens to the chaplain! Now we haste away to merrier scenes: to Tattersall’s (ah gracious powers! what a funny fellow that actor was who performed Dicky Green in that scene at the play!); and now we are at a private party, at which Corinthian Tom is waltzing (and very gracefully140, too, as you must confess,) with Corinthian Kate, whilst Bob Logic, the Oxonian, is playing on the piano!
“After,” the text says, “THE OXONIAN had played several pieces of lively music, he requested as a favor that Kate and his friend Tom would perform a waltz. Kate without any hesitation142 immediately stood up. Tom offered his hand to his fascinating partner, and the dance took place. The plate conveys a correct representation of the ‘gay scene’ at that precise moment. The anxiety of THE OXONIAN to witness the attitudes of the elegant pair had nearly put a stop to their movements. On turning round from the pianoforte and presenting his comical MUG, Kate could scarcely suppress a laugh.”
And no wonder; just look at it now (as I have copied it to the best of my humble143 ability), and compare Master Logic’s countenance and attitude with the splendid elegance144 of Tom!10 Now every London man is weary and blase145. There is an enjoyment146 of life in these young bucks147 of 1823 which contrasts strangely with our feelings of 1860. Here, for instance, is a specimen148 of their talk and walk. “‘If,’ says LOGIC—‘if ENJOYMENT is your MOTTO, you may make the most of an evening at Vauxhall, more than at any other place in the metropolis149. It is all free and easy. Stay as long as you like, and depart when you think proper.’—‘Your description is so flattering,’ replied JERRY, ‘that I do not care how soon the time arrives for us to start.’ LOGIC proposed a ‘BIT OF A STROLL’ in order to get rid of an hour or two, which was immediately accepted by Tom and Jerry. A TURN or two in Bond Street, a STROLL through Piccadilly, a LOOK IN at TATTERSALL’S, a RAMBLE150 through Pall151 Mall, and a STRUT152 on the Corinthian path, fully141 occupied the time of our heroes until the hour for dinner arrived, when a few glasses of TOM’S rich wines soon put them on the qui vive. VAUXHALL was then the object in view, and the TRIO started, bent153 upon enjoying the pleasures which this place so amply affords.”
10 This refers to an illustrated154 edition of the work.
How nobly those inverted155 commas, those italics, those capitals, bring out the writer’s wit and relieve the eye! They are as good as jokes, though you mayn’t quite perceive the point. Mark the varieties of lounge in which the young men indulge — now A STROLL, then A LOOK IN, then A RAMBLE, and presently A STRUT. When George, Prince of Wales, was twenty, I have read in an old Magazine, “the Prince’s lounge” was a peculiar156 manner of walking which the young bucks imitated. At Windsor George III. had A CAT’S PATH— a sly early walk which the good old king took in the gray morning before his household was astir. What was the Corinthian path here recorded? Does any antiquary know? And what were the rich wines which our friends took, and which enabled them to enjoy Vauxhall? Vauxhall is gone, but the wines which could occasion such a delightful perversion157 of the intellect as to enable it to enjoy ample pleasures there, what were they?
So the game of life proceeds, until Jerry Hawthorn, the rustic158, is fairly knocked up by all this excitement and is forced to go home, and the last picture represents him getting into the coach at the “White Horse Cellar,” he being one of six inside; whilst his friends shake him by the hand; whilst the sailor mounts on the roof; whilst the Jews hang round with oranges, knives, and sealing-wax: whilst the guard is closing the door. Where are they now, those sealing-wax venders? where are the guards? where are the jolly teams? where are the coaches? and where the youth that climbed inside and out of them; that heard the merry horn which sounds no more; that saw the sun rise over Stonehenge; that rubbed away the bitter tears at night after parting as the coach sped on the journey to school and London; that looked out with beating heart as the milestones159 flew by, for the welcome corner where began home and holidays?
It is night now: and here is home. Gathered under the quiet roof elders and children lie alike at rest. In the midst of a great peace and calm, the stars look out from the heavens. The silence is peopled with the past; sorrowful remorses for sins and short-comings — memories of passionate160 joys and griefs rise out of their graves, both now alike calm and sad. Eyes, as I shut mine, look at me, that have long ceased to shine. The town and the fair landscape sleep under the starlight, wreathed in the autumn mists. Twinkling among the houses a light keeps watch here and there, in what may be a sick chamber161 or two. The clock tolls162 sweetly in the silent air. Here is night and rest. An awful sense of thanks makes the heart swell163, and the head bow, as I pass to my room through the sleeping house, and feel as though a hushed blessing164 were upon it.
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veracious
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| adj.诚实可靠的 | |
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mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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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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effigy
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baker
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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18
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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19
succored
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| v.给予帮助( succor的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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21
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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22
crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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23
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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24
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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25
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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26
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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28
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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29
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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30
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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31
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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32
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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33
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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34
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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35
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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36
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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37
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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38
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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39
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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40
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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41
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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42
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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43
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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44
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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45
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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46
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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47
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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48
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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49
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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50
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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51
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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52
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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53
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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54
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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55
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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56
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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57
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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58
hippopotamus
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| n.河马 | |
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59
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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60
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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61
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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62
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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63
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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64
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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65
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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66
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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67
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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68
modernize
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| vt.使现代化，使适应现代的需要 | |
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69
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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70
tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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71
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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72
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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73
limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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74
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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75
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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76
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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77
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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78
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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79
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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80
basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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81
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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82
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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83
equestrian
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|
| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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84
equestrians
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| n.骑手（equestrian的复数形式） | |
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85
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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86
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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87
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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88
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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89
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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90
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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91
crunches
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| n.（突发的）不足( crunch的名词复数 )；需要做出重要决策的困难时刻；紧要关头；嘎吱的响声v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的第三人称单数 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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92
relishes
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| n.滋味( relish的名词复数 )；乐趣；（大量的）享受；快乐v.欣赏( relish的第三人称单数 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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93
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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94
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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95
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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96
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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97
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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98
buffoons
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| n.愚蠢的人( buffoon的名词复数 )；傻瓜；逗乐小丑；滑稽的人 | |
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99
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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100
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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101
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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102
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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103
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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104
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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105
capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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107
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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108
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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109
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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110
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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111
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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112
deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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113
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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114
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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115
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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116
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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117
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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118
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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119
epicures
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| n.讲究饮食的人( epicure的名词复数 ) | |
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120
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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121
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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122
perverting
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| v.滥用( pervert的现在分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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123
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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124
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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125
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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126
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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127
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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128
bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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129
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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130
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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131
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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132
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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133
purveyor
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| n.承办商，伙食承办商 | |
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134
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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135
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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136
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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137
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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138
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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139
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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140
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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141
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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142
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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143
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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144
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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145
blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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146
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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147
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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148
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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149
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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150
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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151
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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152
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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153
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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154
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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155
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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157
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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158
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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159
milestones
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| n.重要事件( milestone的名词复数 )；重要阶段；转折点；里程碑 | |
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160
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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161
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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162
tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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163
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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164
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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