They draw the cork1, they broach2 the barrel,
And first they kiss, and then they quarrel.
PRIOR.
If the reader has attended much to the manners of the canine3 race, he may have remarked the very different manner in which the individuals of the different sexes carry on their quarrels among each other. The females are testy4, petulant5, and very apt to indulge their impatient dislike of each other’s presence, or the spirit of rivalry6 which it produces, in a sudden bark and snap, which last is generally made as much at advantage as possible. But these ebullitions of peevishness7 lead to no very serious or prosecuted8 conflict; the affair begins and ends in a moment. Not so the ire of the male dogs, which, once produced and excited by growls9 of mutual10 offence and defiance11, leads generally to a fierce and obstinate12 contest; in which, if the parties be dogs of game, and well-matched, they grapple, throttle13, tear, roll each other in the kennel14, and can only be separated by choking them with their own collars, till they lose wind and hold at the same time, or by surprising them out of their wrath16 by sousing them with cold water.
The simile17, though a currish one, will hold good in its application to the human race. While the ladies in the tea-room of the Fox Hotel were engaged in the light snappish velitation, or skirmish, which we have described, the gentlemen who remained in the parlour were more than once like to have quarrelled more seriously.
We have mentioned the weighty reasons which induced Mr. Mowbray to look upon the stranger whom a general invitation had brought into their society, with unfavourable prepossessions; and these were far from being abated19 by the demeanour of Tyrrel, which, though perfectly20 well-bred, indicated a sense of equality, which the young Laird of St. Ronan’s considered as extremely presumptuous21.
As for Sir Bingo, he already began to nourish the genuine hatred22 always entertained by a mean spirit against an antagonist23, before whom it is conscious of having made a dishonourable retreat. He forgot not the manner, look, and tone, with which Tyrrel had checked his unauthorized intrusion; and though he had sunk beneath it at the moment, the recollection rankled25 in his heart as an affront26 to be avenged27. As he drank his wine, courage, the want of which was, in his more sober moments, a check upon his bad temper, began to inflame28 his malignity29, and he ventured upon several occasions to show his spleen, by contradicting Tyrrel more flatly than good manners permitted upon so short an acquaintance, and without any provocation30. Tyrrel saw his ill humour and despised it, as that of an overgrown schoolboy, whom it was not worth his while to answer according to his folly31.
One of the apparent causes of the Baronet’s rudeness was indeed childish enough. The company were talking of shooting, the most animating33 topic of conversation among Scottish country gentlemen of the younger class, and Tyrrel had mentioned something of a favourite setter, an uncommonly34 handsome dog, from which he had been for some time separated, but which he expected would rejoin him in the course of next week.
“A setter!” retorted Sir Bingo, with a sneer35; “a pointer I suppose you mean?”
“No, sir,” said Tyrrel; “I am perfectly aware of the difference betwixt a setter and a pointer, and I know the old-fashioned setter is become unfashionable among modern sportsmen. But I love my dog as a companion, as well as for his merits in the field; and a setter is more sagacious, more attached, and fitter for his place on the hearth36-rug, than a pointer — not,” he added, “from any deficiency of intellects on the pointer’s part, but he is generally so abused while in the management of brutal37 breakers and grooms38, that he loses all excepting his professional accomplishments40, of finding and standing41 steady to game.”
“And who the d —— l desires he should have more?” said Sir Bingo.
“Many people, Sir Bingo,” replied Tyrrel, “have been of opinion, that both dogs and men may follow sport indifferently well, though they do happen, at the same time, to be fit for mixing in friendly intercourse43 in society.”
“That is for licking trenchers, and scratching copper44, I suppose,” said the Baronet, sotto voce; and added, in a louder and more distinct tone — “He never before heard that a setter was fit to follow any man’s heels but a poacher’s.”
“You know it now then, Sir Bingo,” answered Tyrrel; “and I hope you will not fall into so great a mistake again.”
The Peace-maker here seemed to think his interference necessary, and, surmounting45 his tactiturnity, made the following pithy46 speech:—“By Cot! and do you see, as you are looking for my opinion, I think there is no dispute in the matter — because, by Cot! it occurs to me, d’ye see, that ye are both right, by Cot! It may do fery well for my excellent friend Sir Bingo, who hath stables, and kennels47, and what not, to maintain the six filthy48 prutes that are yelping49 and yowling all the tay, and all the neight too, under my window, by Cot! — And if they are yelping and yowling there, may I never die but I wish they were yelping and yowling somewhere else. But then there is many a man who may be as cood a gentleman at the bottom as my worthy50 friend Sir Bingo, though it may be that he is poor; and if he is poor — and as if it might be my own case, or that of this honest gentleman, Mr. Tirl — is that a reason or a law, that he is not to keep a prute of a tog, to help him to take his sports and his pleasures? and if he has not a stable or a kennel to put the crature into, must he not keep it in his pit of ped-room, or upon his parlour hearth, seeing that Luckie Dods would make the kitchen too hot for the paist — and so, if Mr. Tirl finds a setter more fitter for his purpose than a pointer, by Cot, I know no law against it, else may I never die the black death.”
If this oration51 appear rather long for the occasion, the reader must recollect24 that Captain MacTurk had in all probability the trouble of translating it from the periphrastic language of Ossian, in which it was originally conceived in his own mind.
The Man of Law replied to the Man of Peace, “Ye are mistaken for ance in your life, Captain, for there is a law against setters; and I will undertake to prove them to be the ‘lying dogs,’ which are mentioned in the auld52 Scots statute53, and which all and sundry54 are discharged to keep, under a penalty of”——
Here the Captain broke in, with a very solemn mien55 and dignified56 manner —“By Cot! Master Meiklewham, and I shall be asking what you mean by talking to me of peing mistaken, and apout lying togs, sir — because I would have you to know, and to pelieve, and to very well consider, that I never was mistaken in my life, sir, unless it was when I took you for a gentleman.”
“No offence, Captain,” said Mr. Meiklewham; “dinna break the wand of peace, man, you that should be the first to keep it. — He is as cankered,” continued the Man of Law, apart to his patron, “as an auld Hieland terrier, that snaps at whatever comes near it — but I tell you ae thing, St. Ronan’s, and that is on saul and conscience, that I believe this is the very lad Tirl, that I raised a summons against before the justices — him and another hempie — in your father’s time, for shooting on the Spring-well-head muirs.”
“The devil you did, Mick!” replied the Lord of the Manor57, also aside; —“Well, I am obliged to you for giving me some reason for the ill thoughts I had of him — I knew he was some trumpery58 scamp — I’ll blow him, by”——
“Whisht — stop — hush59 — haud your tongue, St. Ronan’s — keep a calm sough — ye see, I intended the process, by your worthy father’s desire, before the Quarter Sessions — but I ken15 na — The auld sheriff-clerk stood the lad’s friend — and some of the justices thought it was but a mistake of the marches, and sae we couldna get a judgment60 — and your father was very ill of the gout, and I was feared to vex61 him, and so I was fain to let the process sleep, for fear they had been assoilzied. — Sae ye had better gang cautiously to wark, St. Ronan’s, for though they were summoned, they were not convict.”
“Could you not take up the action again?” said Mr. Mowbray.
“Whew! it’s been prescribed sax or seeven year syne62. It is a great shame, St. Ronan’s, that the game laws, whilk are the very best protection that is left to country gentlemen against the encroachment63 of their inferiors, rin sae short a course of prescription64 — a poacher may just jink ye back and forward like a flea65 in a blanket, (wi’ pardon)— hap42 ye out of ae county and into anither at their pleasure, like pyots — and unless ye get your thum-nail on them in the very nick o’ time, ye may dine on a dish of prescription, and sup upon an absolvitor.”
“It is a shame indeed,” said Mowbray, turning from his confident and agent, and addressing himself to the company in general, yet not without a peculiar66 look directed to Tyrrel.
“What is a shame, sir?” said Tyrrel, conceiving that the observation was particularly addressed to him.
“That we should have so many poachers upon our muirs, sir,” answered St. Ronan’s. “I sometimes regret having countenanced68 the Well here, when I think how many guns it has brought on my property every season.”
“Hout fie! hout awa, St. Ronan’s!” said his Man of Law; “no countenance67 the Waal? What would the country-side be without it, I would be glad to ken? It’s the greatest improvement that has been made on this country since the year forty-five. Na, na, it’s no the Waal that’s to blame for the poaching and delinquencies on the game. We maun to the Aultoun for the howf of that kind of cattle. Our rules at the Waal are clear and express against trespassers on the game.”
“I can’t think,” said the Squire69, “what made my father sell the property of the old change-house yonder, to the hag that keeps it open out of spite, I think, and to harbour poachers and vagabonds! — I cannot conceive what made him do so foolish a thing!”
“Probably because your father wanted money, sir,” said Tyrrel, dryly; “and my worthy landlady70, Mrs. Dods, had got some. — You know, I presume, sir, that I lodge71 there?”
“Oh, sir,” replied Mowbray, in a tone betwixt scorn and civility, “you cannot suppose the present company is alluded72 to; I only presumed to mention as a fact, that we have been annoyed with unqualified people shooting on our grounds, without either liberty or license73. And I hope to have her sign taken down for it — that is all. — There was the same plague in my father’s days, I think, Mick?”
But Mr. Meiklewham, who did not like Tyrrel’s looks so well as to induce him to become approver on the occasion, replied with an inarticulate grunt74, addressed to the company, and a private admonition to his patron’s own ear, “to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I can scarce forbear the fellow,” said St. Ronan’s; “and yet I cannot well tell where my dislike to him lies — but it would be d —— d folly to turn out with him for nothing; and so, honest Mick, I will be as quiet as I can.”
“And that you may be so,” said Meiklewham, “I think you had best take no more wine.”
“I think so too,” said the Squire; “for each glass I drink in his company gives me the heartburn — yet the man is not different from other raffs either — but there is a something about him intolerable to me.”
So saying, he pushed back his chair from the table, and — regis ad exemplar — after the pattern of the Laird, all the company arose.
Sir Bingo got up with reluctance75, which he testified by two or three deep growls, as he followed the rest of the company into the outer apartment, which served as an entrance-hall, and divided the dining-parlour from the tea-room, as it was called. Here, while the party were assuming their hats, for the purpose of joining the ladies’ society, (which old-fashioned folk used only to take up for that of going into the open air,) Tyrrel asked a smart footman, who stood near, to hand him the hat which lay on the table beyond.
“Call your own servant, sir,” answered the fellow, with the true insolence76 of a pampered77 menial.
“Your master,” answered Tyrrel, “ought to have taught you good manners, my friend, before bringing you here.”
“Sir Bingo Binks is my master,” said the fellow, in the same insolent78 tone as before.
“Now for it, Bingie,” said Mowbray, who was aware that the Baronet’s pot-courage had arrived at fighting pitch.
“Yes!” said Sir Bingo aloud, and more articulately than usual —“The fellow is my servant — what has any one to say to it?”
“I at least have my mouth stopped,” answered Tyrrel, with perfect composure. “I should have been surprised to have found Sir Bingo’s servant better bred than himself.”
“What d’ye mean by that, sir?” said Sir Bingo, coming up in an offensive attitude, for he was no mean pupil of the Fives-Court —“What d’ye mean by that? D——n you, sir! I’ll serve you out before you can say dumpling.”
“And I, Sir Bingo, unless you presently lay aside that look and manner, will knock you down before you can cry help.”
The visitor held in his hand a slip of oak, with which he gave a flourish, that, however slight, intimated some acquaintance with the noble art of single-stick. From this demonstration79 Sir Bingo thought it prudent80 somewhat to recoil81, though backed by a party of friends, who, in their zeal82 for his honour, would rather have seen his bones broken in conflict bold, than his honour injured by a discreditable retreat; and Tyrrel seemed to have some inclination83 to indulge them. But, at the very instant when his hand was raised with a motion of no doubtful import, a whispering voice, close to his ear, pronounced the emphatic84 words —“Are you a man?”
Not the thrilling tone with which our inimitable Siddons used to electrify85 the scene, when she uttered the same whisper, ever had a more powerful effect upon an auditor86, than had these unexpected sounds on him, to whom they were now addressed. Tyrrel forgot every thing — his quarrel — the circumstances in which he was placed — the company. The crowd was to him at once annihilated87, and life seemed to have no other object than to follow the person who had spoken. But suddenly as he turned, the disappearance88 of the monitor was at least equally so, for, amid the group of commonplace countenances89 by which he was surrounded, there was none which assorted90 to the tone and words, which possessed91 such a power over him. “Make way,” he said, to those who surrounded him; and it was in the tone of one who was prepared, if necessary, to make way for himself.
Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan’s stepped forward. “Come, sir,” said he, “this will not do — you have come here, a stranger among us, to assume airs and dignities, which, by G— d, would become a duke, or a prince! We must know who or what you are, before we permit you to carry your high tone any farther.”
This address seemed at once to arrest Tyrrel’s anger, and his impatience92 to leave the company. He turned to Mowbray, collected his thoughts for an instant, and then answered him thus:—“Mr. Mowbray, I seek no quarrel with any one here — with you, in particular, I am most unwilling93 to have any disagreement. I came here by invitation, not certainly expecting much pleasure, but, at the same time, supposing myself secure from incivility. In the last point, I find myself mistaken, and therefore wish the company good-night. I must also make my adieus to the ladies.”
So saying, he walked several steps, yet, as it seemed, rather irresolutely94, towards the door of the card-room — and then, to the increased surprise of the company, stopped suddenly, and muttering something about the “unfitness of the time,” turned on his heel, and bowing haughtily95, as there was way made for him, walked in the opposite direction towards the door which led to the outer hall.
“D—— me, Sir Bingo, will you let him off?” said Mowbray, who seemed to delight in pushing his friend into new scrapes —“To him, man — to him — he shows the white feather.”
Sir Bingo, thus encouraged, planted himself with a look of defiance exactly between Tyrrel and the door; upon which the retreating guest, bestowing96 on him most emphatically the epithet97 Fool, seized him by the collar, and flung him out of his way with some violence.
“I am to be found at the Old Town of St. Ronan’s by whomsoever has any concern with me.”— Without waiting the issue of this aggression98 farther than to utter these words, Tyrrel left the hotel. He stopped in the court-yard, however, with the air of one uncertain whither he intended to go, and who was desirous to ask some question, which seemed to die upon his tongue. At length his eye fell upon a groom39, who stood not far from the door of the inn, holding in his hand a handsome pony99, with a side-saddle.
“Whose”—— said Tyrrel — but the rest of the question he seemed unable to utter.
The man, however, replied, as if he had heard the whole interrogation. —“Miss Mowbray’s, sir, of St. Ronan’s — she leaves directly — and so I am walking the pony — a clever thing, sir, for a lady.”
“She returns to Shaws-Castle by the Buck-stane road?”
“I suppose so, sir,” said the groom. “It is the nighest, and Miss Clara cares little for rough roads. Zounds! She can spank100 it over wet and dry.”
Tyrrel turned away from the man, and hastily left the hotel — not, however, by the road which led to the Aultoun, but by a footpath101 among the natural copsewood, which, following the course of the brook102, intersected the usual horse-road to Shaws-Castle, the seat of Mr. Mowbray, at a romantic spot called the Buck-stane.
In a small peninsula, formed by a winding103 of the brook, was situated104, on a rising hillock, a large rough-hewn pillar of stone, said by tradition to commemorate105 the fall of a stag of unusual speed, size, and strength, whose flight, after having lasted through a whole summer’s day, had there terminated in death, to the honour and glory of some ancient baron32 of St. Ronan’s, and of his stanch106 hounds. During the periodical cuttings of the copse, which the necessities of the family of St. Ronan’s brought round more frequently than Ponty would have recommended, some oaks had been spared in the neighbourhood of this massive obelisk107, old enough perhaps to have heard the whoop108 and halloo which followed the fall of the stag, and to have witnessed the raising of the rude monument by which that great event was commemorated109. These trees, with their broad spreading boughs110, made a twilight111 even of noon-day; and, now that the sun was approaching its setting point, their shade already anticipated night. This was especially the case where three or four of them stretched their arms over a deep gully, through which winded the horse-path to Shaws-Castle, at a point about a pistol-shot distant from the Buck-stane. As the principal access to Mr. Mowbray’s mansion112 was by a carriage-way, which passed in a different direction, the present path was left almost in a state of nature, full of large stones, and broken by gullies, delightful113, from the varied114 character of its banks, to the picturesque115 traveller, and most inconvenient116, nay117 dangerous, to him who had a stumbling horse.
The footpath to the Buck-stane, which here joined the bridle-road, had been constructed, at the expense of a subscription118, under the direction of Mr. Winterblossom, who had taste enough to see the beauties of this secluded119 spot, which was exactly such as in earlier times might have harboured the ambush120 of some marauding chief. This recollection had not escaped Tyrrel, to whom the whole scenery was familiar, who now hastened to the spot, as one which peculiarly suited his present purpose. He sat down by one of the larger projecting trees, and, screened by its enormous branches from observation, was enabled to watch the road from the Hotel for a great part of its extent, while he was himself invisible to any who might travel upon it.
Meanwhile his sudden departure excited a considerable sensation among the party whom he had just left, and who were induced to form conclusions not very favourable18 to his character. Sir Bingo, in particular, blustered121 loudly and more loudly, in proportion to the increasing distance betwixt himself and his antagonist, declaring his resolution to be revenged on the scoundrel for his insolence — to drive him from the neighbourhood — and I know not what other menaces of formidable import. The devil, in the old stories of diàblerie, was always sure to start up at the elbow of any one who nursed diabolical122 purposes, and only wanted a little backing from the foul123 fiend to carry his imaginations into action. The noble Captain MacTurk had so far this property of his infernal majesty124, that the least hint of an approaching quarrel drew him always to the vicinity of the party concerned. He was now at Sir Bingo’s side, and was taking his own view of the matter, in his character of peace-maker.
“By Cot! and it’s very exceedingly true, my goot friend, Sir Binco — and as you say, it concerns your honour, and the honour of the place, and credit and character of the whole company, by Cot! that this matter be properly looked after; for, as I think, he laid hands on your body, my excellent goot friend.”
“Hands, Captain MacTurk!” exclaimed Sir Bingo, in some confusion; “no, blast him — not so bad as that neither — if he had, I should have handed him over the window — but, by — — the fellow had the impudence125 to offer to collar me — I had just stepped back to square at him, when, curse me, the blackguard ran away.”
“Right, vara right, Sir Bingo,” said the Man of Law, “a vara perfect blackguard, a poaching sorning sort of fallow, that I will have scoured126 out of the country before he be three days aulder. Fash you your beard nae farther about the matter, Sir Bingo.”
“By Cot! but I can tell you, Mr. Meiklewham,” said the Man of Peace, with great solemnity of visage, “that you are scalding your lips in other folk’s kale, and that it is necessary for the credit, and honour, and respect of this company, at the Well of St. Ronan’s, that Sir Bingo goes by more competent advice than yours upon the present occasion, Mr. Meiklewham; for though your counsel may do very well in a small debt court, here, you see, Mr. Meiklewham, is a question of honour, which is not a thing in your line, as I take it.”
“No, before George! it is not,” answered Meiklewham; “e’en take it all to yoursell, Captain, and meikle ye are likely to make on’t.”
“Then,” said the Captain, “Sir Binco, I will beg the favour of your company to the smoking room, where we may have a cigar and a glass of gin-twist; and we will consider how the honour of the company must be supported and upholden upon the present conjuncture.”
The Baronet complied with this invitation, as much, perhaps, in consequence of the medium through which the Captain intended to convey his warlike counsels, as for the pleasure with which he anticipated the result of these counsels themselves. He followed the military step of his leader, whose stride was more stiff, and his form more perpendicular127, when exalted128 by the consciousness of an approaching quarrel, to the smoking-room, where, sighing as he lighted his cigar, Sir Bingo prepared to listen to the words of wisdom and valour, as they should flow in mingled129 stream from the lips of Captain MacTurk.
Meanwhile the rest of the company joined the ladies. “Here has been Clara,” said Lady Penelope to Mr. Mowbray; “here has been Miss Mowbray among us, like the ray of a sun which does but dazzle and die.”
“Ah, poor Clara,” said Mowbray; “I thought I saw her thread her way through the crowd a little while since, but I was not sure.”
“Well,” said Lady Penelope, “she has asked us all up to Shaws-Castle on Thursday, to a déje?ner à la fourchette — I trust you confirm your sister’s invitation, Mr. Mowbray?”
“Certainly, Lady Penelope,” replied Mowbray; “and I am truly glad Clara has had the grace to think of it — How we shall acquit130 ourselves is a different question, for neither she nor I are much accustomed to play host or hostess.”
“Oh! it will be delightful, I am sure,” said Lady Penelope; “Clara has a grace in every thing she does; and you, Mr. Mowbray, can be a perfectly well-bred gentleman — when you please.”
“That qualification is severe — Well — good manners be my speed — I will certainly please to do my best, when I see your ladyship at Shaws-Castle, which has received no company this many a day. — Clara and I have lived a wild life of it, each in their own way.”
“Indeed, Mr. Mowbray,” said Lady Binks, “if I might presume to speak — I think you do suffer your sister to ride about a little too much without an attendant. I know Miss Mowbray rides as woman never rode before, but still an accident may happen.”
“An accident?” replied Mowbray —“Ah, Lady Binks! accidents happen as frequently when ladies have attendants as when they are without them.”
Lady Binks, who, in her maiden131 state, had cantered a good deal about these woods under Sir Bingo’s escort, coloured, looked spiteful, and was silent.
“Besides,” said John Mowbray, more lightly, “where is the risk, after all? There are no wolves in our woods to eat up our pretty Red-Riding Hoods132; and no lions either — except those of Lady Penelope’s train.”
“Who draw the car of Cybele,” said Mr. Chatterly.
Lady Penelope luckily did not understand the allusion133, which was indeed better intended than imagined.
“Apropos!” she said; “what have you done with the great lion of the day? I see Mr. Tyrrel nowhere — Is he finishing an additional bottle with Sir Bingo?”
“Mr. Tyrrel, madam,” said Mowbray, “has acted successively the lion rampant134, and the lion passant: he has been quarrelsome, and he has run away — fled from the ire of your doughty135 knight136, Lady Binks.”
“I am sure I hope not,” said Lady Binks; “my Chevalier’s unsuccessful campaigns have been unable to overcome his taste for quarrels — a victory would make a fighting-man of him for life.”
“That inconvenience might bring its own consolations,” said Winterblossom, apart to Mowbray; “quarrellers do not usually live long.”
“No, no,” replied Mowbray, “the lady’s despair, which broke out just now, even in her own despite, is quite natural — absolutely legitimate137. Sir Bingo will give her no chance that way.”
Mowbray then made his bow to Lady Penelope, and in answer to her request that he would join the ball or the card-table, observed, that he had no time to lose; that the heads of the old domestics at Shaws-Castle would be by this time absolutely turned, by the apprehensions138 of what Thursday was to bring forth139; and that as Clara would certainly give no directions for the proper arrangements, it was necessary that he should take that trouble himself.
“If you ride smartly,” said Lady Penelope, “you may save even a temporary alarm, by overtaking Clara, dear creature, ere she gets home — She sometimes suffers her pony to go at will along the lane, as slow as Betty Foy’s.”
“Ah, but then,” said little Miss Digges, “Miss Mowbray sometimes gallops140 as if the lark141 was a snail142 to her pony — and it quite frights one to see her.”
The Doctor touched Mrs. Blower, who had approached so as to be on the verge143 of the genteel circle, though she did not venture within it — they exchanged sagacious looks, and a most pitiful shake of the head. Mowbray’s eye happened at that moment to glance on them; and doubtless, notwithstanding their hasting to compose their countenances to a different expression, he comprehended what was passing through their minds; — and perhaps it awoke a corresponding note in his own. He took his hat, and with a cast of thought upon his countenance which it seldom wore, left the apartment. A moment afterwards his horse’s feet were heard spurning144 the pavement, as he started off at a sharp pace.
“There is something singular about these Mowbrays to-night,” said Lady Penelope. —“Clara, poor dear angel, is always particular; but I should have thought Mowbray had too much worldly wisdom to be fanciful. — What are you consulting your souvenir for with such attention, my dear Lady Binks?”
“Only for the age of the moon,” said her ladyship, putting the little tortoise-shell-bound calendar into her reticule; and having done so, she proceeded to assist Lady Penelope in the arrangements for the evening.
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cork
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broach
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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testy
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petulant
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rivalry
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peevishness
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prosecuted
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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mutual
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defiance
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obstinate
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throttle
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kennel
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ken
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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17
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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18
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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19
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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20
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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21
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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22
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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23
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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24
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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25
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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27
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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28
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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29
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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30
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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31
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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32
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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33
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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34
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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35
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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36
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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37
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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38
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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39
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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40
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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41
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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42
hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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43
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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44
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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45
surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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46
pithy
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| adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
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47
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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48
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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49
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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50
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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51
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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52
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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53
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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54
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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55
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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56
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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57
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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58
trumpery
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|
| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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59
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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60
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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61
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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62
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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63
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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64
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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65
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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66
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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67
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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68
countenanced
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| v.支持，赞同，批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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69
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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70
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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71
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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72
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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74
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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75
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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76
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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77
pampered
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|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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79
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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80
prudent
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|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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81
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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82
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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83
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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84
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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85
electrify
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| v.使充电；使电气化；使触电；使震惊；使兴奋 | |
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86
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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87
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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88
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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89
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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90
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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91
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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92
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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93
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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94
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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95
haughtily
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|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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96
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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97
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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98
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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99
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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100
spank
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| v.打，拍打(在屁股上) | |
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101
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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102
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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103
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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104
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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105
commemorate
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| vt.纪念，庆祝 | |
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106
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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107
obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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108
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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109
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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111
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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112
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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113
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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114
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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115
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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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
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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118
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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119
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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120
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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121
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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122
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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123
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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124
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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125
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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126
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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127
perpendicular
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|
| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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128
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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129
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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130
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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131
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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132
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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133
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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134
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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135
doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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136
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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137
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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138
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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139
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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140
gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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141
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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142
snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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143
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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144
spurning
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
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