One day he had been on an errand for Mrs. Clinkscales into Tottenham Court Road, and had, moreover, as had become rather his habit of late, wandered somewhat out of his direct road, walking dreamily along with his eyes fixed6 on the pavement, feeding his mind with the dim outlines of a thousand strange or beautiful fancies. He had turned out of Tottenham Court Road into Goodge Street, and thence again into a narrow passage, known as Charlotte Place, and here he stopped, as he always did instinctively8, before a shop where newspapers and books were exposed for sale in the windows. It was a very small shop, over the door of which was painted the inscription9: “Samuel Tollady, Printer.” As Arthur looked over the illustrated10 papers which lay open in the window, his eye fell on a card suspended at the back, upon which were the words: “A Boy Wanted.” His heart leaped in his breast as he carefully read these words. Why should he not go in and offer his services? But a sensitive timidity for a time withheld12 him. Suppose he were to apply, and suppose he were to be so successful as to obtain the place, what would Mrs. Clinkscales say, what would Mike Rumball and Ned Quirk13 say? His mind drawn14 hither and thither15 by questionings and doubts he passed slowly on; he paused; he turned back; again he read the notice. At length, with much apprehension16, he resolved upon tempting17 his fortune, and walked into the shop.
Behind the counter, with a book open on his lap, was sitting an oldish gentleman — gentleman was written upon every line of his face, notwithstanding his circumstances — in spectacles, with head all but bald, and a bold, massive forehead which might have been the envy of a Greek sage7. His lips, though firmly knit, had yet a sweetness of expression irresistibly19 attractive, and his eyes spoke20 a gentle kindliness21 which, as they met those of Arthur, at once emboldened22 him. His dress was marked by a fastidious neatness, though much worn; his waistcoat buttoned close up to his neck, around which he wore an old-fashioned neckerchief, which gave him, at first sight, something of a clerical appearance. As he spoke to Arthur he kept tapping with his fingers on the open pages of his book, evidently a habit with him.
“If you please, sir, do you want a boy?” asked Arthur.
“I do,” replied Mr. Tollady, for he it was, speaking in a grave but musical voice. “Have you come to apply for the place?”
“Yes, if you please, sir.”
The printer surveyed the applicant23 for a few moments with care, and the results of his examination did not, to judge from the expression of his face, appear unfavourable. Nor indeed was there anything in Arthur’s appearance which should have made it otherwise. During the last two years he had grown considerably25, and was now rather tall for his age, but slender and of a strikingly graceful26 form. His hair had somewhat moderated in its luxuriance of growth, but was still extremely fair, and still fell on each side of his forehead in pleasing ripples27. In his features there was nothing vulgar; he was, in reality, a striking resemblance of what his ill-fated father had been at the same age. His eyes were of light blue, his nose of a Grecian type, his lips and chin moulded in form expressive28 of extreme sensibility and gentleness of disposition29, showing traces, moreover, though as yet in but a slight degree, of an instability in moral character which was hereditary30. The latter feature was not, however, so predominant that it might not very possibly give way beneath a judicious31 training. But where was that training to come from?
“What is your age, my boy?” asked Mr. Tollady.
“Nearly eleven, sir.”
“Indeed! I took you for more than twelve. You can read and write?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Arthur, though with more hesitation32, dropping his eyes as he spoke.
The old gentleman observed this, and, in a quiet manner which had nothing alarming in it, he proceeded to examine Arthur in these particulars. He appeared satisfied with the result. Then he questioned him about his present position, and at length, after a conversation lasting33 nearly a quarter of an hour, he dismissed him with the promise that he would himself walk down into Little St. Andrew Street in the course of the day, and see Mr. Rumball.
He kept his word — in his life he had never failed to do so — and had that afternoon a rather lengthy34 colloquy35 with Michael, from whom he ultimately learnt as much about Arthur Golding’s antecedents as the latter himself knew.
“You will, I am sure, sir,” said Mr. Tollady, “pardon me the trouble I am giving you. I like this boy’s appearance very much, and should like, if possible, to employ him. But as I do not want a mere36 errand boy, but one who would live in the house with me and be entrusted37 with many little things of some importance to me, I should wish to be well assured of the character of the one I engaged.”
Mike listened with bent38 brows, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets. The fact of the matter was, he was not altogether pleased with this “new departure” of his young lodger39. To begin with it appeared to him that, before Arthur had taken any such step as applying for a new situation, he, Michael Rumball, ought certainly to have been consulted; his sense of importance was a trifle hurt. Secondly40, there was to be considered the fact that, in the event of Arthur taking the new place, the weekly wages which the boy had hitherto always given into Mrs. Rumball’s hands with scrupulous41 fidelity42 each Saturday night would henceforth cease to form an item in the household income. This was serious, and required consideration.
“The boy having come to you under rather peculiar43 circumstances,” pursued Mr. Tollady, interpreting, with a generosity44 characteristic of him, Mike’s hesitation in a very much more favourable24 sense than was its due, “gives you naturally an interest in him, and you must be assured that he will really be making a change for the better in coming to me. Now I think there can be no doubt of it. As I shall provide him with everything, I shall not be able to pay him high wages, but I shall undertake to teach him by degrees my own business, that of a printer, and so put into his hands the means of earning a very good living whenever he leaves me. Does that meet with your approval?”
Mike still hesitated. The voice of selfishness was loud within him at this moment, and all but stifled45 the still, small voice of conscience which Mike, as years went on, became, it is to be feared, less and less in the habit of heeding46.
“I tell you how it is, Mister,” he said at length. “I’ve got a partner like in this ’ere business, an’ that’s Ned Quirk, the man as brought the lad ‘ome that night I was tellin’ yer of. Now I think, yer see, as I ought to talk it over with Ned afore I come to a decision. Suppose we say I talk it over to-night, an you comes an’ sees me agin tomorrow; will that suit?”
Mr. Tollady perforce adopted this decision, and took his leave. The same night Michael Rumball communicated the visit to Ned Quirk. In all probability he would not have done so at all, and would have contented47 himself with returning an unfavourable answer to his visitor on the morrow, but for the reflection that Arthur would doubtless himself acquaint Ned with what he had done, and thus render the artifice48 useless. Ned, to do him justice, was made of firmer clay than Mike, and, when he heard the opportunity which lay before his protégé, even though it was made to appear as untempting as possible by Mike’s perverse49 description, he had not two opinions on the matter, but immediately affirmed that the place must be secured. A long and somewhat heated discussion followed, during which Mike inveighed50, with something of that eloquence51 which had formerly52 been at the service of the Ranter persuasion53, against that deplorable pride of intellect which Ned had always, he said, done his best to instil54 into the lad and which would one day, mark that! be his ruin. He hadn’t much opinion, for his own part, of reading and writing for boys, for they were clearly a direct temptation to forgery55; but for a boy to become a printer was still worse, inasmuch as it inevitably56 led to the fabrication of spurious bank-notes, whereupon would follow exportation and all its concomitant evils. Ned Quirk laughed these remarks to scorn and was strong in his support of the gospel of “getting on,” which is no bad gospel after all, if read in its true sense, but which, like some other gospels that could be mentioned, is not unfrequently sadly misinterpreted. Ned had a respect for learning, while Mike certainly had not, and in a matter such as this, where he was truly interested, would yield to no man. For the first time since their acquaintance a serious breach57 seemed likely to take place between these two worthies58; but, just at the critical stage, Mrs. Rumball came in with a woman’s tact59 and was successful in allaying60 the storm. She had always entertained a great respect for Ned Quirk’s opinions, and now she placed herself on his side in the argument. The result could not be doubtful; Mike yielded, though, after all, with but an ill grace, and it was decided61 that Arthur should go to Mr. Tollady’s.
Of course a week’s notice had to be given to Mrs. Clinkscales, which that lady received with a slight toss of the head, and a wish that the boy might find better treatment elsewhere than he had received from her, expressed in a tone which clearly indicated that she had no expectation of the wish being realised. Arthur had only one real sorrow in leaving the scene of his earliest servitude, and that was that he should no more be able to watch each day the coming and going of the blue frock and hat with the partridge feather, around which had woven themselves the brightest of his boyish dreams and fancies. Yes, even his hopes had, in a measure, connected themselves with Lizzie. Speculating, as children do, on the course of his future life, he had often determined62 in his own mind that he would work hard till he became “rich,” not rich only as Mrs. Clinkscales would have understood the word, but superlatively wealthy. And when that time came, when he had made his money, had bought a large house in one of those magnificent quarters of the town which he seldom visited, had servants without end and all manner of luxury, then he would one day order his finest horses to be harnessed in his finest carriage, in which he would forthwith drive down to Little St. Andrew Street and carry off Lizzie with him as his bride. 0, sweet visions, gilding63 with their refulgence64 even the squalid everyday life of a London slum; and thrice sweet hope, which, blossoming most luxuriantly in the hearts of the young, feeds with its rich fragrance65 every ardent66 thought. When the day came on which he was to leave, he saw Lizzie go to school and return as usual, watched her with unwonted sadness in his eyes, was glad at length when he received a smile and a nod, and little thought that he had looked on the queen of his imagination for the last time.
Mr. Tollady received him with his former kind smile, and lost no time in making him acquainted with the circle of his new duties. The sphere in which he would henceforth live was a very wide one. Behind the little shop, where, besides newspapers, prints, cheap books, and general stationery67 were sold, was the single room in which Mr. Tollady himself lived, a darkish little place; and passing out of that by a side door, which led to the foot of the stairs, one ascended68 to the printing office, likewise a very small room, smelling strongly of printer’s ink, where one man was generally employed as compositor. It was easy to judge from these premises69 that Mr. Tollady’s business was not extensive. Within this printing office a door led into what had previously70 been an old lumber-room, some six feet square, lighted by a small casement71. This had just been cleaned out and converted into a very neat little bed-room, henceforth Arthur’s.
Arthur took his meals with Mr. Tollady in the little parlour at the back of the shop, breakfast, tea, and supper being prepared by the latter himself; the more important meal at midday, however, being brought in on a tray from a coffee-house in Goodge Street. For an hour each day one of the girls, in a poor family next door, came into the house and did what household work was required. It was distinctive72 of Mr. Tollady, that, though his opportunities of giving employment were not large, yet he was most judicious in the choice of those he did employ, invariably finding those who were really in want of work, and holding that, c?teris paribus, those who come most closely within the circle of your every-day relationships, have the most claims upon you for assistance. Arthur did not fail to examine closely the details of his new abode73, and more particularly the parlour, which was to him the most interesting room. The window certainly had no tempting prospect74. It looked into a paved back yard, with a cistern75 in one corner of it, the principal variety in the scene being afforded on those days when the yard was thickly hung with newly-washed linen76. Immediately opposite was a window, apparently77 that of a darkish parlour, much like Mr. Tollady’s, and attached to the sill of the window was a long box containing various flowering plants. The circumstance of this box being carved and painted in front so as to represent the broadside of a man-of-war, gave a certain originality78 to its appearance, and afforded Arthur Golding frequent subject for observation during the first few days.
One side of the parlour was occupied by a large book-case, which contained the whole of Mr. Tollady’s library. It was not extensive, but select in the choice of works. Here were the principal English classics, most of them evidently having been purchased second-hand79, and also a few French and German books. The library was evidently that of a man who had known how to cultivate judiciously80 the emotional side of his nature; the only books really bound with any degree of richness were the poets. Theological works there were none, and natural science was alone represented by a few works on botany; but the collection of histories was complete and good. The lowest shelf was occupied by the Penny Cyclop?dia, an old folio edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, and a number of large volumes laid flat, one on the other, the contents of which could not be guessed at. Around the walls hung a few good prints of works by the old masters, and a bust81 of Shakespeare and Milton stood at either end of the mantel-piece. Opposite was a large chest of drawers, which at night time was converted into a bed for Mr. Tollady’s own use. On the window-sill outside bloomed one or two geraniums, fuchsias, and lobelias.
One of Arthur’s first duties in the morning was to be standing18 at the corner of Charlotte Place and Goodge Street at half-past six in order to catch the bundle of daily papers thrown to him from the news-agent’s cart, which passed by at that time, after which he was first of all engaged in separating out and folding the papers, and in pasting the placards on to the boards to be exhibited outside the shop; after that he had to go the round of the regular customers, of whom there were some fifty, delivering to each the daily newspaper. On the first morning he was accompanied as a guide by the boy whom Mr. Tollady had previously employed in this work, and returned shortly before nine.
He found Mr. Tollady sitting at his desk, over his ledger82. He did not seem to be engaged in working at it, but, though his eye was fixed on the page, he was clearly wandering very far away in his thoughts. He did not notice Arthur’s entrance, but continued, sunk in his reverie till the clock of the Middlesex Hospital, hard by, suddenly struck nine, and brought him back, with a deep sigh, to actual life. Raising his head he saw Arthur and smiled, but sadly, and then seemed to make an effort to return to his wonted manner. There was something in this which even a boy, particularly a boy of Arthur’s intelligence, could not help being struck with. Arthur felt his master was not happy, and a feeling of sympathy began to be added to that gratitude83 and reverence84 which he had from the first conceived towards him.
Mr. Tollady came from his desk and proceeded to give Arthur a task which would occupy him some little time, namely, to sort, make up into bundles, and ticket a great heap of miscellaneous papers which lay in one corner of the shop, and which, for some reason, it was desired to preserve. The boy had not been engaged thus more than a few minutes when two men entered the shop together, both hatless and in slippers85, as if they had come from next door. The appearance of these individuals merits a slight description.
The one who advanced first was a very short man, quite bald, with meagre but strongly-marked features, and with eyes rather blood-shot. His nose was very much hooked, and his gums, which he frequently displayed in speaking, almost toothless. He had a decided stoop in the shoulders, and bandy-legs; in short, it was not difficult to judge from his appearance that he was a tailor by trade. His companion was tall, also very bald, and of morose86 aspect; his left cheek was marked with a large wine-coloured stain which gave a decidedly unpleasant look to his countenance87. He seemed affected88 with habitual89 nervousness, at times almost amounting, in his hands, to St. Vitus’ Dance; he was perpetually biting first his lower, then his upper lip, with a fierce persistency90 which seemed to betoken91 some constant excitement in his mind. His dress was of the shabbiest, but gave no indication of his trade. He was, in fact, a seller of new, and a restorer of old umbrellas. Both of these individuals lived in Charlotte Place, and both every morning just at this hour entered Mr. Tollady’s shop in company.
Each advanced to the counter, deposited his penny, and received his morning paper, but, instead of at once departing, they took possession of two chairs which stood in front of the counter, and began to unfold their papers.
For a quarter of an hour no one spoke (at their entrance they had confined their morning salutations to a friendly nod, which had been similarly replied to by Mr. Tollady), at the end of that time, the bald little man suddenly broke silence by reading, without preface, a paragraph which seemed particularly to have attracted his attention. He did so in an emphatic92, here and there in a fierce voice. The paragraph ended thus: —
“The Magistrate93 replied that, if what had been said were true, it was evident that scandalous injustice94 had been done. The perpetrator of that injustice had not, however, brought himself within reach of the jurisdiction95 of that Court, and the only course open was to institute a civil suit. Under the circumstances, he could not advise the appellants to do this, inasmuch as the suit would probably be of long duration, and, as he was a poor man, might end in his ruin.”
The reading of this was received in silence, but with looks which very clearly intimated the sentiments of the listeners. The reader, after noting the impression on the faces of the other two, began to speak in an excited manner.
“There, there it is again! Precisely96 the words the Magistrate used to me the day I first asked for advice. He warned me, and my friends warned me. They said, one and all: ‘Mark Challenger! begin this suit, and you’re a ruined man.’ But I wouldn’t be warned. I said: ‘If there’s such a thing as law in this country, if there’s such a thing as justice in England, I’ll have it, cost what it may!’ For three years I was at law, and then the suit wasn’t at an end. But I was. Ha, ha, ha!”
And he burst into a long fit of savage97 laughter.
“Am I right, Sam Tollady? Am I right, John Pether?” he continued, in his exasperated98 tone. “When do I take up a paper that I don’t find in it an instance of what I’m always saying: ‘For the poor man there’s no such thing as law or justice in England.’ Is it going to be always so? Are we going to be always ground beneath the money-bags of these smooth-tongued publicans and sinners? Which are in the majority, I should like to know — the rich or the poor? Why, I say, do we endure it?”
“Because we are cowards, Mark Challenger,” replied John Pether, his voice sounding almost sepulchral99 after the shrill100 fierce tones of the former speaker. “Because we are cowards, one and all. Why did I let the tax-gatherer take the last penny out of my house when my children were dying for food? Because I had not the courage to strike the man dead, and offer myself a martyr101 to the cause of justice. That’s why, Mark Challenger.”
“You wouldn’t have done much good, John,” interrupted Mr. Tollady, his voice and manner a strong contrast to the wild excitement of the one, the concentrated ferocity of the other of his companions. “The tax-gatherer did you no wrong. It was the system, not the man, that was at fault. Strike dead at a blow the passions and the vices11 and the pestiferous creeds102 of Society — then let them make a martyr of you if they can!”
“It’s all very well for you, Sam Tollady,” jerked in Mark. “I often say to myself: ‘How is it,’ I say, ‘that Sam Tollady can be so calm and so quiet over all his wrongs and his sufferings, when John Pether and me get so savage over ours?’ And I’ve always come to the conclusion that it’s because you’ve only suffered in yourself, Sam; you’ve never had either wife or children to share your wrongs, and that’s made it easier for you to bear them. But John Pether and me has had double suffering. We’ve borne our own share, and, besides that, we’ve had to watch our wives and children hunger and die at our sides. Isn’t that enough to make us wild, Sam Tollady? Am I right?”
Mr. Tollady replied with his usual calmness, but in a voice full of sympathy; and for half an hour the conversation continued very much in the same strain, fresh excitement being derived103 from the newspapers if ever it lapsed104 for a moment. Then the two friends rose to depart; but Mark Challenger, noticing Arthur for the first time, pointed105 to him —
“A fixture106, Sam?” he asked.
Mr. Tollady nodded, smiling.
“Train him up in the way he should go, Sam!” he exclaimed fiercely, grasping the printer’s arm. “Make a Radical107 of him — a Revolutionist! Teach him his wrongs, Sam; let him see the cause of his miseries108, and the cure! You can do it, Sam; you can do it!”
“I dare say he might make an apt scholar,” said Mr. Tollady, in a low voice. “He seems to me by no means an ordinary boy.”
“Good!” replied the other; then, turning to Arthur, cried to him: “Come here, my lad!”
Arthur obeyed, and Mark grasped him by the coat collar.
“Boy!” he exclaimed in his usual excited tones, “have you known a single happy day in your life?”
“I — I think so, sir,” stammered109 the boy, half frightened at the other’s manner, and scarcely understanding the question.
“Have you ever been hungry?” persisted Mark Challenger, in irritated tones; “hungry, and without means of buying bread? Hungry — fiercely, savagely110 hungry, like a wild beast, till you could gnaw111 wood or shoe-leather? Have you ever felt like that, boy?”
“Yes, sir; often,” replied Arthur, and with much truth.
“I knew it!” cried Mark. “See!” he added, pointing to Mr. Tollady. “He’ll tell you why you were hungry! He’ll tell you who it is robs you of the means of buying food and clothing! Mind what he tells you, my lad, that’s all; and when you grow up make use of it.”
And, flinging the boy almost angrily from him, Mark Challenger nodded to Mr. Tollady and left the shop, followed by John Pether, who had fallen into a fit of moody112 abstraction.
“Did he frighten you, Arthur?” asked the printer with a smile, when the men had gone.
“A little, at first, sir.”
“You mustn’t mind his strange ways,” replied Mr. Tollady, returning to his desk. “Mr. Challenger is a good man at heart, but he has had severe hardships, and they have almost driven him mad. Now let us get on with our work.”
And as he turned away he sighed to himself —
“For the night cometh, wherein no man can work.”
A great part of the day Mr. Tollady spent upstairs in the printing office, where he himself worked in connection with his assistant. The extent of his business was not great, but that which was entrusted to him he performed, according to the rule of his life, with the utmost perfection his abilities rendered possible. When he came down to partake of his meals in company with Arthur he talked kindly113 and pleasantly, as his habit was, and was evidently exerting himself to win as speedily as possible the confidence, and even the affection, of his young assistant.
Samuel Tollady was not one of those men who have so worn off the keen edge of their spiritual perceptions by rough jolting114 and jarring against their fellow men that any stranger they happen to come into contact with is of as little interest to them, except in so far as he serves their ends, as the very stones they tread upon in the street. To his new master Arthur was more than a piece of human machinery115 which had been taken in and set to work, and was only to be spared excessive toil116 or capricious brutality117 that his powers of future exertion118 might not be unduly119 injured. He was, rather, a young and promising120 bud on the great tree of humanity, a child of human pain and sorrow, but also with human needs and aspirations121, the latter very possibly, as Mr. Tollady began already to perceive; in a higher degree than the majority of mankind. He had lived many years amidst terrible degradation122, and yet was not degraded; had associated with those whose ends and aims were for the most part of the basest nature, and yet he had already shown signs of a yearning123 for the fruits of knowledge. Mr. Tollady’s interest grew rapidly in Arthur; he watched him, tested him, and studied him with the utmost care. And as yet he found nothing to make him believe his interest was misplaced.
Looking upon the boy as a human soul, and not as a mere piece of useful machinery in his shop, Mr. Tollady soon conceived the idea of using his leisure to continue the very imperfect education which Arthur had as yet received. Accordingly the evenings — when the printing office was closed, and only a few customers had to be attended to in the shop — soon began to be spent in the mutual124 giving and receiving of instruction. Mr. Tollady had ideas of his own on the subject of education, and felt a keen pleasure in being able to put them into practice. Life seemed very soon to acquire a new value, a new significance for him. He was not so often absorbed in fits of melancholy125 brooding as previously.
And if the teacher benefited by his work, the pupil did so even in a higher degree. Appreciating intensely the consistent kindness of his master, Arthur progressed wonderfully under his instruction; his zeal126 for his work knew no bounds; where other boys of his age thought of nothing but their tops, their marbles, and their hoops127, Arthur was uneasy when away from the tasks which had been set him. Now and then his thoughts returned to Lizzie. What would he give to be able to acquaint her with his progress!
But the direct instruction which he received from his master was not the sole benefit for which Arthur was indebted to him. To live with Mr. Tollady and observe his actions from day to day was in itself an education.
In ministering to his bodily needs the printer was frugal128 almost to asceticism129, partly, perhaps, owing to the habits bred in him by a long struggle with poverty. He was a vegetarian130 on principle, and water was his only drink. It would, indeed, have gone somewhat hard with Arthur if he, too, had been confined to such a diet, but Mr. Tollady knew what was due to a growing boy, and stinted131 him in nothing. By dint132 of severe economy he succeeded in keeping a small sum of money always by him, only to be drawn upon for purposes of charity. He was charitable in the true sense of the word, not giving his pence indiscriminately to a beggar in the street, but following patient misery133 into its secret hiding-places, and coupling active assistance where he saw it would be useful with strong, manly134, wise words of advice and comfort. Not a few young girls living in the gloomy neighbourhood where his shop was situated135 had to thank the hand of Samuel Tollady for having checked them on the precipice136 of ruin; not a few toiling137 wives and mothers, cursed with husbands whose lives were spent alternately in the gin-palace and the gaol138, were indebted to his benevolence139 for the help which kept them from the workhouse. But so secret was his alms-giving that it is doubtful whether any but the recipients140 had any knowledge of it; the neighbours generally looked upon him as a quiet, agreeable sort of man, but not unfrequently hinted at his having miserly habits. Mark Challenger and John Pether, who were very old acquaintances of his, had a suspicion of the truth, but were themselves too retired141 in their habits of life to spread reports concerning it.
At five o’clock each morning, whatever the season of the year, Mr. Tollady rose, and for two hours was engaged in reading. He read little besides the works in his own library, and with these, thanks to many perusals, he had obtained a thorough acquaintance, such as it is to be feared, even few professedly learned men can boast, with the standard works of our literature. Throughout the day he spoke little, the words he exchanged with his two constant visitors each morning, and the instruction he gave to Arthur at night constituting the chief part of his conversation. Yet he was never morose; only at times very sad in appearance. Whomsoever he spoke to, it was with a gentleness of tone which never varied142; harshness he seemed incapable143 of. Nevertheless he was not what we understand by a loveable man; he had too few social qualities for that. In all with whom he stood on ordinary grounds of acquaintanceship he never failed to inspire respect; it needed that he should unfold himself in the closest intimacy144 that he might be regarded with affection.
I have said that his shelves held a few works on botany, and this had always been the favourite study of his lighter145 hours. In his youth he had lived much amid the beauties of nature, and had been an ardent botanist146. He had ultimately collected a herbarium which had been of considerable value in the eyes of men of kindred taste, but at one period of his life, overtaken by the direst poverty, he had disposed of this for a slight sum, only retaining a small collection in the shape of duplicates and imperfect specimens147. It was this collection which filled the large volumes which have been noticed as lying on the lowest shelves of his book case. Every Sunday evening it was his habit to lift these volumes on to the table and go over them with a longing148 hand and a fond look, as each plant recalled to his mind the scenes amidst which it had been gathered. When late in the night he replaced them, after carefully shaking out the dust and seeing that the leaves were sprinkled with camphor to preserve them from insects, it was often with trembling hands and a moist eye.
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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calligraphy
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| n.书法 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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instinctively
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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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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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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13
quirk
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| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
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14
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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15
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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16
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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17
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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18
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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19
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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20
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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21
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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22
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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24
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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25
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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26
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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27
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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28
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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29
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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30
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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31
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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32
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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33
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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34
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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35
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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36
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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37
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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40
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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41
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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42
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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43
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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44
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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45
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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46
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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47
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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48
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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49
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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50
inveighed
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| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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52
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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53
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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54
instil
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| v.逐渐灌输 | |
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55
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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56
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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57
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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58
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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59
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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60
allaying
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的现在分词 ) | |
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61
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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64
refulgence
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| n.辉煌，光亮 | |
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65
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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66
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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67
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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68
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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70
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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71
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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72
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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73
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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74
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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75
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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76
linen
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|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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77
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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78
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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79
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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80
judiciously
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|
| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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81
bust
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|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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82
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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83
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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84
reverence
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|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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85
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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86
morose
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|
| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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87
countenance
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|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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88
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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89
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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90
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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91
betoken
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| v.预示 | |
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92
emphatic
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|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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93
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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94
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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95
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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96
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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97
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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98
exasperated
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|
| adj.恼怒的 | |
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99
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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100
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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101
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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102
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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103
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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104
lapsed
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|
| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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105
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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106
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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107
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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108
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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109
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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111
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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112
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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113
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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114
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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115
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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116
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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117
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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118
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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119
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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120
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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121
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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122
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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123
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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124
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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125
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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126
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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127
hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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128
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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129
asceticism
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| n.禁欲主义 | |
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130
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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131
stinted
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| v.限制，节省（stint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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132
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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133
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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134
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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135
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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136
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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137
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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138
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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139
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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140
recipients
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|
| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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141
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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142
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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143
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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144
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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145
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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146
botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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147
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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148
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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