Early on the fourth, he went to the Capitol quietly and devoted8 the remaining hours of the morning to reading and signing bills. The procession which had been arranged to escort him was formed at the White House, with the President’s carriage at its head, occupied by Mrs. Lincoln and Senators Harlan and Anthony. A platoon of marshals pioneered it, and a detachment of the union Light Guard surrounded it. The crowd, recognizing the White House coachman on its box, but not seeing distinctly who sat behind, cheered it all along the line under the supposition that it held the President. Two companies of colored troops and a lodge9 of colored Odd Fellows were among the marchers, this being the first time that negroes ever took part in an inaugural pageant10 except in some servile capacity.
We have already seen how Washington received the news of the final triumph of the Federal arms, and how Lincoln fell in the midst of the general rejoicing. Many readers of his inaugural address of that year have since professed11 to discern between its written lines a veiled foreboding of the end. Certain it is that he was an habitual12 dreamer, and that one dream,{209} which came to him on the night before Fort Sumter was bombarded, was repeated on the eve of the first battle of Bull Run, and just before other important engagements. As he described it, he seemed to be on the water in an unfamiliar13 boat, “moving rapidly toward a dark, indefinite shore.” The last recurrence14 of the dream was in the early morning hours of April 14, 1865. We shall never know, now, whether it was this or some other portent15 that caused him to say to a trusted companion, not long before his death: “I don’t think I shall live to see the end of my term. I try to shake off the vision, but it still keeps haunting me.” He had received several threatening letters, which he kept in a separate file labeled: “Letters on Assassination16.” After his death there was found among these a note about the very plot in which Booth was the chief actor.
Fate plays strange tricks. For a few hours that spring, one friend in Washington unconsciously held Lincoln’s life in his hand. Harriet Riddle17, since better known as Mrs. Davis, the novelist, was a pupil at a local convent school. Shortly before the tragedy at Ford’s Theater, a teacher who had been on a brief visit to a Southern town returned, apparently19 laboring20 under some terrible excitement which she was trying to suppress. At the session of her class immediately{210} preceding their separation for Good Friday, she suddenly fell upon her knees, bade them all join her in prayer, and poured forth22, in a voice and manner so agonizing23 that the children were thrilled with a nameless horror, an hysterical24 appeal for divine mercy on the souls who were soon to be called before their Maker25 without warning.
Harriet, who was an impressionable child, could hardly contain herself till she reached home and sought her father, to whom she attempted to relate the afternoon’s occurrence. He was the District-attorney, and an intimate of the President’s, and was so immersed in the cares of office that he put her off till he should have more leisure. When she was awakened26 on Good Friday night by the noise of citizens and soldiers hurrying through the streets and calling out the news of the assassination, she uttered an exclamation27 which caught her father’s attention, and then he listened to the tale which he had once waved aside. “Why did you not tell me this before?” he demanded. It was then too late to do more than collect such evidence as he might from the pupils to aid the detectives; but the teacher who had uttered that awful prayer had fled and could never be traced. No one could longer doubt her guilty knowledge of the plot, probably acquired during her visit in the South.{211}
The oath with which Vice-president Johnson took upon himself the obligations of the Presidency28 was administered to him at his rooms in the Kirkwood House, a hostelry on the Pennsylvania Avenue corner now occupied by the Hotel Raleigh. Of his administration, the most broadly interesting incident was the impeachment29 trial described in an earlier chapter; and in our reflections on how history is shaped, another personal anecdote30 seems worthy31 of a place. Its heroine was Miss Vinnie Ream, the sculptor32, who later became Mrs. Hoxie.
As his trial drew near its close, and Johnson’s friends and enemies were able to figure out pretty accurately33 how the Senate was going to divide, it became plain that the issue would hang on a single vote. If all the Senators counted against the President stood firm, he would be convicted, thirty-six to eighteen; but Secretary Stanton insisted that Ross of Kansas was preparing to go over from the majority to the minority. Ross was occupying a room in the same house with Miss Ream on Capitol Hill, and General Daniel E. Sickles34, who was acquainted with him, was deputed to see him on the night before the roll-call and try to hold him fast against the President. Miss Ream happened to meet the General at the door, ushered35 him into the parlor36 but refused to let him see the Senator,{212} and held him at bay till dawn the following morning, when he gave up the effort as fruitless and went home. If she had weakened for a moment, there is no telling what might have happened, for Sickles was in a position to have brought very heavy pressure to bear upon Ross. The roll-call showed thirty-five for conviction to nineteen against—less than the two-thirds required to convict; and it was Ross’s vote that saved Johnson.
At the inauguration37 of Grant, the relations between him and the retiring President were so strained, owing to the recent struggle at the War Department, that Johnson refused to attend the ceremonies unless it could be arranged that he and Grant should ride in separate carriages. General Rawlins therefore acted as escort to Grant and Vice-president Colfax. Grant was not much of a speaker, but the delivery of his inaugural address is remembered for a pretty incident. His little daughter Nellie, confused by the continuous bustle38 all about her, obeyed on the platform the same childish impulse which moved her in any exigency39 at home, and, running to his side, nestled against him, clasping one of his hands in both of hers and holding it all the time he was speaking. At the ball that evening, access to the supper-room and to the cloak-room was by the same door, which caused a blockade in the{213} passage. The servants in charge of the wraps became hopelessly demoralized, with the result that Horace Greeley had to wait two hours to recover his white overcoat and lost his hat entirely40. The torrent41 of lurid42 expletives he let loose during his ordeal43 shared space and importance, in the next day’s newspapers, with the thirty-five thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds worn by Mrs. John Morrissey, wife of the prize-fighter.
Grant’s second inauguration began inauspiciously, his aged18 father falling down a flight of stairs at the Capitol and suffering injuries which finally caused his death. The day was stormy, and the evening the coldest known in Washington for years. Unfortunately, the only place where the ball could be held was an improvised44 wooden building, through the crevices45 of which the icy wind blew a gale46; and, to complete everybody’s misery47, the heating apparatus48 broke down, so that many of the ladies who had come in conventional toilets had to protect their shoulders with fur mantillas, while their escorts put on overcoats. The President was so cold that he forgot the figures in the state quadrille which he was to lead, and was obliged to depend on General Sherman to push him through them. The supper was ruined, the meats and salads competing in temperature with the ices; all{214} that could be saved was the coffee, which was kept hot over alcohol lamps. The breath of the members of the band congealed49 in their instruments, and several hundred canaries which were to sing in the intervals50 between band pieces shriveled into little downy balls on the bottoms of their cages and uttered not a trill.
The key-note of Grant’s administration on its political side was his steadfast51 faith that any friend of his was capable of filling any office in his gift. He named Alexander T. Stewart, the New York dry-goods merchant, for Secretary of the Treasury52, but had to let him resign on account of technical objections raised in the Senate. Wendell Phillips having come to his defense53 at a hostile mass-meeting in Boston, Grant wished to make him Minister to England, but the offer was declined because Mrs. Phillips would not be able to go abroad at that time. Caleb Cushing of Massachusetts, though a stanch54 Democrat55 before the war, had become an “administration man” as soon as the union was threatened, and thereby56 aroused the admiration57 of Grant, who named him for Chief Justice after Chase’s death; but the same political independence which so won Grant had incensed58 a number of Senators, who caused the rejection59 of the nomination60.
Later, however, Grant succeeded in sending Cushing{215} as Minister to Spain. Cushing was a man full of peculiarities61, which strengthened with his years. At an early age he discarded the umbrella as a nuisance and braved storms unprotected. Naturally his hats suffered. At the time he received his billet for Spain, he was wearing one of the chimney-pot variety, which, from its appearance, he must have bought many years before. The nap was a good deal worn, there was a slight bulge62 in the top, and, thanks to the squareness of his head, he could wear it with either side in front. When some one suggested that he had better buy a new hat before presenting himself at the Spanish court, he considered the question solemnly, turning the old hat around and examining it with care before answering: “No, I think I shall wait and see what the fashions are in Madrid.” Though ready to spend his money freely for any public purpose, in private indulgences the frugal63 notions inherited from his New England ancestry64 came to the front. Hardly anybody ever saw him light a fresh cigar, but he used to carry about in his pocket a case packed with partly consumed stumps65, to one of which he would help himself when he wished a smoke, only to let it die again as soon as he had become interested in talking.
It was because of his liking66 for both Blaine and Conkling that Grant strove, as his last act in the{216} White House, to reconcile the two men, who were intensely hostile to each other. Their quarrel had grown out of a passage in debate when Conkling had made some very sarcastic67 comments on Blaine. The latter retorted in kind. “The contempt of that large-minded gentleman,” said he, glancing toward Conkling, “is so wilting68, his haughty69 disdain70, his grandiloquent71 swell72, his majestic73, supereminent, overpowering, turkey-gobbler strut74 have been so crushing to myself and all the members of this House, that I know it was an act of temerity75 for me to venture upon a controversy76 with him.” Referring to a recent newspaper article in which Conkling had been likened to the late Henry Winter Davis, Blaine went on: “The gentleman took it seriously, and it has given his strut additional pomposity77. The resemblance is great. It is striking. Hyperion to a satyr, Thersites to Hercules, mud to marble, a dunghill to a diamond, a singed78 cat to a Bengal tiger, a whining79 puppy to a roaring lion!”
Conkling never forgave this attack. It seems like a small thing to change the whole current of a nation’s history, but it probably cost Blaine the Presidency; for in 1884 the disaffection of the Republicans in Conkling’s old home in central New York gave the State to Cleveland. President Grant’s effort to bring the foes80 together failed because Blaine, though ready to{217} make any ordinary concessions81, balked82 when Conkling demanded that he should confess his “mud to marble” speech to have been “unqualifiedly and maliciously83 false.”
In 1874, Miss Nellie Grant was married to Algernon Sartoris, a British subject. She was her father’s pet. At her wedding, he stood beside his wife to receive the guests, his face wearing a sphinx-like calm, though every one knew how he would feel the parting soon to follow. His forced composure continued till Nellie had left the house with her husband, and then he disappeared. An old friend, seeking him up-stairs, tapped at his chamber84 door, and, as there was no response, pushed it slightly ajar and looked in. There, on the bed, face downward, his eyes buried in his hands and his whole frame shaken with grief, lay the great soldier, sobbing85 like a child.
Throughout the Grant administration, the social arbiter86 for Washington was Mrs. Hamilton Fish, wife of the Secretary of State. She was a woman of the world, broad-minded and efficient, but the White House was not a very ceremonious place in that era. When the new Danish Minister called, for instance, in full regalia, to present his credentials87, he found no one prepared to receive him, even the negro boy who met him at the door having to hurry into a coat before ushering{218} him in. Persons who attended the state dinners say that Grant often turned down his wine-glasses. It was, as far as I have ever heard, the first instance of a President’s doing this; and it paved the way for the reign88 of cold water which came in with the next President, Rutherford B. Hayes.
Hayes entered office under cloudy auspices89. His competitor for the Presidency was Samuel J. Tilden, a powerful Democratic leader. In some of the Southern States which were still in the throes of reconstruction90, United States troops were doing police duty, the Governors were appointees of a Republican President, and the election machinery91 was in the hands of Republican office-holders, though the bulk of the white voting population was Democratic. In these States the official canvassers had reported the Republican electors chosen, the electors had cast their ballots92 for Hayes, and the Governors had signed and forwarded their certificates accordingly, in defiance93 of Democratic protests that the returns were fictitious94. Without these States, the Democratic candidate had one hundred and eighty-four of the one hundred and eighty-five electoral votes necessary to a choice, while the Republican candidate could win only with their aid; so a single electoral vote would tip the scale either way. The duty of opening the certificates and{219}
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St. Paul’s, the Oldest Church in the District
announcing the results devolved upon the President of the Senate, a strong Republican.
The Democrats95 made so serious charges of falsification of the records that the whole country became much excited, and fears were entertained in Congress that another civil war might be impending96. In the midst of the turmoil97, a joint98 committee of both chambers99 worked out a plan for a bi-partisan Electoral Commission, to consist of five Senators, five Representatives, and five Justices of the Supreme100 Court, before whom all the questions at issue should be argued by counsel, and whose decisions should place the result beyond immediate21 appeal. The Commission, as made up, contained eight Republicans and seven Democrats, and its decisions were always given by a vote of eight to seven. It held its sessions in the room now occupied by the Supreme Court, where it began its work on February 1, 1877, and at the end of a month rendered its last ruling, which gave the Presidency to Mr. Hayes.
As the fourth of March was to fall on Sunday, President Grant had Hayes meet Chief Justice Waite in the red parlor of the White House on the evening of the third and take the oath privately101. The inaugural ball was omitted because the Electoral Commission had finished its work too late to enable preparations{220} to be made. President Hayes was not nearly so conspicuous102 a figure during the following four years as his wife, who was a woman of very positive convictions, especially on the subject of alcoholic103 stimulants104. At her instance, wines were banished105 from the White House table, the only exception occurring when the Grand Dukes Alexis and Constantin of Russia visited Washington. It is said to have been some incident at the entertainment given in their honor which fixed106 Mr. and Mrs. Hayes definitely in the determination not to depart again from the rule of teetotalism.
The newspapers poked107 a good deal of innocent fun at the Hayes parties on the score that, though the ban was never lifted from the ordinary intoxicants drunk from glasses, there was always plenty of strong Roman punch served in orange-skins. The nickname which presently fastened itself to this deceptive108 course was the “life-saving station.” In his diary, however, Mr. Hayes has left us the statement: “The joke of the Roman punch oranges was not on us, but on the drinking people. My orders were to flavor them rather strongly with the same flavor that is found in Jamaica rum. This took! It was refreshing109 to hear the drinkers say, with a smack110 of their lips, ‘Would they were hot!’” I am bound to add that, in spite of the good man’s enjoyment111 of his ruse112, the suspicion still{221} survives that his steward113 used to put a private and particular interpretation114 on his orders.
Although Mr. Hayes was not a member of any church, his wife was an ardent115 Methodist, and one marked feature of their life in Washington was the Sunday evening sociables at the White House, when Cabinet officers and other dignitaries would come in and pass a couple of hours singing hymns116, with light conversation between. Among the most interested attendants at these gatherings117 was General Sherman, who used to join vigorously in the singing—or try to. Another, who was destined118 to play an independent part in history a few years afterward119, was a clever young Congressman120 from Ohio named William McKinley, Junior. He had been a volunteer soldier in Hayes’s regiment121 early in the war, and they had grown to be fast friends. At one of the first of the secular122 receptions during the Hayes régime, the guest of honor was a budding celebrity123, Queen Liliuokalani of Hawaii. She labored124 under the handicap of knowing no English, and had to carry on most of her conversation through an interpreter.
President Hayes provoked a good deal of criticism among the Southerners in Washington by appointing Frederick Douglass, the negro ex-slave and orator125, United States Marshal of the District, for the office{222} had up to that time carried with it the duties of a sort of majordomo at the President’s receptions, including the presentation of the guests. A visitor to Washington about these days who did not attend the state receptions, but held some of his own in the open air, was a man of small and unimpressive stature126, with black hair and mustache and a rather good-natured face, whose portrait appeared repeatedly in the illustrated127 papers, and whose name carried with it a certain terror to timid souls who expected to see him launch a social revolution. This was Dennis Kearney, who had made himself notorious by his speeches in the sand-lots of San Francisco, declaring that “the Chinese must go,” and denouncing every one, regardless of race, who had been thrifty128 enough to accumulate any of this world’s goods. His remarkable129 coinage of words and generally unique English gave currency to a multitude of epigrammatic phrases, which for several years were known as “Kearneyisms.”
All through the campaign of 1880 a great deal was made of the sayings and doings of “Grandma Garfield,” the mother of the Republican candidate: an old lady of a type rarely seen now, who was not ashamed of her years, wore her cap and spectacles as badges of distinction, and never forgot that, however great he might have grown, her son was still her son. Nor did{223} he forget it; and on the east portico130 of the Capitol, with his assent131 to the constitutional oath barely off his lips, his first act as President was to bend down and kiss her. The inauguration was notable, too, for the important part taken in the parade by the defeated competitor for the Presidency, General Winfield S. Hancock. He was a splendid-looking man and a superb horseman, and in his uniform as a Major-general was the most imposing132 object in the procession. The spectators, delighted with his sportsmanlike spirit, paid him as hearty133 a tribute as they paid the President.
A few weeks after the inauguration, a fierce quarrel broke out over the distribution of federal patronage134, splitting the Republican party into two factions135. The angry irruptions of the newspapers on both sides, which would have passed with any normal mind for what they were worth, made a more serious impression on that of Charles J. Guiteau, a degenerate136 with a craving137 for self-advertisement; and, failing in his attempt to obtain an office for himself, he saw in the controversy an opportunity to pose as a hero by removing its cause. Garfield, as a graduate of Williams College, had arranged to attend the next commencement, and was in the railway station on the second of July, 1881, on the way to his train, when he was approached by Guiteau from behind and shot.{224} He lingered, first in the White House and later at Elberon, New Jersey138, whither he was taken after the weather became too sultry in Washington, till the nineteenth of September. The assassin was brought to trial at the winter term of the Supreme Court of the District, convicted of murder, and hanged.
On the evening of the day of Garfield’s death, the Vice-president, Chester A. Arthur, was sworn in at his home in New York City, in the presence of his son and a few personal friends, including Elihu Root. A more formal administration of the oath took place in the Vice-president’s room at the Capitol in Washington three days later, Chief Justice Waite officiating, with Associate Justices Harlan and Matthews, General Grant, and several Senators and Representatives as witnesses. After signing the oath, Arthur read a brief address and returned at once to his office.
Arthur was a widower139, and his only daughter was still too young to take full charge of his household affairs, so his sister, Mrs. McElroy, presided at all his social functions. He was very fond of music, and the great operatic and concert stars were always sure of a warm welcome from him when they passed through Washington. The finest of his dinners was that which he gave for Christine Nilsson. As the company rose from the table and he offered his arm to escort{225} her back to the east room, the Marine140 Band in the corridor, responding to a secret signal, began playing one of her favorite airs, and, with the spontaneous delight of a child, she fell to singing it, her voice soaring bird-like above the instruments as she walked. This surprise for Miss Nilsson was typical of the graceful141 things Arthur was fond of doing, and in which he set the pace for the members of his official family. Ex-president Grant and his wife, on their return from their tour of the world, dropped in upon Washington, as it chanced, just when a reception was about to be held at the White House. Arthur sent his carriage for them. Mrs. Frelinghuysen, wife of the Secretary of State, was on that occasion filling Mrs. McElroy’s accustomed station next to the President in the receiving line; but on the entrance of the distinguished142 guests she withdrew, gently pressing Mrs. Grant into her place as hostess of the evening.
As the first Democratic President since the war, Grover Cleveland of New York found a hard task laid out for him. He realized that he owed his election chiefly to the reform element in both the great parties, yet it was his own party that claimed him, and, having been out of power for a quarter-century, it was not over-modest in its demands. His efforts at tariff143 reduction stirred the protectionists to such activity in{226} the next campaign that Benjamin Harrison of Indiana, a Republican and a grandson of “Old Tippecanoe,” was elected in November, 1888. When he entered office, Cleveland was a bachelor forty-eight years old. In June, 1886, he married Miss Frances Folsom, the daughter of a former law partner to whom he had been warmly attached. The wedding ceremony was performed in the White House, only a small party of friends attending. Mrs. Cleveland, who was young and of attractive presence, made friends for herself on every side and did much to soften144 the antagonisms145 which her husband’s course in office necessarily aroused.
The clerk of the weather seemed to have been storing his rain for weeks in order to let it all out upon Harrison’s inauguration, and the street pageant was a drenched146 and draggled affair. The civilities of the outgoing to the incoming President gave the day its one touch of cheerfulness. Cleveland sat on the rear seat of the open landau which bore them to the Capitol, the front seat being occupied by Senators Hoar and Cockrell, acting147 as a committee of escort. In order to enable Harrison to lift his hat to the people who cheered him from the sidewalk, Cleveland raised his own umbrella and held it over his companion. When Cockrell undertook to do the same for Hoar, his umbrella broke. Cleveland at once borrowed an umbrella{227} of his Secretary of the Treasury in the next carriage, and, when Mr. Hoar demurred148, reassured149 him with a laugh: “Don’t be alarmed, Senator; we’re honest, and I’ll see that it gets back!” As they drove down the Avenue, most of the applause, naturally, was for the President-elect; but once in a while a spectator would shout, “Good-by, Grover!” or something of the sort, and Cleveland would return the greeting with a smile and a nod. So much kindly150 feeling was manifested throughout the morning that Harrison, who was temperamentally the least effusive151 of men, was deeply touched; and he could not forbear referring in his inaugural address to the courtesy he had received at Cleveland’s hands, adding that he should endeavor to show like consideration to his successor four years later.
And four years later Providence152 gave him the chance, which he improved as far as in him lay. In the meantime he had passed through many sad experiences. Factional divisions, almost as serious as those that culminated153 in the assassination of Garfield, had broken up his party. His Secretary of State, Mr. Blaine, had parted company with him on the eve of the meeting of the Republican National Convention of 1892, become his rival for the Presidential nomination, and died the following winter. Two of Blaine’s{228} sons and one of his daughters had already died. Mr. Windom, Secretary of the Treasury, had fallen dead at a public banquet, just after finishing a memorable speech in defense of the administration. General Tracy, Secretary of the Navy, had lost his wife and daughter in a fire which destroyed their Washington home. The wife of the President’s secretary, Mr. Halford, had died; and to crown his load of sorrows, Mr. Harrison lost his own wife and her father almost at the time of his defeat for re?lection.
On the other hand, he had enjoyed the presence in the White House of his daughter, Mrs. McKee, with her two children, one of whom, a bright little boy named in his honor, was his special favorite and playfellow out of office hours. The south garden was the scene of many of their frolics, which recalled the legends about John Adams and his juvenile154 tyrant155. One incident will never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. “Baby McKee,” as Benjamin junior was commonly called, used to drive a goat before his little wagon156. This amusement was confined, as a rule, to occasions when the President could be near at hand to watch proceedings157, for the goat was an erratic158 brute159. One day it caught the President napping and started at full gallop160 for an open gate. Mr. Harrison, suddenly awakened to the situation, dashed{229} after. The goat succeeded in pulling the wagon through the narrow aperture161 without a collision, but, once in the street, bolted straight for a trench162 in which workmen were laying a pipe. By a succession of mighty163 leaps, such as probably no dignitary of his rank had ever made before, Mr. Harrison contrived164 to get in front of the animal, seize it by the bit, and swing it around in the nick of time to prevent its jumping the excavation165 and tumbling wagon and boy into the mud at the bottom. The President was puffing166 hard as he returned triumphantly167 to the White House, dragging the reluctant goat by the headstall, under a running fire of complaints from his grandson for spoiling the morning ride.
When Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland came back in 1893, they brought with them their infant daughter Ruth, and open gates in the south garden of the White House became at once a thing of the past; for the garden was the child’s only playground, and an epidemic168 of kidnapping had recently broken out. For further security, and in order to have one place where his domestic hours would be free from business interruptions, the President rented the small estate known as Woodley, in one of the northwestern suburbs. Here he lived during the greater part of the year, driving in daily to his work and spending a night in Washington{230} now and then if necessary. By that time the official encroachments on the family space of the White House had reached a point where either the building must be enlarged or a separate dwelling169 provided for the President. A scheme of enlargement had been broached170 in Harrison’s term, but the plans drawn171 under Mrs. Harrison’s direction changed the shape of the old mansion172 in too many essential features to win the approval of the architects consulted, and the matter was dropped. The Clevelands, by living at Woodley, escaped some of the cramping173 the Harrisons had suffered, and the McKinleys, who came in next, got along pretty well because they had no children.
As Senator La Follette once said, McKinley never had a fair chance as President to show what was in him: his first term was broken into by the Spanish War, and his second was cut off almost at its beginning by assassination. He was sweet-natured and a born manager of men, and no one who ever filled the Presidential chair left behind him a more fragrant174 memory. As his murder occurred in Buffalo175, and Czolgosz, who killed him, was tried and put to death there, the episode serves our present purpose only in leading up to the accession of Theodore Roosevelt of New York, the Vice-president, who was recalled from a summer vacation in the mountains to take the head of the{231} state. His inauguration was of the simplest sort, at the house of a friend in Buffalo, where some members of the McKinley Cabinet and a few other gentlemen met to witness the administration of the oath.
His first few months in the White House convinced the new President that something must be done without delay to relieve the building, which had become not only inconvenient176 but dangerous. For several years, when repairs had been found necessary, they had been made by temporary patchwork177, with little reference to their effect on anything else; not a few of the floor timbers subject to most strain were badly rotted, and others stood in so perilous178 relations to the lighting179 apparatus that only by a miracle had the house escaped destruction by fire. Fortunately Congress had begun to show some interest in a long-mooted project for bringing the city back to the plan laid out by L’Enfant; and a generous appropriation180 was procured181 for making over the White House to resemble as nearly as practicable the President’s Palace built by Hoban. All the latter half of 1902 was given to this work. The office was moved out of the main building and planted in a little house of its own on the same spot where Jefferson used to have his workroom, at the extremity182 of the western terrace. The eastern terrace, of which nothing but the buried foundations remained, was{232} rebuilt, and so arranged as to afford an entrance for guests at the larger receptions.
Inside of the main house, the old lines were kept intact as far as the comfort of its occupants would permit, though the restoration did work some changes. The noble east room, which for many years was decorated in the style of the saloon of a river steamboat, wears now the air of simple elegance183 designed for it before steamboats were invented; and the state dining-room has been so enlarged that future Presidents will not be forced, on especially great occasions, to spread their tables in the east room in order to spare the diners the annoyance184 of bumping elbows. Upstairs the changes have been rather of function than of form. The room which, from Grant’s day to McKinley’s, was used for Cabinet meetings, and where our peace protocol185 with Spain was signed, is now a library; that in which Lincoln read to his official family the first draft of his Emancipation186 Proclamation is now a bedroom, and a like fate has befallen the former library, where Cleveland penned his Venezuela message. The old lines of partition, however, are all there. Logs still blaze and crackle in the fireplace beside which Jackson puffed187 his corncob pipe. The windows through which Lincoln looked over at the Virginia hills have not changed even the shape or size of their old-fashioned{233} panes188. The places where our first royal guest slept, and where Garfield passed his long ordeal of suffering, remain bedchambers.
Mrs. Roosevelt, who loved the White House and had made a study of its architectural history, personally supervised every stage of its restoration. When the alterations189 were finished, she took the same interest in the process of refurnishing, so that the final product was, as nearly as modern conditions would permit, the White House of a century ago. The removal of needless obstructions190 was one of the most successful elements in the renovation191, as it made possible the handling of a crowd of fifteen hundred or two thousand people without confusion. Socially, the Roosevelt administration was in every way the most brilliant Washington has ever known. Mrs. Roosevelt was a perfect hostess, and the many-sided President drew about him the leaders in every line of thought and action. In his democracy of companionship and his forceful way of doing whatever he laid his hand to, he was another Jackson; in his attraction for men of letters, students of statecraft, artists, and scientific workers, he revived the best traditions of Jefferson.
The four years of Taft are too fresh in the public memory to call for extended mention. Taft was forced to have his inauguration in the Senate Chamber on{234} account of the execrable weather, for the worst blizzard192 prevailed on the fourth of March, 1909, that had visited Washington for ten years. The railroads leading into the city were blockaded, so that many passengers who had come from a distance to attend the ceremony were compelled to forsake193 their trains a mile or more from their destination and plow194 their own way in, as the sole alternative of camping in the cars for an indefinite number of hours. Only by the utmost diligence on the part of the municipal laborers195 were the streets kept in condition for the parade to pass, and most of the spectators’ stands erected196 on the sidewalks were utterly197 deserted198. Mr. Roosevelt having announced, some time before, his intention to leave for New York as soon as he had seen his successor sworn in, Mrs. Taft made the drive between the Capitol and the White House by her husband’s side.
Woodrow Wilson of New Jersey, the next President, signalized his advent199 by notifying the citizens of Washington that he did not wish any inaugural ball, and the preparations already under way were abandoned. His administration is still writing its own history.{235}
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St. John’s, “the President’s Church”
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5 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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6 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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7 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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8 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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9 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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10 pageant | |
n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
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11 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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12 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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13 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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14 recurrence | |
n.复发,反复,重现 | |
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15 portent | |
n.预兆;恶兆;怪事 | |
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16 assassination | |
n.暗杀;暗杀事件 | |
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17 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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18 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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19 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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20 laboring | |
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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21 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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22 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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23 agonizing | |
adj.痛苦难忍的;使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦;折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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24 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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25 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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26 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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27 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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28 presidency | |
n.总统(校长,总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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29 impeachment | |
n.弹劾;控告;怀疑 | |
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30 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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31 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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32 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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33 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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34 sickles | |
n.镰刀( sickle的名词复数 ) | |
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35 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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37 inauguration | |
n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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38 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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39 exigency | |
n.紧急;迫切需要 | |
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40 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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41 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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42 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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43 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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44 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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45 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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46 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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47 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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48 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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49 congealed | |
v.使凝结,冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 );(指血)凝结 | |
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50 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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51 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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52 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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53 defense | |
n.防御,保卫;[pl.]防务工事;辩护,答辩 | |
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54 stanch | |
v.止住(血等);adj.坚固的;坚定的 | |
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55 democrat | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
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56 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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57 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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58 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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59 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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60 nomination | |
n.提名,任命,提名权 | |
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61 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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62 bulge | |
n.突出,膨胀,激增;vt.突出,膨胀 | |
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63 frugal | |
adj.节俭的,节约的,少量的,微量的 | |
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64 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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65 stumps | |
(被砍下的树的)树桩( stump的名词复数 ); 残肢; (板球三柱门的)柱; 残余部分 | |
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66 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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67 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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68 wilting | |
萎蔫 | |
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69 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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70 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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71 grandiloquent | |
adj.夸张的 | |
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72 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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73 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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74 strut | |
v.肿胀,鼓起;大摇大摆地走;炫耀;支撑;撑开;n.高视阔步;支柱,撑杆 | |
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75 temerity | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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76 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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77 pomposity | |
n.浮华;虚夸;炫耀;自负 | |
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78 singed | |
v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 );(毛发)燎,烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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79 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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80 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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81 concessions | |
n.(尤指由政府或雇主给予的)特许权( concession的名词复数 );承认;减价;(在某地的)特许经营权 | |
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82 balked | |
v.畏缩不前,犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 );(指马)不肯跑 | |
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83 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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84 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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85 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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86 arbiter | |
n.仲裁人,公断人 | |
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87 credentials | |
n.证明,资格,证明书,证件 | |
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88 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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89 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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90 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
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91 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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92 ballots | |
n.投票表决( ballot的名词复数 );选举;选票;投票总数v.(使)投票表决( ballot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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94 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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95 democrats | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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96 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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97 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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98 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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99 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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100 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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101 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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102 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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103 alcoholic | |
adj.(含)酒精的,由酒精引起的;n.酗酒者 | |
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104 stimulants | |
n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 );含兴奋剂的饮料;刺激物;激励物 | |
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105 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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107 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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108 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
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109 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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110 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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111 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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112 ruse | |
n.诡计,计策;诡计 | |
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113 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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114 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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115 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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116 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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117 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
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118 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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119 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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120 Congressman | |
n.(美)国会议员 | |
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121 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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122 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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123 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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124 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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125 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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126 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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127 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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128 thrifty | |
adj.节俭的;兴旺的;健壮的 | |
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129 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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130 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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131 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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132 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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133 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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134 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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135 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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136 degenerate | |
v.退步,堕落;adj.退步的,堕落的;n.堕落者 | |
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137 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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138 jersey | |
n.运动衫 | |
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139 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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140 marine | |
adj.海的;海生的;航海的;海事的;n.水兵 | |
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141 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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142 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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143 tariff | |
n.关税,税率;(旅馆、饭店等)价目表,收费表 | |
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144 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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145 antagonisms | |
对抗,敌对( antagonism的名词复数 ) | |
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146 drenched | |
adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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147 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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148 demurred | |
v.表示异议,反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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150 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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151 effusive | |
adj.热情洋溢的;感情(过多)流露的 | |
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152 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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153 culminated | |
v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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155 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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156 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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157 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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158 erratic | |
adj.古怪的,反复无常的,不稳定的 | |
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159 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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160 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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161 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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162 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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163 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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164 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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165 excavation | |
n.挖掘,发掘;被挖掘之地 | |
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166 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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167 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
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168 epidemic | |
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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169 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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170 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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171 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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172 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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173 cramping | |
图像压缩 | |
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174 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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175 buffalo | |
n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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176 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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177 patchwork | |
n.混杂物;拼缝物 | |
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178 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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179 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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180 appropriation | |
n.拨款,批准支出 | |
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181 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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182 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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183 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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184 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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185 protocol | |
n.议定书,草约,会谈记录,外交礼节 | |
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186 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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187 puffed | |
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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188 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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189 alterations | |
n.改动( alteration的名词复数 );更改;变化;改变 | |
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190 obstructions | |
n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 );阻碍物;阻碍;阻挠 | |
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191 renovation | |
n.革新,整修 | |
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192 blizzard | |
n.暴风雪 | |
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193 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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194 plow | |
n.犁,耕地,犁过的地;v.犁,费力地前进[英]plough | |
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195 laborers | |
n.体力劳动者,工人( laborer的名词复数 );(熟练工人的)辅助工 | |
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196 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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197 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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198 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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199 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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