INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHANGE IN THEWELLER FAMILY, AND THE UNTIMELYDOWNFALL OF Mr. STIGGINSonsidering it a matter of delicacy1 to abstain2 fromintroducing either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the youngcouple, until they were fully3 prepared to expect them, andwishing to spare Arabella’s feelings as much as possible, Mr.
Pickwick proposed that he and Sam should alight in theneighbourhood of the George and Vulture, and that the two youngmen should for the present take up their quarters elsewhere. Tothis they very readily agreed, and the proposition was accordinglyacted upon; Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betakingthemselves to a sequestered4 pot-shop on the remotest confines ofthe Borough5, behind the bar door of which their names had inother days very often appeared at the head of long and complexcalculations worked in white chalk.
‘Dear me, Mr. Weller,’ said the pretty housemaid, meeting Samat the door.
‘Dear me I vish it vos, my dear,’ replied Sam, dropping behind,to let his master get out of hearing. ‘Wot a sweet-lookin’ creeturyou are, Mary!’
‘Lot, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk!’ said Mary. ‘Oh!
don’t, Mr. Weller.”
‘Don’t what, my dear?’ said Sam.
‘Why, that,’ replied the pretty housemaid. ‘Lor, do get alongwith you.’ Thus admonishing6 him, the pretty housemaid pushedSam against the wall, declaring that he had tumbled her cap, andput her hair quite out of curl.
‘And prevented what I was going to say, besides,’ added Mary.
‘There’s a letter been waiting here for you four days; you hadn’tgone away, half an hour, when it came; and more than that, it’s got“immediate,” on the outside.’
‘Vere is it, my love?’ inquired Sam.
‘I took care of it, for you, or I dare say it would have been lostlong before this,’ replied Mary. ‘There, take it; it’s more than youdeserve.’
With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts andfears, and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary producedthe letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker possible, andhanded it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with much gallantryand devotion.
‘My goodness me!’ said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and feigningunconsciousness, ‘you seem to have grown very fond of it all atonce.’
To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink9, the intense meaningof which no description could convey the faintest idea of; and,sitting himself down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened theletter and glanced at the contents.
‘Hollo!’ exclaimed Sam, ‘wot’s all this?’
‘Nothing the matter, I hope?’ said Mary, peeping over hisshoulder.
‘Bless them eyes o’ yourn!’ said Sam, looking up.
‘Never mind my eyes; you had much better read your letter,’
said the pretty housemaid; and as she said so, she made the eyestwinkle with such slyness and beauty that they were perfectlyirresistible.
Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows:―‘Markis Gran‘By Dorken‘Wensdy.
‘My dear Sammle,‘I am werry sorry to have the pleasure of being a Bear of illnews your Mother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently settintoo long on the damp grass in the rain a hearing of a shepherdwho warnt able to leave off till late at night owen to his havingvound his-self up vith brandy and vater and not being able to stophis-self till he got a little sober which took a many hours to do thedoctor says that if she’d svallo’d varm brandy and vater artervardsinsted of afore she mightn’t have been no vus her veels wosimmedetly greased and everythink done to set her agoin as couldbe inwented your father had hopes as she vould have vorkedround as usual but just as she wos a turnen the corner my boy shetook the wrong road and vent7 down hill vith a welocity you neversee and notvithstandin that the drag wos put on directly by themedikel man it wornt of no use at all for she paid the last pike attwenty minutes afore six o’clock yesterday evenin havin done thejourney wery much under the reglar time vich praps was partlyowen to her haven10 taken in wery little luggage by the vay yourfather says that if you vill come and see me Sammy he vill take itas a wery great favor for I am wery lonely Samivel n. b. he villhave it spelt that vay vich I say ant right and as there is sich amany things to settle he is sure your guvner wont11 object of coursehe vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sends his dooty inwhich I join and am Samivel infernally yours‘Tony Veller.’
‘Wot a incomprehensible letter,’ said Sam; ‘who’s to know wot itmeans, vith all this he-ing and I-ing! It ain’t my father’s writin’,’cept this here signater in print letters; that’s his.’
‘Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed ithimself afterwards,’ said the pretty housemaid.
‘Stop a minit,’ replied Sam, running over the letter again, andpausing here and there, to reflect, as he did so. ‘You’ve hit it. Thegen’l’m’n as wrote it wos a-tellin’ all about the misfortun’ in aproper vay, and then my father comes a-lookin’ over him, andcomplicates the whole concern by puttin’ his oar13 in. That’s just thewery sort o’ thing he’d do. You’re right, Mary, my dear.’
Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter allover, once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of itscontents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded itup―‘And so the poor creetur’s dead! I’m sorry for it. She warn’t abad-disposed ’ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone. I’mwery sorry for it.’
Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that thepretty housemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.
‘Hows’ever,’ said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with agentle sigh, ‘it wos to be―and wos, as the old lady said arter she’dmarried the footman. Can’t be helped now, can it, Mary?’
Mary shook her head, and sighed too.
‘I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,’ said Sam.
Mary sighed again―the letter was so very affecting.
‘Good-bye!’ said Sam.
‘Good-bye,’ rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her headaway.
‘Well, shake hands, won’t you?’ said Sam.
The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was ahousemaid’s, was a very small one, and rose to go.
‘I shan’t be wery long avay,’ said Sam.
‘You’re always away,’ said Mary, giving her head the slightestpossible toss in the air. ‘You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than yougo again.’
Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, andentered upon a whispering conversation, which had not proceededfar, when she turned her face round and condescended14 to look athim again. When they parted, it was somehow or otherindispensably necessary for her to go to her room, and arrange thecap and curls before she could think of presenting herself to hermistress; which preparatory ceremony she went off to perform,bestowing15 many nods and smiles on Sam over the banisters as shetripped upstairs.
‘I shan’t be avay more than a day, or two, sir, at the furthest,’
said Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick theintelligence of his father’s loss.
‘As long as may be necessary, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘youhave my full permission to remain.’
Sam bowed.
‘You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistanceto him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready tolend him any aid in my power,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Thank’ee, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘I’ll mention it, sir.’
And with some expressions of mutual16 good-will and interest,master and man separated.
It was just seven o’clock when Samuel Weller, alighting fromthe box of a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stoodwithin a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby. It was acold, dull evening; the little street looked dreary17 and dismal18; andthe mahogany countenance19 of the noble and gallant8 marquisseemed to wear a more sad and melancholy20 expression than it waswont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mournfully in thewind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters21 partly closed;of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the door, notone was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate22.
Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminaryquestions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quicklyrecognised his parent in the distance.
The widower23 was seated at a small round table in the littleroom behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently fixedupon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that day, forattached to his hat, which he still retained on his head, was ahatband measuring about a yard and a half in length, which hungover the top rail of the chair and streamed negligently25 down. Mr.
Weller was in a very abstracted and contemplative mood.
Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name several times, hestill continued to smoke with the same fixed24 and quietcountenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son’s placingthe palm of his hand on his shoulder.
‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘you’re welcome.’
‘I’ve been a-callin’ to you half a dozen times,’ said Sam, hanginghis hat on a peg26, ‘but you didn’t hear me.’
‘No, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully atthe fire. ‘I was in a referee27, Sammy.’
‘Wot about?’ inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire.
‘In a referee, Sammy,’ replied the elder Mr. Weller, ‘regardingher, Samivel.’ Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction ofDorking churchyard, in mute explanation that his words referredto the late Mrs. Weller.
‘I wos a-thinkin’, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son, withgreat earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that howeverextraordinary and incredible the declaration might appear, it wasnevertheless calmly and deliberately28 uttered. ‘I wos a-thinkin’,Sammy, that upon the whole I wos wery sorry she wos gone.’
‘Vell, and so you ought to be,’ replied Sam.
Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence29 in the sentiment, and againfastening his eyes on the fire, shrouded30 himself in a cloud, andmused deeply.
‘Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,’
said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a longsilence.
‘Wot observations?’ inquired Sam.
‘Them as she made, arter she was took ill,’ replied the oldgentleman. ‘Wot was they?’
‘Somethin’ to this here effect. “Veller,” she says, “I’m afeeredI’ve not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you’re a werykind-hearted man, and I might ha’ made your home morecomfortabler. I begin to see now,” she says, “ven it’s too late, thatif a married ’ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin vithdischargin’ her dooties at home, and makin’ them as is about hercheerful and happy, and that vile31 she goes to church, or chapel32, orwot not, at all proper times, she should be wery careful not to con-wert this sort o’ thing into a excuse for idleness or self-indulgence.
I have done this,” she says, “and I’ve vasted time and substance onthem as has done it more than me; but I hope ven I’m gone, Veller,that you’ll think on me as I wos afore I know’d them people, and asI raly wos by natur.” “Susan,” says I―I wos took up wery short bythis, Samivel; I von’t deny it, my boy―“Susan,” I says, “you’vebeen a wery good vife to me, altogether; don’t say nothin’ at allabout it; keep a good heart, my dear; and you’ll live to see mepunch that ’ere Stiggins’s head yet.” She smiled at this, Samivel,’
said the old gentleman, stifling33 a sigh with his pipe, ‘but she diedarter all!’
‘Vell,’ said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely34 consolation,after the lapse35 of three or four minutes, consumed by the oldgentleman in slowly shaking his head from side to side, andsolemnly smoking, ‘vell, gov’nor, ve must all come to it, one day oranother.’
‘So we must, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller the elder.
‘There’s a Providence36 in it all,’ said Sam.
‘O’ course there is,’ replied his father, with a nod of graveapproval. ‘Wot ’ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?’
Lost in the immense field of conjecture37 opened by thisreflection, the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, andstirred the fire with a meditative38 visage.
While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom39-looking cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling40 about,in the bar, glided41 into the room, and bestowing many smirks42 ofrecognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the back of hisfather’s chair, and announced her presence by a slight cough, thewhich, being disregarded, was followed by a louder one.
‘Hollo!’ said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker43 as helooked round, and hastily drew his chair away. ‘Wot’s the matternow?’
‘Have a cup of tea, there’s a good soul,’ replied the buxomfemale coaxingly44. ‘I von’t,’ replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhatboisterous manner. ‘I’ll see you―’ Mr. Weller hastily checkedhimself, and added in a low tone, ‘furder fust.’
‘Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!’ said thelady, looking upwards45.
‘It’s the only thing ’twixt this and the doctor as shall change mycondition,’ muttered Mr. Weller.
‘I really never saw a man so cross,’ said the buxom female.
‘Never mind. It’s all for my own good; vich is the reflection vithvich the penitent46 school-boy comforted his feelin’s ven theyflogged him,’ rejoined the old gentleman.
The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate47 andsympathising air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether hisfather really ought not to make an effort to keep up, and not giveway to that lowness of spirits.
‘You see, Mr. Samuel,’ said the buxom female, ‘as I was tellinghim yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can’t expect but what heshould, sir, but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me,I’m sure we all pity his loss, and are ready to do anything for him;and there’s no situation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can’t bemended. Which is what a very worthy48 person said to me when myhusband died.’ Here the speaker, putting her hand before hermouth, coughed again, and looked affectionately at the elder Mr.
Weller.
‘As I don’t rekvire any o’ your conversation just now, mum, villyou have the goodness to re-tire?’ inquired Mr. Weller, in a graveand steady voice.
‘Well, Mr. Weller,’ said the buxom female, ‘I’m sure I only spoketo you out of kindness.’
‘Wery likely, mum,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Samivel, show the ladyout, and shut the door after her.’
This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at onceleft the room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr.
Weller, senior, falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration,said―‘Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week―only vun week,my boy―that ’ere ’ooman ’ud marry me by force and wiolenceafore it was over.’
‘Wot! is she so wery fond on you?’ inquired Sam.
‘Fond!’ replied his father. ‘I can’t keep her avay from me. If Iwas locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she’dfind means to get at me, Sammy.’
‘Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!’ observed Sam, smiling.
‘I don’t take no pride out on it, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller,poking the fire vehemently49, ‘it’s a horrid50 sitiwation. I’m actiwallydrove out o’ house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o’
your poor mother-in-law’s body, ven vun old ’ooman sends me apot o’ jam, and another a pot o’ jelly, and another brews51 a blessedlarge jug52 o’ camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own hands.’
Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and lookinground, added in a whisper, ‘They wos all widders, Sammy, all on’em, ’cept the camomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o’ fifty-three.’
Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman havingbroken an obstinate53 lump of coal, with a countenance expressiveof as much earnestness and malice55 as if it had been the head ofone of the widows last-mentioned, said:
‘In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain’t safe anyveres but on thebox.’
‘How are you safer there than anyveres else?’ interrupted Sam.
‘’Cos a coachman’s a privileged indiwidual,’ replied Mr. Weller,looking fixedly56 at his son. “’Cos a coachman may do vithoutsuspicion wot other men may not; ’cos a coachman may be on thewery amicablest terms with eighty mile o’ females, and yet nobodythink that he ever means to marry any vun among ’em. And wotother man can say the same, Sammy?’
‘Vell, there’s somethin’ in that,’ said Sam.
‘If your gov’nor had been a coachman,’ reasoned Mr. Weller, ‘doyou s’pose as that ’ere jury ‘ud ever ha’ conwicted him, s’posin’ itpossible as the matter could ha’ gone to that extremity57? Theydustn’t ha’ done it.’
‘Wy not?’ said Sam, rather disparagingly58.
‘Wy not!’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘’cos it ’ud ha’ gone agin theirconsciences. A reg’lar coachman’s a sort o’ con-nectin’ link betwixtsingleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it.’
‘Wot! You mean, they’re gen’ral favorites, and nobody takesadwantage on ’em, p’raps?’ said Sam.
His father nodded.
‘How it ever come to that ’ere pass,’ resumed the parent Weller,‘I can’t say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess suchinsiniwations, and is alvays looked up to―a-dored I may say―byev’ry young ’ooman in ev’ry town he vurks through, I don’t know. Ionly know that so it is. It’s a regulation of natur―a dispensary, asyour poor mother-in-law used to say.’
‘A dispensation,’ said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.
‘Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,’
returned Mr. Weller; ‘I call it a dispensary, and it’s always writ12 upso, at the places vere they gives you physic for nothin’ in your ownbottles; that’s all.’
With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe,and once more summoning up a meditative expression ofcountenance, continued as follows―‘Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o’ stoppinhere to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same timeI do not vish to separate myself from them interestin’ members o’
society altogether, I have come to the determination o’ driving theSafety, and puttin’ up vunce more at the Bell Savage59, vich is mynat’ral born element, Sammy.’
‘And wot’s to become o’ the bis’ness?’ inquired Sam.
‘The bis’ness, Samivel,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘good-vill,stock, and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o’ themoney, two hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o’ your mother-in-law’s to me, a little afore she died, vill be invested in your namein―What do you call them things agin?’
‘Wot things?’ inquired Sam.
‘Them things as is always a-goin’ up and down, in the city.’
‘Omnibuses?’ suggested Sam.
‘Nonsense,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Them things as is alvays a-fluctooatin’, and gettin’ theirselves inwolved somehow or anothervith the national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.’
‘Oh! the funds,’ said Sam.
‘Ah!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, ‘the funs; two hundred pounds o’ themoney is to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four and ahalf per cent. reduced counsels, Sammy.’
‘Wery kind o’ the old lady to think o’ me,’ said Sam, ‘and I’mwery much obliged to her.’
‘The rest will be inwested in my name,’ continued the elder Mr.
Weller; ‘and wen I’m took off the road, it’ll come to you, so takecare you don’t spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that nowidder gets a inklin’ o’ your fortun’, or you’re done.’
Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipewith a more serene60 countenance; the disclosure of these mattersappearing to have eased his mind considerably61.
‘Somebody’s a-tappin’ at the door,’ said Sam.
‘Let ’em tap,’ replied his father, with dignity.
Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, andanother, and then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquiredwhy the tapper was not admitted.
‘Hush,’ whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive62 looks, ‘don’ttake no notice on ’em, Sammy, it’s vun o’ the widders, p’raps.’
No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after ashort lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was nofemale head that was thrust in at the partially-opened door, butthe long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller’s pipefell from his hands.
The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almostimperceptible degrees, until the aperture63 was just wide enough toadmit of the passage of his lank64 body, when he glided into theroom and closed it after him, with great care and gentleness.
Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes in token ofthe unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity65 thathad befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to his oldcorner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very edge, drewforth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied66 the same to hisoptics.
While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back inhis chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees,and his whole countenance expressive54 of absorbing andoverwhelming astonishment67. Sam sat opposite him in perfectsilence, waiting, with eager curiosity, for the termination of thescene.
Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before hiseyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then,mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket andbuttoned it up. After this, he stirred the fire; after that, he rubbedhis hands and looked at Sam.
‘Oh, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence,in a very low voice, ‘here’s a sorrowful affliction!’
Sam nodded very slightly.
‘For the man of wrath68, too!’ added Mr. Stiggins; ‘it makes avessel’s heart bleed!’ Mr. Weller was overheard by his son tomurmur something relative to making a vessel’s nose bleed; butMr. Stiggins heard him not. ‘Do you know, young man,’ whisperedMr. Stiggins, drawing his chair closer to Sam, ‘whether she has leftEmanuel anything?’
‘Who’s he?’ inquired Sam.
‘The chapel,’ replied Mr. Stiggins; ‘our chapel; our fold, Mr.
Samuel.’
‘She hasn’t left the fold nothin’, nor the shepherd nothin’, northe animals nothin’,’ said Sam decisively; ‘nor the dogs neither.’
Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman,who was sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing hischair still nearer, said―‘Nothing for me, Mr. Samuel?’
Sam shook his head.
‘I think there’s something,’ said Stiggins, turning as pale as hecould turn. ‘Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?’
‘Not so much as the vorth o’ that ’ere old umberella o’ yourn,’
replied Sam.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments’
deep thought, ‘perhaps she recommended me to the care of theman of wrath, Mr. Samuel?’
‘I think that’s wery likely, from what he said,’ rejoined Sam; ‘hewos a-speakin’ about you, jist now.’
‘Was he, though?’ exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. ‘Ah! He’schanged, I dare say. We might live very comfortably together now,Mr. Samuel, eh? I could take care of his property when you areaway―good care, you see.’
Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response.
Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to anextraordinary sound, which, being neither a groan69, nor a grunt,nor a gasp70, nor a growl71, seemed to partake in some degree of thecharacter of all four.
Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood tobetoken remorse72 or repentance73, looked about him, rubbed hishands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly acrossthe room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner, took down atumbler, and with great deliberation put four lumps of sugar in it.
Having got thus far, he looked about him again, and sighedgrievously; with that, he walked softly into the bar, and presentlyreturning with the tumbler half full of pine-apple rum, advancedto the kettle which was singing gaily74 on the hob, mixed his grog,stirred it, sipped75 it, sat down, and taking a long and hearty76 pull atthe rum-and-water, stopped for breath.
The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make variousstrange and uncouth77 attempts to appear asleep, offered not asingle word during these proceedings78; but when Stiggins stoppedfor breath, he darted79 upon him, and snatching the tumbler fromhis hand, threw the remainder of the rum-and-water in his face,and the glass itself into the grate. Then, seizing the reverendgentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking himmost furiously, accompanying every application of his top-boot toMr. Stiggins’s person, with sundry80 violent and incoherentanathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.
‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘put my hat on tight for me.’
Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband morefirmly on his father’s head, and the old gentleman, resuming hiskicking with greater agility81 than before, tumbled with Mr. Stigginsthrough the bar, and through the passage, out at the front door,and so into the street―the kicking continuing the whole way, andincreasing in vehemence82, rather than diminishing, every time thetop-boot was lifted.
It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosedman writhing83 in Mr. Weller’s grasp, and his whole frame quiveringwith anguish84 as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a stillmore exciting spectacle to behold85 Mr. Weller, after a powerfulstruggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins’s head in a horse-trough full ofwater, and holding it there, until he was half suffocated86.
‘There!’ said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one mostcomplicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins towithdraw his head from the trough, ‘send any vun o’ them lazyshepherds here, and I’ll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd himartervards! Sammy, help me in, and fill me a small glass of brandy.
I’m out o’ breath, my boy.’
收听单词发音 |
1
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
abstain
|
|
| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sequestered
|
|
| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
borough
|
|
| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
admonishing
|
|
| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
vent
|
|
| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
haven
|
|
| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
writ
|
|
| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
oar
|
|
| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
bestowing
|
|
| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
shutters
|
|
| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
widower
|
|
| n.鳏夫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
negligently
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
peg
|
|
| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
referee
|
|
| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
acquiescence
|
|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
meditative
|
|
| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
buxom
|
|
| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bustling
|
|
| adj.喧闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
smirks
|
|
| n.傻笑，得意的笑( smirk的名词复数 )v.傻笑( smirk的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
poker
|
|
| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
coaxingly
|
|
| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
45
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
penitent
|
|
| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
compassionate
|
|
| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
vehemently
|
|
| adv. 热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
brews
|
|
| n.（尤指某地酿造的）啤酒( brew的名词复数 )；酿造物的种类；（茶）一次的冲泡量；（不同思想、环境、事件的）交融v.调制( brew的第三人称单数 )；酝酿；沏（茶）；煮（咖啡） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
jug
|
|
| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
disparagingly
|
|
| adv.以贬抑的口吻，以轻视的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
apprehensive
|
|
| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
aperture
|
|
| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
lank
|
|
| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
growl
|
|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
agility
|
|
| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
suffocated
|
|
| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |