I need hardly observe that I declined the proprietorship15 of this high-bred animal upon any terms whatever, although I was offered him as a swap16, as a contingent17 reversion, and as a temporary investment: nay18, so anxious was Mr. Naggett to accommodate me, and so liberal in his professions, that I was compelled to decline very strenuously20 the purchase of him at a considerable reduction on his original price, with half the money down, and my bill at three months for the remainder.
Though I have often seen Mr. Naggett in the hunting-field, and have partaken of many excellent joints21, both prime beef and Southdown mutton, of his purveying22, this was the conclusion of my dealings with him in horseflesh, and the termination of our somewhat unexpected intimacy23.
“Drat it!” exclaimed Miss Lushington, as I lit a bedroom candle, and she herself prepared to collect her different effects, such as keys, scissors, workbox, and thimble, preparatory to retiring for the night, “it’s never over here, it isn’t! One down, t’other come on! I did think I’d have had my hair in curl-papers to-night before one o’clock,” she added coquettishly, smoothing down the glossy25 bands that encircled her fair forehead; “but goodness gracious me! Old friends is welcome in season and out of season! If it isn’t Mr. Turnbull!”
So warm a greeting, from a lady of Miss Lushington’s self-control, impelled26 me to put down my chamber-candlestick and study with some curiosity the manners and appearance of the new arrival. On his first entrance he was so completely enshrouded and enveloped27 in a top-coat, a shawl-handkerchief, and a round low-crowned hat, that I could perceive nothing of him but his boots. These, however, were sufficiently28 characteristic. Strong, round-toed, and with deep mahogany tops, fastened up round the knee with the old-fashioned string, they harmonised well with the double-Bedford-cord breeches, of which they formed the appropriate termination. As their owner, unwinding himself gradually from the coils of his shawl, and emerging from his drab top-coat, stood at last conspicuous29 in the full glare of the gas-light, I could not help thinking that a man might travel through a long summer’s day, without meeting so fine a specimen30 of the real British yeoman as Mr. Turnbull.
I like the round-cropped bullet-head that you never see out of our own little island. I like the fresh healthy colour, that deepens, instead of fading, with age, and the burly thick-set form, square and substantial as a tower, deriving31 its solid proportions from a good English ancestry32, “men of mould,” since the days of Robin33 Hood34, and its vigour35 from good English beef and floods of nut-brown ale. These are the sort of men that kept the green wood in merry Nottinghamshire, and bore back the chivalry36 of Europe at Agincourt, Crecy, and Poitiers. These are the sort of men that would turn the tide of an invasion to-day, shoulder to shoulder in their dim grey ranks, handling the rifle as deftly37 as their fathers did the bow, yet impatient somewhat of long-bowls at five or six hundred yards, and longing38 withal to get to close quarters and try conclusions with the bayonet. When it comes to clash of steel, depend upon it “the weakest will go to the wall.”
Five foot ten in his stockings; fourteen stone, without an ounce of superfluous39 flesh upon his ribs40; built in the mould of a Hercules, with a ruddy-brown complexion41 and dark crisp hair, short, close curling and grizzled about the temples, for our friend is nearer fifty than forty, Tom Turnbull, as he is called at every fair, market, and cattle-show in three counties, nods good-humouredly to Miss Lushington, and gives a backward scrape of his foot in deference42 to myself.
“Glass of strong ale, if you please, Miss,” says he, in cordial cheery tones, and holding it up to the light, tosses off the clear sparkling beverage43, with a sigh of intense satisfaction. No wonder. Since a market dinner at one o’clock, Tom Turnbull has ridden the best part of thirty miles. He has nine more to go before he reaches Apple-tree Farm, where he has succeeded Mr. Naggett (what a contrast!), and he will be out to-morrow morning at daybreak, looking after the ploughs, and taking perhaps a vigorous spell between the stilts44 himself. There is a good animal, however, waiting for him at the door, submitting impatiently to the caresses45 of the admiring ostler, and having had her own suck of gruel46, looking wistfully round for her master, who she knows is never very long having a suck of his.
If you want to be thoroughly47 acquainted with your horse to inspire him with that unreserved confidence which the animal is certainly capable of feeling in his master, ride him at night. An hour in the dark draws the bond of partnership48 tighter than a day in the sunshine. When you have made a journey or two together over bad roads, without a moon, you learn to depend upon each other thoroughly, and the animal will answer your hand and bend to your caresses with a willing promptitude he would never acquire by daylight. Tom Turnbull spends many an hour of darkness in the saddle, and except on one occasion when he took a short cut over some low fences, and tumbled neck-and-crop into an open culvert, breaking his own head and his horse’s neck, has never met with what he calls an accident.
I fancy the old-fashioned highwaymen knew more about the sagacity and powers of their horses than any more respectable sportsmen of the modern times. They rode, as their business obliged them, continually by night; and the distances they accomplished49 were so marvellous as to be incredible, had they not been attested50 by the most unimpeachable51 of evidence in the witness-box. Horses can see wonderfully well in the dark, and no doubt a man who was riding against time for an alibi52, with so heavy a stake as his own life depending on his success, would be tolerably venturesome in his efforts to “get forward;” but yet, under the most favourable53 circumstances, it cannot but have proved haphazard54 work, jumping fences by moonlight; and what a good mare55 must poor Black Bess have been, when she started fresh on the North road for her journey to York!
In this one respect Tom Turnbull resembles Dick Turpin; the former, too, has a mare he rides long journeys by night, and for whose merits and reputation he entertains the profoundest respect. She is a lengthy56, low, wiry, bay mare, with short flat legs, clean and hard as iron. She rejoices in a lean, game head, with a curl not unlike a sneer57 above her nostrils58, and a wild eye; also, the long, fine, and rather lop ears, which belong to her high-born family. In the breeding of all stock Mr. Turnbull knows what he is about. If he wants a promising59 foal that shall grow into a couple of hundred pounds at five years old, he does not put an old worn-out mare, whose constitution and physical qualities are exhausted60 by hard work, to a fashionable stallion, and calmly expect the produce to excel the united excellencies of sire and dam in the best days of both. On the contrary, he begins, as we humbly61 opine, at the right end. He gets a foal or two out of the young fresh mare before she commences work, instead of after she is incapable62 of it. The dam’s functions are then in their highest state of vigour and redundance; nor is it possible but that this must materially enhance the value of her offspring. The infant is all the better, and the mother none the worse.
The Arabs, who are by no means behindhand in their knowledge of horses, and whose everyday wants necessitate63 their bringing the animal to its highest state of perfection, at least as regards their own purposes, have established, as an incontestable maxim64, that while the colt inherits “make and shape” from his sire, his inner qualities—if we may so call them—his mettle65, speed, temper, and powers of endurance come from his dam. None of us who have taken an interest in the rearing of young horses can have failed to observe the strong outward resemblance they usually bear to their sires. “How like the old horse!” is a remark one hears every day when looking at some dark-brown flyer by The Dutchman, or some commanding animal with extraordinary power and substance by Cotherstone; but we seldom see any striking resemblance to the dam, although, when some veteran sportsman is relating the feats66 of the “best he ever had in his life,” whether hunter, hack68, or trotter, he generally winds up with the observation, “He was as good as the old mare!” Now, the Arab ought to be a capital judge, and though by no means despising speed, endurance is the quality which he most values in his horse, and puts most frequently to the test. It is no unusual feat67 for an Arab to ride a hundred miles a day for four days together, through the desert, carrying with him (no trifling70 addition to his own weight) the water that is to last him throughout his journeys, also the forage71 that must supply his steed, and the handful or two of pressed dates that shall serve to keep the rider alive till he reaches his destination. Now we have nothing of this sort in England, and, since the introduction of railroads, have indeed small occasion to prove the lasting72 qualities of our horses. The covert-hack of the present day is the animal that is required to prove his superiority to his stable companions, for he may be asked, by a master who likes to get his beauty-sleep after eight A.M., to do his fifteen miles, with as many stone on his back, in five minutes over the hour; and this is exceedingly good going. Still, a summer’s day’s journey of eighty or ninety miles, with only one stoppage to bait for an hour or two, such as used to be frequently accomplished by jockeys and other locomotive individuals on the old-fashioned hackney of the last century, was a very different matter, and required in the performer not only perfect soundness of limbs and constitution, but a very true and even style of going, that gave every point and articulation73 fair play, and no excess of work above its due share. Such a fault in a horse as hitting his legs of course would have rendered him utterly74 useless before two-thirds of his task was accomplished.
It is feared that we shall lose altogether the breed of animal that is capable of such performances. For many years we have been studying to acquire increased power, and consequently pace, to the disregard of stamina75. It stands to reason that the larger a horse is, c?teris paribus, the faster he can go; but it does not the least follow that his size should enable him to go on. Doubtless the object for which we get into the saddle is dispatch, and “the slows” is the worst disease our horse can be troubled with; nevertheless, there is a good old rule in mechanics which affirms “nil violentum est perpetuum;” and if your engine is to go with the weight and momentum76 of an express train, you must calculate on a considerable expenditure77 of fuel, and great wear and tear on the nuts, screws, and fittings of the whole. Now, Nature, although the neatest and most finished of workers, will not submit herself to the laws of commensuration. She will not make you a model in inches, and supply you with a work on a corresponding scale in feet. It would seem as if she only issued a certain amount of stores in the aggregate78, and if you are to get more iron, she gives you less steel; you shall have plenty of coke, but in return she stints79 you in oil. So, if the living creature she turns out for you on your estimate is to be very magnificent in its proportions, the chances are that it will either fail in activity, or be deficient80 in endurance.
We have now established half-mile races for our two-year-olds, as, with some few exceptions, the most important events of our English turf—our very Derbys and St. Legers—are but a scramble81 of a dozen furlongs, with little more than the weight of a child on a very young horse’s back. With all the forcing by which art strives to expel nature, it returns, in this instance, as Horace says, literally82 with a stablefork,[3] we cannot get an animal to its prime at three years old, who ought not to arrive at maturity83 till twice that age. Still we continue to breed more and more for a “turn of speed,” utterly regardless of endurance, till our famous English racehorses have degenerated84 into such galloping85 “weeds,” that I myself heard an excellent sportsman and high authority on such matters affirm, in discussing the hounds-and-horses match, which was to have come off last October, that “he did not believe there was a horse at Newmarket that could get four miles at all; no, not if you trotted86 him every yard of the way!”
3. “Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret.”
This, of course, was a jest; but, like many a random87 shaft88 pointed89 with a sarcasm90 and winged with a laugh, it struck not very far off the centre of the target. Even our hunters, too (and surely, if you want endurance in any animal alive, it is in a hunter), we are improving, year by year, into a sort of jumping camelopard. Where are the strong, deep-girthed horses on short legs of thirty years ago? horses that stood just under sixteen hands, and could carry sixteen stone. Look at what people call a first-class hunter now! (and it must be admitted that, for the high price he commands in the market, he ought to be as near perfection as possible.) Look at him, as you may see him in fifty different specimens91 with the Pytchley or Quorn hounds, any hunting-day throughout the winter! He is a bay or a brown—if the latter, more of a chocolate than a mottled, with white about his legs and nose. He stands sixteen two at least, with much daylight underneath92 him. He has either a very long weak neck, with a neat head; or more often a good deal of front and throat, with a general bull-headed appearance, that conveys the idea of what sailors term “by the bows,” and argues a tendency to hard pulling, which, to do him justice, he generally possesses. He has fine sloping shoulders, and can stride away in excellent form over a grass-field, reaching out famously with his fore24 legs, which, though long, are flat, clean, and good. Somehow you are rather disappointed with him when you get on his back. With no positive fault to find, you have yet an uncomfortable conviction that he does not feel like it; and, for all his commanding height, you are subjected to no irresistible93 temptation to “lark” him. When Mr. Coper asks you three hundred and takes “two fifty,” as he calls it, alleging94 the scarcity95 of horses, the excellence of this particular specimen, his own unbounded liberality, intense respect for yourself, and every other inducement that can mitigate96 the painful process of affixing97 your name to a cheque, you seem to give him your money without exactly knowing why; but when the new purchase stops with you in deep ground the first good scenting98 day, after you have bustled99 him along honestly for two-and-twenty minutes, you think you do know why exactly; and, although you may be, and probably are disgusted, you cannot conscientiously100 admit that you are surprised.
I have not seen these sort of nags101, though, in the Soakington country; I presume they all go to “The Shires;” and this brings me back, after a long digression, to Tom Turnbull and Apple-tree Farm.
There never was such a farm for coziness and comfort as that. Surrounded by an ugly though sporting-looking country, it possesses the only undulating fields for many miles round, and consequently boasts a view from a certain eminence102 called Ripley Rise, that commands half-a-dozen of the Earl’s best fox-coverts, the distant towers of Castle-Cropper itself, and no less than seventeen church-steeples. There are stately old elms close to the dwelling-house, and a rich and plentiful103 orchard104, from which it takes its name, adjoins a snug105 little walled garden, celebrated106 for the earliest summer fruit, and the best plums in the district—thanks to the late Mr. Naggett, a far-seeing, shrewd old agriculturist. Apple-tree Farm is a good deal better drained than most of the adjoining lands; consequently its acres of arable107 return a heavier produce, and its upland fields are more calculated for rearing young horses than any in the country.
Nothing gives a colt such a chance as a fine high and dry pasture, on a slope, where he can exercise himself in the practice of going up and downhill, unconsciously strengthening his hocks and acquiring liberty in his shoulders whilst he is at play.
Horses bred on uplands, too, have a far harder and sounder description of hoof108 than those that have been accustomed in youth to splash about in rank, marshy109 meadows; and, strange to say, their very coats are finer, and their whole appearance denotes higher blood than can be boasted by their own brothers, reared on lower grounds. Those who profess19 to be acquainted with the physiology110 of the horse, affirm that the produce of Arab stallions and mares, if suffered to breed in the rich wet marshes111 of Flanders, would, in half-a-dozen generations, without any sort of cross, and from the sheer influence of keep and climate, lose every trace of their noble origin. The Prophet himself would not recognise the dull-eyed, coarse-shaped, heavy-actioned progeny112, for the lithe113 and fiery114 children of the Desert.
Here, then, Tom Turnbull breeds and rears many a good nag1, taking care never to have above one or two at a time, so that sufficient attention may be devoted115 to the yearling, and, above all, that it may have plenty of keep.
The Arabs, to go eastward116 once more for our proverbs on this subject, have a saying, that “the goodness of a horse goes in at his mouth,” and it is incredible by those who have not watched the result, what improvement may be made in the animal by the very simple recipe of old oats and exercise, plenty of both; indeed, of the latter, in contradistinction to work, a young horse can hardly have too much. It is exercise that forms his shape, strengthens his joints, hardens his limbs, produces action, and clears his wind. All the time a young one is out, he is acquiring something—either how to use his legs, or to obey his bit, or to conform his inclinations117 to those of his master; whilst, even should he be standing118 still and unemployed119, he is at least learning to see and hear, accustoming120 himself to sights and sounds with which it is of the greatest advantage both to himself and his rider that he should be familiar. Also, it is far better for him to be breathing the cold outward air than the more luxurious121 atmosphere of his stable; and it is not too much to say, that a horse of three or four years old cannot be brought out too often, so long as you take care that he shall never go home the least bit fatigued122.
Tom Turnbull begins handling the foals as soon as they are born. By the time they are weaned, he has accustomed them thoroughly to the halter; and although he never backs them till three years old, they have been bridled123 and saddled long before that period, and are so accustomed to the human form and face, and so confident no evil is intended them, that you may do almost anything you please with such willing and good-tempered pupils.
Consequently, there is none of that rearing, and plunging125, and buck-jumping, which usually make the mounting of an unbroken colt such an affair of discomfort126, not to say danger, to the two parties immediately concerned. By the time Tom Turnbull has hoisted128 his fourteen stone of manhood on to his colt’s back, the pupil is quite satisfied of the bona fide nature of the whole performance, and walks away with him as quietly as any elderly gentleman’s cob who comes round to the door regularly every afternoon, for the sober and digestive exercise which elderly gentlemen are apt to affect.
Tom Turnbull, though he puts a strong bridle124 in his mouth, then takes his young friend lightly by the head, and proceeds to ride him leisurely129 about, as he overlooks his farm. There are, of course, many gates to open, and the horse in learning this very essential accomplishment130, receives at the same time a valuable lesson in the moral virtues131 of patience and obedience132. If he see anything to alarm him, a scarecrow, an old man pulling turnips133, or a sheep-trough on its beam ends (the latter, like all inverted134 objects, being much dreaded135 by the animal), he is not whipped, and spurred, and hurried by it in a matter that agitates136 his nerves for the rest of the day, but is coaxed137 and reassured138, and persuaded gently and by degrees to examine it for himself, and so discover its innocuous nature. The next time he observes the same bugbear, he probably shies for fun, but that is a very different thing from shying for fear; and the same practice repeated will make him pass it the third or fourth time with no more notice than he would take of his own currycomb. He is by this time getting accustomed to his rider’s hand, has learned to put his head down, and toss the bit about his mouth, and is beginning to feel some confidence in his own activity, and a certain pleasure in doing what he is bid.
There are short cuts on Apple-tree Farm, like every other, which lead from field to field without going round by the gate. These entail139 the necessity of crossing certain gaps, which are periodically made up, and gradually destroyed again as the year goes round. Here the colt takes his first lesson in fencing. He is permitted to do the job exactly in his own way, without interference from his rider, except so far as a continual pressure of his legs warns the young one that it must be done somehow. Generally, after poking140 his nose all over it, and smelling every twig141 of the adjoining hedge, he walks solemnly into the very bottom of the ditch, and emerges somewhat precipitately142 on the farther side; then his rider pats and makes much of him, as if he had done his work in the most scientific form possible. Thus encouraged, he tried next time to improve for himself, and soon jumps it standing, without an effort. Ere he has been ridden half-a-dozen times he will trot69 up to any ditch about the farm, and, breaking into a canter the last stride, bound over it like a deer, perhaps giving his head a shake and his hind-quarters a hoist127 on landing, in sheer exuberance143 of spirits at the fun. In this manner he soon learns to do the fences equally well; Tom Trumbull’s plan being, in his own words, as follows:—“First, little places at a walk, then at a trot, then at a canter, and then bustling144 of them off their legs to make them quick. After that, fair hunting fences the same way. To my mind, a hunter ought to jump upright places, such as walls and timber, at a slow trot; but he ought to be able to do them if required, at speed, not that I, for one, would ask him for that, except as a lesson. All fair fences he should do with a loose rein145, at an easy canter.”
But he is no theorist, my friend Mr. Turnbull. It is a treat to see him get away with the Castle-Cropper hounds on a good scenting day and in a stiff country, say for instance the Soakington Lordship. Though there is hard upon fifteen stone on his back, his horse seems to make no extra exertion146, and though the rider keeps very close to the hounds, and follows no man, not even the Earl himself, he never appears to be out of a canter. How well he brings his horse (probably a five-year-old, who has done very little hunting, but has had plenty of practice, “shepherding,” and consequently jumping over the farm) up to his leaps! How he screws him through the thick place under the tree, and hands him in and out of the blind double, as you would hand a lady into an outside car! When you come to the rails in the corner, which he trotted up to so quietly, and seemed to rise at with such deliberate ease, you are surprised to find a dip in front of them, a bad take-off, a ditch beyond, and a general uncompromising appearance about the timber, that makes you wish that you were halfway147 across the next field, and “all were well.”
If you mean to see the run to your own satisfaction, and belong to that numerous and respectable class of sportsmen who are unable to ride for themselves, you cannot do better than follow Tom Turnbull; and should you cross the Sludge, which in that district you will probably do more than once, you will acknowledge that it is a treat to see him get triumphantly over that obstacle where its sluggish148 waters are deepest, and its banks most treacherous149 and rotten.
But it is not for a man with a broken collar-bone and his arm in a sling150, to call up such dreams of enjoyment151 as a quick thing across the Vale with the Castle-Cropper hounds; so I took my chamber-candlestick once more, and wishing Miss Lushington a courteous152 “good-night,” which she returned with a gracious politeness, that would drive sleep for many an hour from the pillow of a younger and more inflammable swain, I shook Mr. Turnbull by the hand, and paused on my way to my dormitory to see him get into the saddle for his homeward ride.
“It’s a very dark night,” I remarked, as I watched him stuffing a well-filled note-case, the produce of his sale at to-day’s market, into his breast-pocket. “I wonder you like to travel these bye-roads with all that money about you, and such a lot of ‘roughs’ hereabouts, always on the tramp.”
Turnbull grinned, and taking me by the sound arm, pointed to the mare’s head—“They’ve tried that on, once before, sir,” said he; “and within half-a-mile of the Haycock. Look ye here, sir! that’s the way I done ’em that time: that’s the way I’ll do ’em again.”
Following the direction of his glance, I saw that he had run his bridle (a single snaffle) through his throat-lash, so that no part of it when he mounted would hang below the mare’s neck.
“There, sir,” said he; “that’s the way to keep ’em at out-fighting. When they tried it on, last winter, there was a pair on ’em. One chap he run out o’ the hedge on the near side, and makes a grab at the reins153. He didn’t catch ’em though, but he caught something else, I expect, as he wasn’t looking for, right across his wrist, fit to break his arm. He sung out, I can tell you, and bolted right off without waiting for his mate. T’other had gripped my right ankle at the same time, to give me a hoist out of the saddle; but you see, sir, I knowed the trick of it, and just let my leg double up at the knee quite easy, and came down upon his head with a back-hander, from a bit of stick I had in my fist, that felled him like a bullock in the road. So I took him easy, and by that means we got the other one in a day or two, and they were both transported. So that’s the reason, whenever I travel this way, I always run my reins through my throat-lash. I wish you good-night, sir, and pleasant dreams, if so be as your arm will let you sleep!”
With these words Mr. Turnbull trotted off, and I betook myself leisurely to the privacy of my own room, and the tedium154 of a somewhat restless couch.
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1
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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3
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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7
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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14
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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15
proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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16
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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purveying
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| v.提供，供应( purvey的现在分词 ) | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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29
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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30
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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31
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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32
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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33
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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34
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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35
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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36
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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37
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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38
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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39
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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40
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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41
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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42
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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43
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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44
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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45
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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46
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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47
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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48
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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49
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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50
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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51
unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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52
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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53
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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54
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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55
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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56
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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57
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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58
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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59
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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60
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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61
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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62
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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63
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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64
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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65
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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66
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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67
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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68
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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69
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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70
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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71
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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72
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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73
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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74
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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75
stamina
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| n.体力；精力；耐力 | |
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76
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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77
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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78
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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79
stints
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| n.定额工作( stint的名词复数 )；定量；限额；慷慨地做某事 | |
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80
deficient
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|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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81
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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82
literally
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|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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83
maturity
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|
| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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84
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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86
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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87
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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88
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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89
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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90
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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91
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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92
underneath
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|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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93
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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94
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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95
scarcity
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|
| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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96
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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97
affixing
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| v.附加( affix的现在分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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98
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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99
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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100
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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101
nags
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| n.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的名词复数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的第三人称单数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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102
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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103
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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104
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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105
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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106
celebrated
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|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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107
arable
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| adj.可耕的，适合种植的 | |
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108
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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109
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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110
physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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111
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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112
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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113
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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114
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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115
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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116
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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117
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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118
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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119
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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120
accustoming
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| v.（使）习惯于( accustom的现在分词 ) | |
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121
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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122
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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123
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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124
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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125
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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126
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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127
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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128
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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130
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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131
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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132
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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133
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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134
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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136
agitates
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| 搅动( agitate的第三人称单数 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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137
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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138
reassured
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| 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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139
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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140
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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141
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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142
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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143
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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144
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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145
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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146
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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147
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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148
sluggish
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|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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149
treacherous
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|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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150
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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151
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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152
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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153
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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154
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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