"No, nor don't wish to, I should think," put in Seth Maxfield.
"Anyway, it was a wonderful manifestation1," remarked Mr. Gladwish, musingly2.
There was a little knot of Wesleyans assembled in the house of Mr. Gladwish, the shoemaker. Since Jonathan Maxfield's defection, he might be considered the leading member of the Methodist congregation. And a weekly prayer-meeting was held at his house on Monday evenings, as it had formerly3 been held in old Max's back parlour.
On the present occasion the assembly was more numerous than usual. Besides the accustomed cronies and Mr. Jackson the preacher, there were also Seth Maxfield, who had come into Whitford on some farm business on the previous Saturday, Richard Gibbs, and the widow Thimbleby. The latter was an old acquaintance of Mrs. Gladwish, and much patronised by that matron; although, of late, Mrs. Thimbleby had been under some cloud of displeasure among the stricter Methodists, on account of her fidelity5 to David Powell.
There had not been, to say the truth, any very fervent6 or lengthy7 religious exercises that evening. After a brief discourse8 by Brother Jackson, and the singing of a hymn9, the company had, by mutual10 agreement, understood but not expressed, fallen into a discussion of the topic which was at that time in the minds and mouths of most Whitford persons high and low—namely, David Powell's preachings, and the phenomena11 attendant thereon.
"Anyhow," repeated Mr. Gladwish, after a short silence, "it was a wonderful manifestation."
"You may well say so, sir," assented12 Richard Gibbs, emphatically.
"Humph," grunted14 out Brother Jackson, pursing up his thick lips and folding his fat hands before him; "I misdoubt whether the enemy be not mixed up somehow or other with these manifestations15. I don't say they are wholly his doing. But—my brethren, Satan is very wily; and is continually 'going to and fro in the earth,' and 'walking up and down in it,' even as in the days of Job."
"That's very true," said Mrs. Gladwish, with an air of responsible corroboration16. She was a light-haired, pale-faced woman, with a slatternly figure and a sharp, inquisitive17 nose; and her quiet persistency18 in cross-questioning made her a little formidable to some of her neighbours.
"When I see a thorn-tree bring forth19 figs20, or a thistle grapes, I will believe that such things as I witnessed yesterday on Whit4 Meadow are the work of Satan—not before!" rejoined Gibbs.
"Amen!" said Mrs. Thimbleby, tremulously. "Oh! indeed, sir—I hope you don't consider it presumption21 in me—but I must say I do think Mr. Gibbs is right. It was the working of the Lord's spirit, and no other."
"What was the working of the Lord's spirit?" asked a harsh voice that made the women start, and caused every head in the room to be turned towards the door. There stood Jonathan Maxfield, rather more bowed in the shoulders than when we first made his acquaintance, but otherwise little changed.
He was welcomed by Gladwish with a marked show of respect. The breach22 made between old Max and his former associates by his departure from the Methodist Society had been soon healed in many instances. Gladwish had condoned23 it long ago; and, owing to various circumstances—among them the fact that Seth Maxfield and his wife remained among the Wesleyans—the intercourse24 between the two families had been almost uninterrupted. There was truly no cordial interchange of hospitalities, nor much that could be called companionship; but the strong bond of habit on both sides, and, on Gladwish's, the sense of his neighbour's growing wealth and importance, served to keep the two men as close together as they ever had been.
"I've come to say a word to Seth, if it may be without putting you out," said old Maxfield, with a sidelong nod of the head, that was intended as a general salute25 to the company.
Mr. and Mrs. Gladwish protested that no one would be in the least put out by Mr. Maxfield's presence, but that they were all, on the contrary, pleased to see him. Then, while the father and son said a few words to each other in a low tone, the others conversed26 among themselves rather loudly, by way of politely expressing that they did not wish to overhear any private conversation.
"That's all, then, Seth," said old Max, turning away from his son. "I knew I should find you here, and I thought I would mention about them freeholds before it slipped my memory. And—life is uncertain—I have put a clause in my will about 'em this very evening. Putting off has never been my plan, neither with the affairs of this world or the next."
There was something in the mention of a clause in old Max's will which had a powerful attraction for the imagination of most persons present. Brother Jackson made a motion with his mouth, as though he were tasting some pleasant savour. Mrs. Gladwish thought of her tribe of growing children, and their rapid consumption of food, clothing, and doctor's stuff, and she sighed. Two or three of the regular attendants at the prayer-meeting fixed27 their eyes with lively interest on Jonathan Maxfield; and one whispered to another that Seth had gotten a good bit o' cash with his wife, and would have more from his father. 'Twas always the way: money makes money. Though, rightly considered, it was but dross28 and dust, and riches were an awful snare29. And then they obsequiously30 made way for the rich grocer to take a seat in their circle, moved, perhaps, by compassion31 for the imminent32 peril33 to his soul which he was incurring34 from the possession of freehold property.
"Well, I'll sit down for half an hour," said Jonathan, in his dry way, and took a chair near the table accordingly. In fact, he was well pleased enough to find himself once more among his old associates; and if any embarrassment35 belonged to the relations between himself and Brother Jackson, his former pastor36, it was certain that old Max did not feel it. When a man has a profound conviction of his own wisdom, supported on a firm basis of banker's books and solid investments, such intangible sentimentalities have no power to constrain37 them. Mr. Jackson, perhaps, felt some little difficulty in becomingly adjusting his manner to the situation, being troubled between the desire of asserting his dignity in the eyes of his flock and his natural reluctance38 to affront39 a man of Jonathan Maxfield's weight in the world. But he speedily hit on the assumption of an unctuous40 charity and toleration, as being the kind of demeanour best calculated for the circumstances. And perhaps he did not judge amiss. "I'm sure," said he, with a pious41 smile, "it is a real joy to the hearts of the faithful, and a good example to the unregenerate, to see believers dwelling42 together in unity43, however much they may be compelled to differ on some points for conscience' sake."
"What was it as some one was saying just now about the working of the Lord's spirit?" asked Maxfield, cutting short Brother Jackson's verbal flow of milk and honey.
There was a little hesitation44 among those present as to who should answer this question. To answer it involved the utterance45 of a name which was known to be unpleasing in Mr. Maxfield's ears. Mrs. Thimbleby shrank into the background; she had a special dread46 of old Jonathan's stern hard face and manner. Richard Gibbs at length answered, simply, "We were speaking, Mr. Maxfield, of David Powell's preaching in Lady Lane and on Whit Meadow."
Maxfield pressed his lips together, and made an inarticulate sound, which might be taken to express contempt or disapprobation, or merely an acknowledgment of Gibbs's information.
"My! I should like to have been there!" exclaimed Mrs. Gladwish.
"Well, now," said Seth Maxfield, "my wife would walk twenty mile to keep out of the way of it. She was quite scared at all the accounts we heard."
"But what did you hear! And what did happen, after all?" asked Mrs. Gladwish. "I wish you would give us an account of it, Mr. Gibbs."
"It is hard to give an account of such thing to them as wasn't present, ma'am. But there was a great outpouring of grace."
Brother Jackson groaned47 slightly, then coughed, and shook his head.
"I never saw such a beautiful evening for the time of year," put in one of Gladwish's apprentices49, a consumptive-looking lad with bright, dreamy eyes. "And all the folks standing50 in the sunset, and the river shining, and the leaves red and yellow on the branches—it was a wonderful sight."
"It was a wonderful sight!" ejaculated Gibbs. "There was the biggest multitude I ever saw assembled in Whit Meadow. There must have been thousands of people. There were among them scoffers, and ungodly men, and seekers after the truth, and some that were already awakened51. Then, women and children; they came gathering52 together more and more, from the north, and the south, and the east, and the west. And there, in the midst, raised up on a high bench, so that he might be seen of all, stood David Powell. His face was as white as snow, and his black hair hung down on either side of it."
"I thought of John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness," said the apprentice48 softly.
"I couldn't get to stand very near to him," continued Gibbs, "and I thought I should catch but little of his discourse. But when he began to speak, though his voice was low at first, after a while it rose, and grew every moment fuller and stronger."
"Yes," said the bright-eyed apprentice, "it was like listening to the organ-pipes of St. Chad's; just that kind of tremble in it that seems to run all through your body."
"The man always had a goodish voice," said Brother Jackson. "But that is a carnal gift. 'Tis the use we put our voices to that is all-important, my dear friends."
"He began by prayer," said Gibbs, speaking slowly, and with the abstracted air of a man who is not so much endeavouring to give others a vivid narration53, as to recall accurately54 to his own mind the things of which he is speaking. "Yes, he began with prayer. He prayed for us all there present with wonderful fervour."
"What did he say?" asked Mrs. Gladwish.
"Nay55, I cannot repeat the exact words."
"Can't you remember, Joel?" persisted his mistress, addressing the young apprentice.
The lad blushed up, but more, apparently56, from eagerness and excitement than bashfulness, as he answered, "Not the very words, ma'am, I can't remember. But it was a prayer that had wings like, and it lifted you up right away into the heavens. When he left off I felt as if I had been dropped straight down on to Whit Meadow out of a cloud of glory."
"Well, there's no harm in all that, Brother Jackson?" said Gladwish, looking round.
"Harm!" echoed Gibbs. "Why, Mr. Gladwish, if you could but have seen the faces of the people! And then presently he began to call sinners to repentance57 with such power as I never witnessed—no, not when he was preaching in our chapel58 two years ago. He spoke59 of wrath60 and judgment61 until the whole field was full of the sound of crying and groaning62. But he seemed continually strengthened, and went on, until first one fell, and then another. They dropped down just like dead when the arrows of conviction entered their souls. And the cries of some of them were awful to hear. Then there was weeping, and a kind of hard breathing and panting from breasts oppressed with the weight of sin; and then, mixed with those sounds, the rejoicing aloud of believers and those who received assurance. But through all the preacher's voice rose above the tumult63, and it seemed to me almost a manifest miracle that he should be able to make himself heard so clearly."
"Aye," said Joel, "it was like a ship on the top of the stormy waves; now high, now low, but always above the raging waters."
There was a short silence. Those present looked first at each other and then at old Max, who sat motionless and grim, with his elbow on the table, and his chin resting on his clenched64 hand.
"And did you really see any of the poor creeturs as was took?" asked Mrs. Gladwish of the widow Thimbleby.
"Took, ma'am?"
"Took with fits, or whatever it was."
"Oh! yes; I see several. There was a fine fresh-coloured young man, which is a butcher out Duckwell way—Mr. Seth'll likely know him—and he dropped down just like a bullock. And then he stamped, and struggled, and grew an awful dark red colour in the face, and tore up the grass with his hands; such was the power of conviction. And at last he lay like a log, and 'twas an hour, or more, before he come to. But when he did, he had got peace and his burthen was taken away, thanks be!"
"And there was a girl, too, very poor and sickly-looking," said Joel. "And when the power of the Lord came upon her she went into a kind of trance. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing. Tears were falling down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy; for she kept on saying, 'How Thou hast loved sinners!' over and over again. And there was such a smile on her face! When we go to Heaven, I expect we shall see the angels smile like that!"
"And the man himself—the preacher—did he seem filled with joy and peace?" asked Jackson, covertly65 malicious66.
"Why, that is the strange thing!" returned Richard Gibbs, with frank simplicity67. "Although he was doing this great work, and witnessing the mercies of the Lord descend68 on the people like manna, yet Mr. Powell had such a look of deep sorrow on his face as I never saw. It was a kind of a fixed, hopeless look. He said, 'I speak to you out of a dark dungeon69, but you are in the light. Give thanks and rejoice, and hasten to make your calling and election sure. Those who dwell in the blackness of the shadow could tell you terrible things.'"
Mrs. Thimbleby wiped away a tear with the corner of her shabby black shawl. "Ah!" she sighed, "it do seem a hard dispensation and a strange one, as him who brings glad tidings to so many shouldn't get peace himself. And a more angelic creetur' in his kindness to the afflicted70 never walked this earth. Yet he's a'most always bowed down with heaviness of spirit. It do seem strange!"
Jonathan Maxfield struck the table with his fist so hard that the candlesticks standing on it rocked. "Strange!" he cried, "it would be strange indeed to see anything else! Why this is the work of the enemy as plain as possible. Don't tell me! Look at all the years I've been a member of Christian71 congregations in Whitford—whether in chapel or church, it is no matter—and tell me if ever there was known such ravings, and fits, and Bedlam72 doings? And yet I suppose there were souls saved in my time too! I say that Satan is busy among you, puffing73 up one and another with sperritual pride."
"Lord forgive you!" ejaculated Richard Gibbs, in a tone of such genuine pity and conviction as startled the rest.
"Lord forgive me, sir!" echoed old Max, turning slowly round upon the speaker, and glaring at him from under his grey eyebrows74.
There was an awe-stricken silence.
"Our good friend, Richard Gibbs, meant no offence, Mr. Maxfield," said Jackson, looking everywhere except into Gibbs's face.
"I say," cried Maxfield, addressing the rest of the company, and entirely75 ignoring the rash delinquent76 Gibbs, "that these things are a snare and a delusion77, and the work of the devil. And when them of more wisdom and experience than me comes forward to speak on the matter, I shall be glad to show forth my reasons."
"Why, but, Brother Maxfield, I don't know now. I don't feel so sure," said Gladwish, on whom the accounts of Powell's preaching had produced a considerable effect. "There have been cases, you know, in the early times of Methodism; and John Wesley himself, you know, was ready to believe in the workings of grace, as manifested in similar ways."
"Don't tell me of your David Powells!" returned old Max, declining to discuss the subject on wide or general grounds, but doggedly78 confining himself to the particulars immediately before him. "Don't tell me of a man as is blown out with pride and vain glory like a balloon. Did I, or did I not, say more'n two years ago, that David Powell was getting puffed79 up with presumptuousness81?"
There was a low murmur82 of assent13. Brother Jackson closed his eyes and uttered a deep, long-drawn "A-a-ah!" like a man reluctantly admitting a painful truth.
"Did I, or did I not, say to many members of the Society, 'This man is dangerous. He has fallen from grace. He is hankering after new-fangled doctrine83, and is ramping84 with red-hot over-bearingness?'"
"Yon did, sir," answered a stout85, broad-faced man named Blogg, who looked like a farmer, but was a linendraper in a small way of business. "You said so frequently; I remember your very words, and can testify to 'em."
(This speech appeared to produce a considerable effect. Mrs. Thimbleby began to cry; and, not having an apron86 at hand, threw the corner of her shawl over her face.)
"Did I, or did I not, say that if things went on at this kind of rate, I should withdraw from the Society? And did I, or did I not, withdraw from it accordin'?"
"Sir," said Mr. Blogg, "I saw you with my own eyes a-coming out of the parish church of St. Chad's, at ten minutes to one o'clock in the afternoon of the Sunday next following your utterance of them identical expressions; and cannot deny or evade87 the truth, but must declare it to the best of my ability, with no regard to any human respects, but for the ease and liberation of my conscience as a sincere though humble88 professor."
There was a general feeling that, in some conclusive89 though mysterious way, the linendraper had brought a crushing weight of evidence to bear against David Powell; and even the preacher's best friends would find it difficult to defend him after that!
Old Max looked round triumphantly90, and proceeded to follow up the impression thus made. "And then I'm to be told," said he, "that the lunatic doings on Whit Meadow are the work of Heavenly powers, eh? Come, Gladwish—you're a man as has read theologies and controversies91, and are acquainted with the history of Wesleyan Methodism as well as most members in Whitford—I should like to know what arguments you have to advance against plain facts—facts known to us all, and testified to by Robert Blogg, linendraper, now present, and for many years a respected class-leader in this town?"
"Well, but we have plain facts to bring forward too," said Richard Gibbs, with anxious earnestness.
"I ask you, Gladwish, what arguments you have to bring forward," repeated Maxfield, determinedly92 repressing any outward sign of having heard the presumptuous80 Gibbs.
"If this be not Satan's doing, I have no knowledge of the words of the devil, and I suppose I shall hardly be told that, after regular attendance in a congregation of Wesleyan Methodists for fifty odd years, man and boy! But," continued the old man, after a short silence, which none of those present ventured to break, "there's no knowing, truly. These are new-fangled days. I cannot say but what I may live to hear it declared that I know nothing of Satan, nor cannot discern his works when I see them!"
"Nay, father," said Seth Maxfield, speaking now for the first time, in deprecation of so serious a charge against the "new-fangled days," on which Whitford had fallen. "Nay, no man will say that, nor yet think it. But my notion is, that it may neither be Heaven nor t'other place that has much to do with these kind of fits and screechings. I believe it to be just as Dr. Evans said—and he a Welshman himself, you'll remember—when he first heard of these doings of David Powell in Wales. Says he, 'It's a epidemic,' says the doctor. 'A catching93 kind of nervous disease, neither more nor less. And you may any of you get it if you go to hear and see the others. Though forewarned is forearmed in such cases,' says the doctor. 'And the better you understand the real natur' of the disorder94, the safer you'll be from it.'"
Seth was of a materialistic95 and practical turn of mind, and he offered this hypothesis as an explanation which had approved itself to his own judgment (not because he thoroughly96 comprehended Dr. Evans's statements, but rather because of the inherent repugnance97 of his mind to accept a supernatural theory about any phenomenon, when a natural theory might be substituted for it), and also as a neutral ground of conciliation98, whereon the opposing celestial99 and diabolic partisans100 might meet half way. But it speedily appeared that he had miscalculated in so doing. Neither the friends nor the opponents of David Powell would for an instant admit any such rationalistic suggestion. It was scouted101 on all hands. And Seth, who had no gift of controversy102, speedily found himself reduced to silence.
"Well," said he, quietly, when he and his father rose to go away, "think what you please, but I know that if one of my reapers103 was to fall down in the field that way, let him be praying or cursing, I should consider it a hospital case."
"Good night, Gladwish," said old Max. "Good night, Mrs. Gladwish. I am glad, for the sake of all the decent, sober, godly members of the Society, as this firebrand had left it before things came to this pass. And I only wish you'd all had the gift of clear-sightedness to see through him long ago, and cut yourselves off from him as I did."
Richard Gibbs advanced towards the old man with outstretched hand. "I hope, Mr. Maxfield," he said, humbly104, "that you'll not think I meant any offence to you just now. But I was so full of conviction, and you know we can but speak the truth to the best of our power. I hope you, nor any other Christian man, will be in wrath with me, because we don't see things just alike. I know Mr. Powell is always for making peace, for he says we many a time fancy we're fighting the Lord's battles, when, in truth, we are only desiring victory for our own pride. Anyway, I know he would bid me ask pardon for a hasty word, if any offence had come by it. And so I hope you'll shake hands."
Jonathan Maxfield took no notice of the proffered105 hand, neither did he make any answer directly. But as he reached the door he turned round and said, "Well, Mr. Jackson, you have your work cut out for you with some of your flock, I doubt. Like to like. I expect that ranting106 Welshman will draw some away from decent chapel-going. But them as admires such doings are best got rid of, and that speedily." With that he walked off.
"I think Maxfield was rather hard on poor Dicky Gibbs," said Mr. Gladwish to his spouse107 when they were alone together. "He might ha' shook hands. Dicky came forward in a real Christian spirit. Maxfield was very hard in his wrath."
"Well," returned the virtuous108 matron, "I can't so much wonder. Having the Lord's forgiveness called down on his head in that way! And I don't know, Gladwish, as we should like it ourselves!"
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1
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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persistency
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forth
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figs
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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breach
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condoned
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intercourse
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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conversed
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fixed
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dross
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snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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obsequiously
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compassion
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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incurring
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embarrassment
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pastor
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constrain
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reluctance
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affront
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unctuous
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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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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awakened
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| 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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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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puffing
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| 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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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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puffed
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| 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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presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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presumptuousness
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| n.自以为是，专横，冒失 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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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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controversies
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| 争论 | |
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determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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102
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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103
reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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105
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ranting
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| v.夸夸其谈( rant的现在分词 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
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107
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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108
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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