WHICH A STATE OF SOCIETY IS SLIGHTLY REVEALED
Madame Montford, pale, thoughtful, and abstracted, sits musing3 in her parlor4. "Between this hope and fear-this remorse5 of conscience, this struggle to overcome the suspicions of society, I have no peace. I am weary of this slandering-this unforgiving world. And yet it is my own conscience that refuses to forgive me. Go where I will I see the cold finger of scorn pointed7 at me: I read in every countenance8, 'Madame Montford, you have wronged some one-your guilty conscience betrays you!' I have sought to atone10 for my error-to render justice to one my heart tells me I have wronged, yet I cannot shake off the dread11 burden; and there seems rest for me only in the grave. Ah! there it is. The one error of my life, and the means used to conceal12 it, may have brought misery14 upon more heads than one." She lays her hand upon her heart, and shakes her head sorrowfully. "Yes! something like a death-knell rings in my ears-'more than one have you sent, unhappy, to the grave.' Rejected by the one I fancy my own; my very touch scorned; my motives15 misconstrued-all, perhaps, by-a doubt yet hangs between us-an abandoned stranger. Duty to my conscience has driven me to acts that have betrayed me to society. I cannot shake my guilt9 from me even for a day; and now society coldly cancels all my claims to its attentions. If I could believe her dead; if I but knew this girl was not the object of all my heart's unrest, then the wearying doubt would be buried, and my heart might find peace in some remote corner of the earth. Well, well-perhaps I am wasting all this torture on an unworthy object. I should have thought of this sooner, for now foul16 slander6 is upon every tongue, and my misery is made thrice painful by my old flatterers. I will make one more effort, then if I fail of getting a certain clue to her, I will remove to some foreign country, shake off these haunting dreams, and be no longer a victim to my own thoughts." Somewhat relieved, Madame is roused from her reverie by a gentle tap at the door. "I have waited your coming, and am glad to see you;" she says, extending her hand, as a servant, in response to her command, ushers17 into her presence no less a person than Tom Swiggs. "I have sent for you," she resumes, motioning him gracefully18 to a chair, in which she begs he will be seated, "because I feel I can confide19 in you--"
"We call him the Hon. Mr. Snivel now, since he has got to be a great politician," interrupts Tom.
"And he not only betrayed my confidence," pursues Madame Montford, "but retains the amount I paid him, and forgets to render the promised service. You, I am told, can render me a service--"
"As for Mr. Snivel," pursues Tom, hastily, "he has of late had his hands full, getting a poor but good-natured fellow, by the name of George Mullholland, into trouble. His friend, Judge Sleepyhorn, and he, have for some time had a plot on hand to crush this poor fellow. A few nights ago Snivel drove him mad at a gambling22 den, and in his desperation he robbed a man of his pocket-book. He shared the money with a poor woman he rescued at the den, and that is the way it was discovered that he was the criminal. He is a poor, thoughtless man, and he has been goaded24 on from one thing to another, until he was driven to commit this act. First, his wife was got away from him--" Tom pauses and blushes, as Madame Montford says: "His wife was got away from him?"
"Yes, Madame," returns Tom, with an expression of sincerity25. "The Judge got her away from him; and this morning he was arraigned26 before that same Judge for examination, and Mr. Snivel was a principal witness, and there was enough found against him to commit him for trial at the Sessions." Discovering that this information is exciting her emotions, Tom pauses, and contemplates27 her with steady gaze. She desires he will be her guide to the Poor-House, and there assist her in searching for Mag Munday, whom, report says, is confined in a cell. Tom having expressed his readiness to serve her, they are soon on their way to that establishment.
A low, squatty building, with a red, moss-covered roof, two lean chimneys peeping out, the windows blockaded with dirt, and situated28 in one of the by-lanes of the city, is our Poor-House, standing29 half hid behind a crabbed30 old wall, and looking very like a much-neglected Quaker church in vegetation. We boast much of our institutions, and this being a sample of them, we hold it in great reverence31. You may say that nothing so forcibly illustrates32 a state of society as the character of its institutions for the care of those unfortunate beings whom a capricious nature has deprived of their reason. We agree with you. We see our Poor-House crumbling33 to the ground with decay, yet imagine it, or affect to imagine it, a very grand edifice34, in every way suited to the wants of such rough ends of humanity as are found in it. Like Satan, we are brilliant believers in ourselves, not bad sophists, and singularly clever in finding apologies for all great crimes.
At the door of the Poor-House stands a dilapidated hearse, to which an old gray horse is attached. A number of buzzards have gathered about him, turn their heads suspiciously now and then, and seem meditating35 a descent upon his bones at no very distant day. Madame casts a glance at the hearse, and the poor old horse, and the cawing buzzards, then follows Tom, timidly, to the door. He has rung the bell, and soon there stands before them, in the damp doorway36, a fussy37 old man, with a very broad, red face, and a very blunt nose, and two very dull, gray eyes, which he fortifies38 with a pair of massive-framed spectacles, that have a passion for getting upon the tip-end of his broad blunt nose.
"There, you want to see somebody! Always somebody wanted to be seen, when we have dead folks to get rid of," mutters the old man, querulously, then looking inquiringly at the visitors. Tom says they would like to go over the premises39. "Yes-know you would. Ain't so dull but I can see what folks want when they look in here." The old man, his countenance wearing an expression of stupidity, runs his dingy40 fingers over the crown of his bald head, and seems questioning within himself whether to admit them. "I'm not in a very good humor to-day," he rather growls41 than speaks, "but you can come in--I'm of a good family-and I'll call Glentworthy. I'm old-I can't get about much. We'll all get old." The building seems in a very bad temper generally.
Mr. Glentworthy is called. Mr. Glentworthy, with a profane42 expletive, pops his head out at the top of the stairs, and inquires who wants him. The visitors have advanced into a little, narrow passage, lumbered43 with all sorts of rubbish, and swarming44 with flies. Mr. Saddlerock (for this is the old man's name) seems in a declining mood, the building seems in a declining mood, Mr. Glentworthy seems in a declining mood-everything you look at seems in a declining mood. "As if I hadn't enough to do, gettin' off this dead cribber!" interpolates Mr. Glentworthy, withdrawing his wicked face, and taking himself back into a room on the left.
"He's not so bad a man, only it doesn't come out at first;" pursues Mr. Saddlerock, continuing to rub his head, and to fuss round on his toes. His mind, Madame Montford verily believes stuck in a fog. "We must wait a bit," says the old man, his face seeming to elongate45. "You can look about-there's not much to be seen, and what there is-well, it's not the finest." Mr. Saddlerock shuffles46 his feet, and then shuffles himself into a small side room. Through the building there breathes a warm, sickly atmosphere; the effect has left its marks upon the sad, waning47 countenances48 of its unfortunate inmates49.
Tom and Madame Montford set out to explore the establishment. They enter room after room, find them small, dark, and filthy50 beyond description. Some are crowded with half-naked, flabby females, whose careworn51 faces, and well-starved aspect, tells a sorrowful tale of the chivalry52. An abundant supply of profane works, in yellow and red covers, would indeed seem to have been substituted for food, which, to the shame of our commissioners53, be it said, is a scarce article here. Cooped up in another little room, after the fashion of wild beasts in a cage, are seven poor idiots, whose forlorn condition, sad, dull countenances, as they sit round a table, staring vacantly at one another, like mummies in contemplation, form a wild but singularly touching55 picture. Each countenance pales before the seeming study of its opponent, until, enraptured56 and amazed, they break out into a wild, hysterical57 laugh. And thus, poisoned, starved, and left to die, does time with these poor mortals fleet on.
The visitors ascend58 to the second story. A shuffling59 of feet in a room at the top of the stairs excites their curiosity. Mr. Glentworthy's voice grates harshly on the ear, in language we cannot insert in this history. "Our high families never look into low places-chance if the commissioner54 has looked in here for years," says Tom, observing Madame Montford protect her inhaling60 organs with her perfumed cambric. "There is a principle of economy carried out-and a very nice principle, too, in getting these poor out of the world as quick as possible." Tom pushes open a door, and, heavens! what a sight is here. He stands aghast in the doorway-Madam, on tip-toe, peers anxiously in over his shoulders. Mr. Glentworthy and two negroes-the former slightly inebriated61, the latter trembling of fright-are preparing to box up a lifeless mass, lying carelessly upon the floor. The distorted features, the profusion62 of long, red hair, curling over a scared face, and the stalworth figure, shed some light upon the identity of the deceased. "Who is it?" ejaculates Mr. Glentworthy, in response to an inquiry63 from Tom. Mr. Glentworthy shrugs64 his shoulders, and commences whistling a tune65. "That cove23!" he resumes, having stopped short in his tune, "a man what don't know that cove, never had much to do with politics. Stuffed more ballot66 boxes, cribbed more voters, and knocked down more slip-shod citizens-that cove has, than, put 'em all together, would make a South Carolina regiment67. A mighty68 man among politicians, he was! Now the devil has cribbed him-he'll know how good it is!" Mr. Glentworthy says this with an air of superlative satisfaction, resuming his tune. The dead man is Milman Mingle69, the vote-cribber, who died of a wound he received at the hands of an antagonist70, whom he was endeavoring to "block out" while going to the polls to cast his vote. "Big politician, but had no home!" says Madame, with a sigh.
Mr. Glentworthy soon had what remained of the vote-cribber-the man to whom so many were indebted for their high offices-into a deal box, and the deal box into the old hearse, and the old hearse, driven by a mischievous71 negro, hastening to that great crib to which we must all go. "Visitors," Mr. Glentworthy smiles, "must not question the way we do business here, I get no pay, and there's only old Saddlerock and me to do all the work. Old Saddlerock, you see, is a bit of a miser13, and having a large family of small Saddlerocks to provide for, scrapes what he can into his own pocket. No one is the wiser. They can't be-they never come in." Mr. Glentworthy, in reply to a question from Madame Montford, says Mag Munday (he has some faint recollection of her) was twice in the house, which he dignifies72 with the title of "Institution." She never was in the "mad cells"--to his recollection. "Them what get there, mostly die there." A gift of two dollars secures Mr. Glentworthy's services, and restores him to perfect good nature. "You will remember," says Tom, "that this woman ran neglected about the streets, was much abused, and ended in becoming a maniac73." Mr. Glentworthy remembers very well, but adds: "We have so many maniacs74 on our hands, that we can't distinctly remember them all. The clergymen take good care never to look in here. They couldn't do any good if they did, for nobody cares for the rubbish sent here; and if you tried to Christianize them, you would only get laughed at. I don't like to be laughed at. Munday's not here now, that's settled-but I'll-for curiosity's sake-show you into the 'mad cells.'" Mr. Glentworthy leads the way, down the rickety old stairs, through the lumbered passage, into an open square, and from thence into a small out-building, at the extreme end of which some dozen wet, slippery steps, led into a dark subterranean75 passage, on each side of which are small, dungeon-like cells. "Heavens!" exclaims Madame Montford, picking her way down the steep, slippery steps. "How chilling! how tomb-like! Can it be that mortals are confined here, and live?" she mutters, incoherently. The stifling76 atmosphere is redolent of disease.
"It straightens 'em down, sublimely-to put 'em in here," says Mr. Glentworthy, laconically77, lighting78 his lamp. "I hope to get old Saddlerock in here. Give him such a mellowing79!" He turns his light, and the shadows play, spectre-like, along a low, wet aisle80, hung on each side with rusty81 bolts and locks, revealing the doors of cells. An ominous82 stillness is broken by the dull clank of chains, the muttering of voices, the shuffling of limbs; then a low wail83 breaks upon the ear, and rises higher and higher, shriller and shriller, until in piercing shrieks84 it chills the very heart. Now it ceases, and the echoes, like the murmuring winds, die faintly away. "Look in here, now," says Mr. Glentworthy--"a likely wench-once she was!"
He swings open a door, and there issues from a cell about four feet six inches wide, and nine long, the hideous85 countenance of a poor, mulatto girl, whose shrunken body, skeleton-like arms, distended86 and glassy eyes, tell but too forcibly her tale of sorrow. How vivid the picture of wild idiocy87 is pictured in her sad, sorrowing face. No painter's touch could have added a line more perfect. Now she rushes forward, with a suddenness that makes Madame Montford shrink back, appalled-now she fixes her eyes, hangs down her head, and gives vent1 to her tears. "My soul is white-yes, yes, yes! I know it is white; God tells me it is white-he knows-he never tortures. He doesn't keep me here to die-no, I can't die here in the dark. I won't get to heaven if I do. Oh! yes, yes, yes, I have a white soul, but my skin is not," she rather murmurs88 than speaks, continuing to hold down her head, while parting her long, clustering hair over her shoulders. Notwithstanding the spectacle of horror presented in this living skeleton, there is something in her look and action which bespeaks89 more the abuse of long confinement90 than the result of natural aberration91 of mind. "She gets fierce now and then, and yells," says the unmoved Glentworthy, "but she won't hurt ye--"
Can it be possible that such things as are here pictured have an existence among a people laying any claim to a state of civilization? the reader may ask. The author would here say that to the end of fortifying92 himself against the charge of exaggeration, he submitted the MS. of this chapter to a gentleman of the highest respectability in Charleston, whose unqualified approval it received, as well as enlisting93 his sympathies in behalf of the unfortunate lunatics found in the cells described. Four years have passed since that time. He subsequently sent the author the following, from the "Charleston Courier," which speaks for itself.
"FROM THE REPORTS OF COUNCIL.
"January 4th, 1843.
"The following communication was received from William M. Lawton, Esq., Chairman of the Commissioners of the Poor-house.
"'Charleston, Dec. 17th, 1852. "'To the Honorable, the City Council of Charleston:
"'By a resolution of the Board of Commissioners of this City, I have been instructed to communicate with your honorable body in relation to the insane paupers94 now in Poor-house', (the insane in a poorhouse!) 'and to request that you will adopt the necessary provision for sending them to the Lunatic Asylum95 at Columbia.
* * * *
There are twelve on the list, many of whom, it is feared, have already remained too long in an institution quite unsuited to their unfortunate situation.
"'With great respect, your very obedient servant,
"'(Signed) WM. M. LAWTON, "'Chairman of the Board of Commissioners.'"
"How long," inquires Madame Montford, who has been questioning within herself whether any act of her life could have brought a human being into such a place, "has she been confined here?" Mr. Glentworthy says she tells her own tale.
"Five years,--five years,--five long, long years, I have waited for him in the dark, but he won't come," she lisps in a faltering96 voice, as her emotions overwhelm her. Then crouching97 back upon the floor, she supports her head pensively98 in her left hand, her elbow resting on her knee, and her right hand poised99 against the brick wall. "Pencele!" says Mr. Glentworthy, for such is the wretched woman's name, "cannot you sing a song for your friends?" Turning aside to Madame Montford, he adds, "she sings nicely. We shall soon get her out of the way-can't last much longer." Mr. Glentworthy, drawing a small bottle from his pocket, places it to his lips, saying he stole it from old Saddlerock, and gulps100 down a portion of the contents. His breath is already redolent of whiskey. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! I can sing for them, I can smother101 them with kisses. Good faces seldom look in here, seldom look in here," she rises to her feet, and extends her bony hand, as the tears steal down Madame Montford's cheeks. Tom stands speechless. He wishes he had power to redress102 the wrongs of this suffering maniac-his very soul fires up against the coldness and apathy103 of a people who permit such outrages104 against humanity. "There!--he comes! he comes! he comes!" the maniac speaks, with faltering voice, then strikes up a plaintive105 air, which she sings with a voice of much sweetness, to these words: When you find him, speed him to me, And this heart will cease its bleeding, &c.
The history of all this poor maniac's sufferings is told in a few simple words that fall incautiously from Mr. Glentworthy's lips: "Poor fool, she had only been married a couple of weeks, when they sold her husband down South. She thinks if she keeps mad, he'll come back."
There was something touching, something melancholy106 in the music of her song, as its strains verberated and reverberated107 through the dread vault108, then, like the echo of a lover's lute109 on some Alpine110 hill, died softly away.
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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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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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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arraigned
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| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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contemplates
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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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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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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fortifies
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的第三人称单数 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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elongate
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| v.拉长，伸长，延长 | |
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shuffles
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| n.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的名词复数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的第三人称单数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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47
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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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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commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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60
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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61
inebriated
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| adj.酒醉的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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dignifies
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| 使显得威严( dignify的第三人称单数 )； 使高贵； 使显赫； 夸大 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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mellowing
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| 软化，醇化 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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bespeaks
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| v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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fortifying
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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100
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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101
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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102
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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103
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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104
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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106
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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107
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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108
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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109
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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110
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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