Well, I had said the first two Masses, commencing at seven o'clock. It is a curious experience, that of seven o'clock Mass on Christmas morning. The groping through the dark, with just the faintest aurora5 on the horizon, the smell of the frost in the air, the crunching6 of icicles under one's feet, the shadowy figures, making their way with some difficulty to the church, the salutations of the people: "Is that you, Mick?" "'Tis, Mrs. Grady; a happy Christmas to you, ma'am." "The same to you, Mick, and manny of them." "Good morning, Mrs. Mulcahy; 't is a fine Christmas morning, glory be to God." "'T is indeed, ma'am, glory be to His Holy Name." "Hurry up, Bess, you'll never catch the priest at the altar." "Yerra, sure, haven't we three Masses to-day." The more polite people said: "The compliments of the saison to you, ma'am." "The same to you, sir; may we be all alive and happy this time twelvemonth."
Well, just as I commenced the hymn7 of the angels at my first Mass, there was a crash of music and singing from the gallery over the door, that made my old heart leap with joy and pride. I never expected it; and the soft tones of the harmonium, and the blending of the children's voices, floating out there in the dark of the little chapel8, made tears of delight stream down the wrinkles of my cheeks. And what was the Gloria, do you think? From Mozart's "Twelfth Mass," if you please. Nothing else would do. The pride of Kilronan is gone so high since that famous concert, that I am almost sure they would challenge the seraphim9 to a fair contest, that is, if the latter would put aside their golden viols and sambucæ, and compete only with their voices against the "new choir11 of Kilronan." I violated egregiously12 one strict rubric at the Dominus vobiscum. I raised my eyes and took a good long look at choir and people. I couldn't help it. If Martinucci and Baruffaldi, Gavantus and Merati, Gardellini and Bauldry, and the whole Congregation of Sacred Rites14 were there in the front bench, I couldn't help myself. I kept my hands open for at least a quarter of a minute, whilst I surveyed my little congregation. It was a pathetic sight. The lights from the altar shone on the faces of Captain Campion and Bittra, and one or two of the better-class parishioners on the front bench; but all behind were buried in a deep well of darkness. I could barely distinguish the pale faces of the confused mass that stretched in the deep gloom towards the door; but overhead, about a dozen dark figures were outlined against the light of the two wax candles on the harmonium, over which, on this eventful morning, Father Letheby presided. And this was the object of the concert at last. I should have known that there was some supernatural object behind it. This young man does not care much to develop or elicit15 the dormant16 energies of the people, unless he can turn therewith the mills of God. But what trouble it must have given him! How many a cold night did he leave his room, and there, on that gallery, contend with the rough and irregular voices, until he brought them into that stream of perfect unison17. I can imagine what patience he exercised, what subtle flatteries he administered, what gentle sarcasm18 he applied19, before he succeeded in modulating21 the hoarse22 thunders of Dave Olden's voice, that rose like a fog-horn over the winds and waves whenever he ventured upon the high seas; and how he cut off remorselessly the grace-notes of Abby Lyden, who has begun to think herself an Albani; and how he overcame the shyness of the fisher lads, and brought clear to the front the sweet tenors23 of the schoolboys, on whom, he said, all his hopes depended. And how his own rich baritone ascended24 strongly and softly over all, blending into perfect harmony all discordance25, and gently smothering26 the vagrant27 and rebellious28 tones that would sometimes break ambitiously through discipline, and try to assert their own individuality. He sang an Offertory solo, accompanying himself on the harmonium. Who will say it was not sweet? Who will say it was not appropriate?
"O Vergine bella!
Del ciel Regina,
A cui s'inchina
"O Tu che sei stella
Ci guido nal porta
And then when Bethlehem was repeated, with all its lowliness and humility32, there in that humble33 chapel; and the Divine Babe lay white and spotless on the corporal, the glorious Adeste broke forth34. Ah me! what a new experience for myself and people. Ah me! what a sting of compunction in all the honeyed delights of that glorious morning, to think that for all these years I had been pastor35 there. Well, never mind; meâ maximâ culpâ! Ignosce, Domine!
I placed the Sacred Host on Captain Campion's tongue, and most heartily36 forgave him his unflattering epithets37. Tears of joy streamed down Bittra's face as she knelt beside him at the altar rails. I was wearied and tired from the large number of Communions I administered that morning. The last communicant was poor Nance38. She was hidden away in the deep gloom; but I am not at all sure that the Child Jesus did not nestle as comfortably in the arms of the poor penitent39 as in those of His virgins40 and spotless ones. And there were many such, thank God, amongst my Christmas congregation that morning.
But the great surprise of all was in store. For, after Mass was over, there was a great rush to St. Joseph's Chapel; and I am afraid I cut my own thanksgiving short, to move with silent dignity in the same direction. I heard gasps41 of surprise and delight, exclamations42 of wonder, suppressed hallelujahs of joy; I saw adoration43 and tenderness, awe44 and love on the dimly lighted faces of the people. No wonder! For there, under a rough, rustic45 roof of pines and shingles46, was the Bethlehem of our imaginations in miniature. Rough rocks lined the interior, wet green mosses47 and lichens48 covering them here and there; in front of the cave a light hoar-frost lay on the ground, and straw and stubble littered the palace floor of Him who walks on the jasper and chalcedony parquetting of the floors of heaven. And there was the gentle Joseph, with a reverent49, wondering look on his worn features; and there the conscious, self-possessed, but adoring expression on the sweet face of the Child-Mother; and there the helpless form and pleading hands of Him whose omnipotence50 stretches through infinity51, and in whose fingers colossal52 suns and their systems are but the playthings of this moment in His eternal existence, which we call Time. Three shepherds stood around, dazed at some sudden light that shone from the face of the Infant; one, a boy, leaned forward as if to raise in his arms that sweet, helpless Babe; his hands were stretched towards the manger, and a string held the broad hat that fell between his shoulders. And aloft an angel held in his hand a starry53 scroll54, on which was inscribed55 Gloria in excelsis Deo. I stood amongst my awestruck congregation for a few minutes. Some were kneeling, and uttering half-frantic ejaculations of adoration, pity, and love; some leaned against a pillar, silent, but with tearful eyes; little children pointed56 out to each other the different features of this new wonder-world; but all around, the fervid57 Celtic imagination translated these terracotta figures into living and breathing personalities58. It was as if God had carried them back over the gulf59 of nineteen centuries, and brought them to the stable door of Bethlehem that ever memorable60 night. I think it is this realization61 of the Incarnation that constitutes the distinguishing feature of Catholicity. It is the Sacred Humanity of our Lord that brings Him so nigh to us, and makes us so familiar with Him; that makes the Blessed Eucharist a necessity, and makes the hierarchy62 of Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and Calvary so beloved,—beloved above all by the poor, and the humble, and the lowly. Listen to this!
"Oh, dear, dear, and to think of our Lord with the straw under Him, and His feet covered with the frost of that cowld night—"
"And the poor child! Look at her; why, she's only a little girl, like Norah; and not a woman near to help her in her throuble."
"Look at His little hands stretched out, like any ordinary child. Glory be to His Holy Name. Sure, only for Him where 'ud we be?"
"And poor St. Joseph! No wondher he's fretting63. To think of thim two cratures in his hands, and he not having house or home to shelter thim!"
"Wisha, Mary, 't was a pity we worn't there that blessed night. Sure, 't is we'd give 'em the best we had in the world, an' our hearts' blood."
I shared to the full this feeling about St. Joseph. And when, after Father Letheby's Mass, I came down, and brought over my old arm-chair, and placed it in front of the crib, and put down my snuff-box, and my breviary, and my spectacles, and gave myself up to the contemplation of that wonderful and pathetic drama, St. Joseph would insist on claiming the largest share of my pity and sympathy. Somehow I felt that mother and child understood each other perfectly,—that she saw everything through the eyes of God, and that therefore there was not much room for wonderment; but that to St. Joseph the whole thing was an unspeakable mystery of humiliation64 and love, infinite abasement65 and infinite dignity; and I thought I saw him looking from the child-face of his spouse66 to the child-face of the Infant, and somehow asking himself, "What is it all?" even though he explicitly67 understood the meaning and magnitude of the mighty68 mystery.
Father Letheby has a new series of pictures of the Life of our Lord, painted by a French artist, whose name I can never recall except when I sneeze,—Tissot. I do not like them at all. They are too realistic,—and, after all, the ideal is the real. I have a special, undiluted dislike of one picture,—the Magnificat. I'd have torn it up, and put the fragments in the fire, but that it was not mine. But how in the world any Catholic could paint my beautiful child-prophetess of Hebron as Tissot has done baffles comprehension. But he has one lovely picture, "Because there was no Room." The narrow lane of the Jewish city,—the steep stairs to the rooms,—the blank walls perforated by a solitary69, narrow window,—the rough stones, and the gentle animal that bore Mary, treading carefully over them,—the Jewish women, regretfully refusing admission,—the sweet, gentle face of the maiden70 mother,—and the pathetic, anxious, despairing look on the features of St. Joseph,—make this a touching71 and beautiful picture. Poor St. Joseph! "Come, take the reins72 of the patient animal, and lead him and his sacred burden out into the night! There is no room in the City of David for the children of David. Out under the stars, shining brilliantly through the frosty atmosphere, over the white, rugged73 road, into an unknown country, and 'Whither, O my God?' on thy lips, as the child at thy side shuddered74, and no finger from heaven nor voice from earth directed thee; unless, indeed, that faint flashes of light athwart the net of stars told thee that the angels were cutting their way down through the darkness, and into the spheres of men, and that all heaven was in a tumult75 of expectation, whilst in yonder city men slept, as they always sleep unconscious when God is near. And then, when the feeble plaint broke from Mary's lips, I cannot go further, and the gentle beast turned aside into the rocks and whins, and called to his companions of the stable, and the meek-eyed ox looked calmly at the intruders, and there—there—dear God! to think of it all—In mundo erat, et mundus eum non cognovit."
I sat quietly there until Benediction76 at three o'clock, and then I remained rolling my beads77 through my fingers, and singing in my heart the grand majestic78 O's of the preceding day's offices, at the end of every decade, until five o'clock struck. From time to time my little children would come, and leaning on my knee, would gaze with wonder and affection at the Child of Bethlehem; and then, looking up into my face, put wonderful questions about deep mysteries to their old Father. For all day long, a stream of visitors passed before the crib; and the next day, and the next, crowds trooped over from Moydore and the neighboring parishes, for the fame of it had gone abroad over the land; and men and women came, jealous of their own pastors79, and wondering at the sudden uprise of Kilronan. Then the climax80 was reached on the twelfth day, when the Kings appeared, and the group in the stable was complete. The "black man" from Nubia came in for more than his share of honors; and it was admitted all round that Kilronan was immortalized and the other parishes were forever in the background.
"May God bless the man that gave us such a sight," said an old woman fervently82, as I left the wondering crowd and went home to dinner.
"May God bless all our priests," said another, fearing that I might be offended.
"Wisha, thin, Father Dan," said a third, "what a wondher you never tould us what you had in store for us. Wisha, thin, it wasn't worth while keeping it such a grate sacret."
There is no end to the ingenious charity of these people. On my plate at the dinner table, amidst a pile of Christmas cards, was a dainty little duodecimo. I took it up. It was from Father Letheby. And what was it? The Imitation in Greek, by a certain George Mayr, S. J. Wasn't this nice? My pet book done into my favorite language! It was the happiest Christmas I ever spent. Quam bonus Israel Deus! So too said Father Letheby. But I had some dim presentiment83 that all his well-merited pleasure would not be quite unalloyed,—that some secret hand, perhaps a merciful one, would pluck a laurel leaf or two from his crown. We had a pleasant academic discussion after dinner about the honorable retention84 of ancient Irish customs,—he quite enthusiastic about them, I rather disposed to think that the abuses which invariably accompanied them made their final extinction85 altogether advisable. We put our respective theories in practice next morning with the most perfect consistency86; for Hannah drove indignantly from the door the wren87-boys, just as they were commencing:
"A thrate, a thrate, if of the best,
We hope in heaven your sowl will rest;
But if you give it of the small
It won't agree with our boys at all."
And, on his part, Father Letheby listened with intense delight to this dithyrambic, which ushers88 in St. Stephen's day all over Ireland; and he dispensed89 sundry90 sixpences to the boys with the injunction to be always good Irishmen and to buy sweets.
That night, just as I was thinking of retiring, for I am an early riser, I heard a gentle tap at the hall door, then a hurried colloguing in the hall; and Hannah put in her head and whispered:—
"Lizzie is afraid, sir, that the priest is sick. Would you mind coming down to see him?"
"God bless me! no," I said, quite alarmed. I followed the servant rapidly and was ushered91 into Father Letheby's parlor92, unexpected and almost unannounced.
"What's the matter, sir?" he cried; "what's the matter?"
"Nothing particular," I replied. "'T is a rather fine night, is it not?"
"Lizzie must have sent for you?" he answered.
"Yes," I said, "she did. She thought you were unwell. Are you?"
He looked ill enough, poor fellow, and at these words he sank wearily into a chair.
"I am afraid you're unwell," I repeated.
"I'm not unwell," he said, blubbering like a child, "but—but—my heart is broken."
"Oh," I cried, "if that's all, it's easily mended. Come now, let's hear all, and see if we can't put the pieces together."
"I wouldn't mind," he cried, standing93 up and striding along the little room, his hands tightly clasped behind his back, "but the poor little altar boys—the poor little beggars—they looked so nice yesterday, and oh to think of it! Good God!"
"Very dramatic, very dramatic," I said, "but not the quiet narrative94 and consecutive95 style that I affect. Now, supposing you told me the story. There's balm in Gilead yet."
And this was the story, told with much impressiveness, a fair amount of gesticulation, and one or two little profane96 expressions, which made the Recording97 Angel cough and look away to see how was the weather.
It appears that about seven o'clock Father Letheby had a sick-call outside the village. There are generally a fair share of sick-calls on the day succeeding the great festivity, for obvious reasons. He was returning home through the village, when the sound of singing arrested his steps just outside Mrs. Haley's public house. His heart gave a bound of delight as he heard the familiar lines and notes of the Adeste. "Thank God!" he said, "at last, the people are beginning to bring our Catholic hymns98 into their own homes." As he listened intently there was a slight reaction as he recognized the sweet liquid notes, with all the curls and quavers that are the copyright and strictly99 legal and exclusive possession of Jem Deady.
"Good heavens!" said the young priest, in a frenzy100 of indignation, "has that ruffian dared to introduce into the taproom our Christmas melodies, and to degrade them into a public-house chorus?"
He stepped into the shop. There was no one there. He turned softly the handle of the door, and was in the taproom for several minutes before he was recognized. What he witnessed was this. Leaning in a tipsy, maudlin101 way against the wall were the holly102 bushes, which, decorated with pink ribbons, and supposed to conceal103 in their dim recesses104 the "wren, the wren, the king of all birds," had been the great attraction of the morning. Leaning on the deal table, with glasses and pints105 of porter before them, as they sat and lounged or fell in various stages of intoxication106, were the wren-boys; and near the fire, with his back turned to the door, and his fingers beating time to the music in pools of dirty porter, was Jem Deady. As Father Letheby entered he was singing:—
"Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine,
Gestant puellæ viscera—"
the most awful and tender lines of the glorious hymn.
He was unconscious of the priest's presence, and quite unconscious of his horrible sacrilege. Father Letheby continued gazing on the sad scene for a few minutes, with mingled107 feelings of anger, horror, and disgust. Then, closing the door softly after him, he strode through the street, and knocking peremptorily108 at all the doors, he soon had a procession of the fathers and mothers of the children following him to the public house. What occurred then has passed into the historical annals of Kilronan. It is enough to say here that its good people heard that night certain things which made their ears tingle109 for many a day. Mrs. Haley came up to my house the following morning to give up her license110; and there was a general feeling abroad that every man, woman, and child in Kilronan should become total abstainers for life.
"But that's all," said Father Letheby; "and now I am really sick of the entire business; and to-morrow I shall write to the Bishop111 for my exeat, and return to England or go to Australia, where I have been promised a mission."
It was rather late, and I should have been long ago in my comfortable bed; but the text was too good to miss.
"My dear Father Letheby," I said, "it is clear to me that you are working not for God's honor, but for your own kudos112."
He started at these strong words, and stared at me.
"Because," I continued calmly, "if it was the honor of God you had at heart, this calamity113, the intensity114 of which I have no idea of minimizing, would have stimulated115 you to fresh efforts instead of plunging116 you into despair. But your pride is touched and your honor is tarnished117, and you dread2 the criticism of men. Tell me honestly, are you grieved because God has been offended, or because all your fine plans have ganged aglee? There! Dear St. Bonaventure, what a burden you laid on the shoulders of poor humanity when you said, Ama nesciri, et pro29 nihilo reputari. You did not know, in the depths of your humility, that each of us has a pretty little gilded118 idol119 which is labelled Self! And that each of us is a fanatic120 in seeking to make conversions121 to our own little god. And I am not at all sure but that education only helps us to put on a little more gilding122 and a little more tawdry finery on our hidden deity123; and that even when we sit in judgment124 upon him, as we do when preparing for Confession125, it is often as a gentle and doting126 mother, not as an inflexible127 and impartial128 judge. Here are you now (turning to Father Letheby), a good, estimable, zealous129, and successful priest; and because you have been touched in a sore point, lo! the voice from the inner shrine130 demanding compensation and future immunity131. Everything has prospered132 with you. Religion has progressed, with leaps and bounds, since you came to the parish; the people adore you, and you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are that most difficult of heroic successes, a conqueror133 because a reformer; and because you have met one reverse, you are going to turn your back on your work, and seek the curse of those who put pillows under their armpits and garlands of roses in their hair. Did you imagine that Satan, a living, personal, and highly intelligent force, was going to allow you to have everything your own way here,—to fold his arms while you were driving back his forces in utter rout134 and confusion? If you did, you were greatly mistaken. You have met a slight reverse, and it has become a panic. Sauve qui peut! And the commander—the successful general—is the first to turn his back, throw down his sword, and flee."
"Say no more, Father Dan, for God's sake. I am heartily ashamed of myself."
I went home with a satisfied conscience, murmuring, Per la impacciata via, retro al suo duce. I think I know whither he is tending.
A demoralized, woe-begone, wilted136, helpless figure was before me in the hall. If he had been under Niagara for the last few hours he could not be more hopelessly washed out. It was Jem Deady in the custody137 of his wife, who was now in the ascendant.
"Here he is, your reverence138,—a misfortunate angashore! For the love of God make him now a patthern to the parish! Cling him to the ground, or turn him into somethin'; make him an example forever, for my heart is broke with him."
Whilst I was turning over in my mind into which of the lower animals it would be advisable to cause the immortal81 soul of Jem to transmigrate and take up a temporary residence, I thought I saw a glance upwards139 from his eye, visibly pleading for mercy.
"It is quite clear, Jem," I said, "that your Christmas dinner disagreed with you."
"Begor, thin, your reverence," broke in Mrs. Deady, setting herself in a rather defiant140 attitude, "he had as good a dinner as any poor man in your parish. He had a roast goose, stuffed by thim two hands with praties and inguns, until the tears ran down my face; and he had a pig's cheek, and lashins of cabbage."
"And why don't you tell his reverence about the rice puddin'?" said Jem, in a tone of honest indignation. "'T is a shame for you, Bess! She made a rice puddin', your reverence, that was fit for the Grate House; and begor, your reverence might sit down to worse yourself. Sich raisons and currans!"
"Begor, I'm thinking you're thrying to put the comedher on me, you blagard, with your blarney," said Mrs. Deady with angry suspicion, drawing back and scrutinizing141 his face.
"Thrying to put the comedher on you, Bess? Begor, I'd like to see the man that could do it. But I'll say this, in the presence of his reverence, and wid yerself to the fore20, that there isn't in this parish, nor in the nex', nor in the nex' again, nor widin the four walls of Ireland, a betther wife nor a betther housekeeper142 den10 you, Bess Clancy." And to emphasize this panegyric143, Jem threw his battered144 hat on the floor and brushed away a tear.
It was a pity not to come to the aid of such a superb diplomatist. No wonder the British diplomatic service is manned by Irishmen from Singapore to Halifax. What would Melikoff, and Von Schaffterhausen, and De Laborie be in the hands of Jem Deady? He'd twist them around his little finger. I saw the angry wrinkles smoothing themselves on the brow of Mrs. Deady, as she melted under the gentle rain of flattery.
"I'd forgive you a good deal, Deady," I said; "your repeated violations145 of solemn pledges, your sacrilege in bringing down to a public house the most sacred melodies of the Church—"
"They were at me," said Jem. "They said as how I couldn't get my tongue around the Latin, and that Father Letheby—"
"I understand," I interrupted; "but even that I'd forgive. But to take the innocent lambs of my flock, my choir boys and altar boys, the children of sober and religious parents, whose hearts are broken by your misconduct—"
"Childre' of sober and religious parents,—whose hearts are broken," chimed in Mrs. Deady. "Wisha, thin, without manin' any disrespect to your riverence, would you be plazed to mintion these dacent people? An' if these religious parents wor mindin' their childre', insted of colloguing and placin' their nabors, their religious childre' wouldn't be lying drunk in Mrs. Haley's public house. But of coorse 't is Jim Deady here and Jim Deady there; and if the thruth wos towld, he's as good as any of 'em, though I shouldn't say it to his face. Come along, you poor fool."
"I must do what I came for," said Jem, solemnly. Then, with an air of awful determination, as if he were binding146 iron bars and padlocks on his thirsty lips, Jem took the pledge. Mrs. Deady, in high dudgeon, had gone down the street. Jem and I were alone.
"Tell me, yer reverence," he whispered, "did that mane scut of a tailor insult ye the other night?"
"Oh, not at all, Jem," I cried, fearing the consequences to the tailor.
"I have an eye on him this long time," said Jem, "and faith, he'll come to grief soon."
"Now, Jem," I warned emphatically, "no violence, mind. The unfortunate fellow is sorry."
"All right, your reverence; we are not going to waste violence on the likes of him. But—"
Here Jem fell into a profound reverie.
"Begor, your reverence, ye did that little job nately," he cried, waking up. "That woman's tongue didn't lave me worth tuppence. God bless yer reverence, and spare ye long to us."
He took my hand, and kissed it till it was blistered147 by the sharp bristles148 of his unshaven lips. Poor fellows! how they warm to us! and how, with all their faults, we fling around them something more than maternal149 love!
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1
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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2
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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3
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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5
aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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6
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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7
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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seraphim
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| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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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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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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egregiously
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| adv.过份地，卓越地 | |
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13
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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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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modulating
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| 调整( modulate的现在分词 )； （对波幅、频率的）调制； 转调； 调整或改变（嗓音）的音调 | |
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22
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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tenors
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| n.男高音( tenor的名词复数 )；大意；男高音歌唱家；（文件的）抄本 | |
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24
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
discordance
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| n.不调和，不和，不一致性；不整合；假整合 | |
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26
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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27
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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28
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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29
pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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30
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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31
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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32
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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33
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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34
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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35
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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36
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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37
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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38
nance
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| n.娘娘腔的男人，男同性恋者 | |
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39
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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40
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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41
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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42
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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43
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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44
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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45
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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46
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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47
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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48
lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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49
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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50
omnipotence
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| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
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51
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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52
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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53
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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54
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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55
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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56
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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57
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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58
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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59
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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60
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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61
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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62
hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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63
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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64
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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65
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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66
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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67
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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68
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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69
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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70
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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71
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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72
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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73
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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74
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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75
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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76
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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77
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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78
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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79
pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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80
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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81
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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82
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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83
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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84
retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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85
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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86
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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87
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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88
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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89
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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90
sundry
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|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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91
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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93
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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94
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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95
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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96
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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97
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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98
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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99
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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100
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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101
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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102
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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103
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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104
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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105
pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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106
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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107
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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108
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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109
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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110
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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111
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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112
kudos
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| n.荣誉，名声 | |
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113
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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114
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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115
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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116
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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117
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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118
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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119
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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120
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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121
conversions
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| 变换( conversion的名词复数 )； （宗教、信仰等）彻底改变； （尤指为居住而）改建的房屋； 橄榄球（触地得分后再把球射中球门的）附加得分 | |
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122
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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123
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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124
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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125
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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126
doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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127
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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128
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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129
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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130
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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131
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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132
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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134
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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135
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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136
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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138
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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139
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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140
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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141
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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142
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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143
panegyric
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| n.颂词，颂扬 | |
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144
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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145
violations
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| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
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146
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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147
blistered
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|
| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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148
bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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149
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
参考例句： |
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